Page 255 of Cindersmellya
He stood abruptly; the coffee only half finished. “You should have started this conversation with me in the car.” He attempted a smile. “You’d have had a captive audience. I wouldn’t have been able to escape.”
I settled our bill, then followed him outside. We were enjoying one of those rare April days that almost fooled you summer lay in wait just around the corner. Not much more than another half hour or so of daylight remained; it was long enough. The tide had gone out, the beach practically deserted.
“Come on, Matt, don’t go yet.”
We walked side-by-side over damp sand. When we’d first moved down to Bournemouth, I used to come here often, full of ideas about learning to sail, learning to windsurf, joining the boat club. Now that Ryan had outgrown trips to the seaside and building sandcastles, even with the beach only a stone’s throw from my front door, I couldn’t recall the last time I’d visited it. Plodding next to me, Matt stared straight ahead.
“After I ran away, I lived rough on the street for a couple of days. I wasn’t very good at it. I got caught nicking a Mars Bar from a newsagent. The guy who owned the shop made a right song and dance. Turned out to be my lucky day though, because Cartwright came in for his morning paper while we were waiting for the filth to arrive. He persuaded the man to let me go and took me home. I lived with Cartwright and his partner on and off for years. Every time shit got bad, he’d set me back on my feet again. He often brought me here for a holiday. I owe him my life.”
“I’m so sorry I wasn’t there when Brenner died. Or for everything afterwards.”
As soon as the words left my mouth I knew how inadequate they were. Years later, regret for not being at the end of the phone line when Matt had needed me most was buried too deeply inside to put into words. Once more, I found myself at the top of a slippery slope of if-onlys. If only I hadn’t spent that night at a friend’s house—a friend whom I couldn’t even put a name or a face to now, because that was how unimportant she’d been, compared to Matt. If only I’d just answered his bloody desperate phone call. If only I’d ignored my parents’ good intentions, Phil’s dad’s good intentions, my course at uni, my own future.
“Don’t beat yourself up, Alex.” Matt’s voice trembled. “You weren’t to know. And you were just a kid yourself.”
We’d stopped walking and stared out at miles of murky grey ocean, our shoulders inches apart. He wiped his eyes and wrapped his arms around himself, shivering.
I didn’t ask his permission. He’d have probably refused. So I took the plunge and did it anyway. Lifting my arms, wrapping them around his bony frame, I gave him an awkward hug.
“Sorry for upsetting you like this.” Christ, my tears were welling up too. “I never intended to hurt you. Not now and not then. If I could change everything that happened, I would.”
He didn’t pull away, so that was something. Not that he hugged me back.
“That night when you phoned, and I wasn’t there. I wasn’t being unfaithful to you.”
Protesting my faithfulness to a teenage romance was surreal. I buried my face in his hair, squeezing him tighter. But even now, so many years afterwards, him knowing the truth felt desperately important. Teenage Matt had captured my heart. Hook, line, and sinker. I’d done my best to dive into uni life without him but the girl who’d spent that particular night—Callie? Carrie?—trying to coax me into bed, had never stood a chance. My memories were hazy, of course, but my recollection was that I drank too much cheap lager in the student union bar before passing out on her sofa, halfway through lamenting my love for someone else.
“I…I spent the night with a girl and bored her silly talking about you. That’s the truth, Matt. What you and I had was very special. I would never have cheated on you.”
His head stayed pressed against my chest, unmoving. Not a hug back, not even an acknowledgement, but I’d take it.
The text came just before midnight.
Are you awake?
Yes.
My phone buzzed a second later.
“Hi, it’s Matt.”
“Thanks for clarifying. All sorts of random men phone me at midnight.”
He chuckled softly. “Since when did you develop a sarcastic streak?”
I smiled down the phone line at him. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” He sighed. “I couldn’t sleep.”
Me neither, but that was old news. I waited for him to speak.
“What do you want from me, Alex?” His voice sounded low and gravelly. I guessed he was in bed and alone, like me.
“I don’t want anything from you. I would like to keep seeing you, though. I don’t want to lose you again.”
A lengthy pause followed, and then another sigh. “I’m not the boy you used to know. I’m not seventeen anymore.”
I thought about finding my rugby boot laces tied together, and the face Matt had pulled when I’d chosen amille-feuille, pouting and refusing on principle to even have a nibble. He was wrong. That beautiful boy I’d loved was still in there. More wary than he used to be. A bit battered and bruised. But still there.