Page 43 of After Felix (Close Proximity #3)

FELIX - ONE YEAR LATER

The phone rings and I smile when I see Max’s photo on the screen. It’s a picture of him from the trip to Paris we took last week, giving me the smile that still makes my heart beat a bit faster.

“Yep,” I say as the call connects.

There’s a short silence.

“ Yep ? The love of your life rings you, and all he gets is a measly yep ?”

“I’m afraid so,” I say, fighting a smile. “Because I’m not Barbara Cartland.”

“If you were, we’d have lots of chocolates in silk boxes and a spoilt Peke instead of that ferocious creature you adopted.”

I look over at the tiny dog who we found shivering on the towpath a month ago.

She’s lying curled in a small ball on the sofa.

Her white and tan fur is ruffled out, so she looks like a cotton ball on skinny legs.

We’d taken her in that night and despite both of us taking care to remind each other not to get attached in case the owner claimed her, she’d managed to worm her way into our hearts within ten minutes.

Max had opened a bottle of champagne when no one claimed her .

“Weetabix is not ferocious.”

He groans. “And that’s a ridiculous name.”

I smile. “The internet suggested naming her after the last thing I ate.”

“I feel stupid calling her that name.”

I bite my lip to hold the smile in. “You just feel silly because she never comes to you,” I say and then carry on in an earnest voice. “It’s not her fault that she doesn’t like you, Max. You can’t be everyone’s cup of tea.”

“I’d rather be that than a dog’s dinner. I’m telling you she watches me while we sleep. She’s putting me in reserve for when the Winalot runs out.”

“Well, I’ll be fine then, especially when there’s so much of you to nibble on.”

“Are you saying I’ve got fat ?” He’s trying for indignation, but laughter is winning. “How very dare you, Felix Jackson.”

I’m lying because he’s as fit as ever, jogging down the towpath for miles every day.

His long, rangy body is now a familiar sight on the path, and as per usual with Max, he seems to know everyone.

He moved in with me on the boat the first night we got back together and never left.

I’m sure some people think it’s too soon, but I’m equally positive those people didn’t have a two and a half year gap in their relationship and Max warming their bed.

“More of you to love,” I say happily, listening to his splutters.

“People only say that when they’re shagging the homely pool-maintenance man.”

“Then you’re safe,” I say placidly. “We don’t have a pool. Just a canal. Unless you think I’m going to shag the water board.”

“No, darling, you’re too busy, and those uniforms won’t do it for you at all.”

“You do realise that you’re actually keeping me from meeting you for this mystery tour of yours?” I say. “Let me go, and I’ll meet you as planned.”

He rings off but not before saying he loves me. It’s something he always does. I suppose the life he’s led, and the people he’s lost along the way, make him treasure life and love more .

I go to move towards the door and then curse as I trip over one of Max’s shoes.

I adore living with him and can’t imagine being without him, but it’s a sure fact that this narrowboat isn’t meant for two men, one of whom is very tall.

Plus, Max’s idea of tidy would send Marie Kondo into a tailspin.

He sheds possessions here, there, and everywhere, and his books alone are going to sink the boat one day.

My smile dies because we’ve come to decision time.

We both know we can’t continue living here.

He can’t work in such a small space, and I can’t live with the mess.

But what do we do? I know he doesn’t want to get rid of the cottage and I can understand that, but equally, I love living on a boat.

I love the lifestyle and the close community that grows up around boat people.

But I love Max more . And I want to be with him more than I want to live on a boat. “I’m going to tell him we’ll move to the Cotswolds,” I say out loud to Weetabix, the words hushed but determined. “He gives me everything I want, so I need to do the same.”

She sleeps on, unconcerned. I feel sad at the idea of leaving a place that’s been my home for so long and my job that I love so much, but I need to do this for him.

Half an hour later I get off the bus, eyeing Max appreciatively. He’s leaning against a shop window dressed in jeans and an olive-green parka. He has a beanie crammed over his hair, and a rucksack slung over his shoulder.

“Going to tell me where we’re going?” I call out, and he looks around, his face lighting up when he sees me.

It’s a sight I’ll never tire of because it makes me feel warm inside.

I never doubt him anymore because I trust him implicitly, and he gives me no need.

I know I’m everything to him because he shows and tells me all the time.

That once-cordoned-off bloke is now warm and open, holding my hand or running his hands along my shoulders or through my hair.

If I’m near him, he’ll touch me. It’s an immutable fact.

He leans close and gives me a smacking kiss. “You’re late,” he informs me.

“Tell it to the bus company. Don’t whine to me,” I advise him.

He grins, gathering my hand and tugging me after him.

“Are we going for a meal?” I ask .

“Of sorts,” he says rather cagily. “Just wanted to show you something and get your opinion on it.”

“Okay,” I say peaceably, wondering if it’s something to do with his writing.

No day is ever boring with him, and his research trips are always interesting.

So far this year we’ve been to New Orleans to investigate the cemeteries there and then the other night I had to fire pellets at him as he ran around the boat.

Max nearly knocking himself out on the low roof had been an added entertainment bonus.

“I’m glad we’ve got some time,” I say. “I need to talk to you.”

“What’s up?” he says, instantly ready to try and sort out whatever is bothering me. Hope not, because he’s a bit hit and miss with that.

“Well, I’ve been thinking about our living arrangements,” I say, “and I think I’ve come to a conclusion.”

I look around as he pulls me along beside him.

We’re in St Katherine’s Docks, a marina which is a stone’s throw away from the Tower of London.

It’s a very trendy place, once a working dock, but now surrounded by expensive apartments and filled with luxury yachts, posh shops, and restaurants.

I wonder if we’re going to see Charlie and Misha, as they live near here on Shad Thames.

“Go on,” he prompts.

“Sorry,” I say absentmindedly. “It’s so lovely here, Max. Imagine having a mooring here. You can see Tower Bridge, and it’s so open and pretty.” He smiles at me, and I shake my head. “Sorry. I was going to say that I’ve decided to sell the Aunt Sally. ”

He stops dead, and I nearly walk into him. “You’re doing what ?”

“Selling the boat,” I say, grabbing his arms and smiling up at him. “It’s too small for us, and I know how much you love the Cotswold house. So we can move there.”

“What about your job?”

I shrug. “I’ll get another one. I just can’t get another one of you.” I pinch his arm gently. “Not without a nervous breakdown anyway.”

He shakes his head and hugs me tightly. “You’d do that for me?”

“I would.” I rub my face into the side of his neck and inhale his scent. “I’d do anything for you, Max. I know I don’t say it enough, but God knows it’s the absolute truth.”

“I know, darling, and don’t think I don’t appreciate it, but would you mind if I offer another option?” He pulls me after him for a few more steps and then comes to a stop. “Ta-dah!”

I stare at him. “Ta-dah, what? Why are you standing there like a bad conjurer?”

He grins. “A bad conjurer couldn’t have found us a new boat, my love.’

“What boat?”

I turn to the side and see what he’s gesturing at.

“Oh my God,” I say faintly. It’s an old 1930’s steel barge.

The paint is peeling off it, and it obviously needs a lot of work doing to it, but the bones are beautiful, and it’s massive.

It would give us two floors and absolutely loads of space. “Oh my God,” I say again.

“I put a deposit down on it,” he explains quickly, “but if you don’t like it, we don’t have to buy it. I just thought we could do all the work together and make it really ours. There’s tons of room, easily five thousand square feet.”

“Like it?” I say and throw myself at him. “I fucking love it.”

He instantly relaxes. “Really?”

I nod furiously. “Oh my God, yes . I love these old boats, and this mooring is to fucking die for.” I look up at him. “Are you sure? What about the cottage?”

He shrugs. “I’m selling it.” I open my mouth to protest, but he shakes his head. “It’s a lovely house, but it’s never been a place that felt like mine. I want a home, Felix. I’ve been moving around for most of my life. I want to finally stop and put roots down, and I want to do that with you.”

“But it was your grandmother’s house.”

He smiles. “And she’d heartily approve of me selling it to the couple in the village who want it. They have a young family, and they’ll love it the way she did. She’d also adore the fact that I’m in love and happy.”

“But do you really want to live on a boat? Don’t do it for me.”

“Why ever not?” he says in astonishment.

“That’s the best reason.” I open my mouth to protest, and he strokes my hair back.

“We do need more room, but I wouldn’t make this decision just for you.

I don’t want to move away from London and Zeb and our friends.

I also happen to love living on the water.

I love all the people around us and the way the water casts reflections inside the boat.

There’s so much to see that’s different every day on the water. ”

For such a verbal person, Max is astonishingly dreamy. I’ll regularly find him in the morning wrapped in a blanket watching the canal and the boats going by.

I hug him tight, feeling his long body against mine and feeling so much inside me for this man—my bloke. “I love you,” I say fiercely. “Forever and ever. We’re going to be so happy here.”

“Of course,” he says simply. “We’ll be together.”

And it’s the truth. No matter how much life throws at us, we have each other, and it’s something that we never take for granted because we’ve been without each other and that will never happen again.

MAX

An hour later finds us on board the boat, lying on the blanket I brought with me that we’ve spread over the wooden floorboards. The remains of the picnic I hid in my rucksack surround us, and the bottle of wine sits two-thirds empty, its sides pearling with moisture.

I cushion my head with my coat and watch Felix as he stands up to pace around the lounge area of the boat, elaborating on his plans for the area in his clear, posh voice.

His sharp, thin face is vivid with life and flushed with wine, and his small, elegant body is loose and limber.

His skin is pale, and as he waves his arms around in enthusiasm, talking about the study I’m apparently going to have, the sun shines through the window and kindles fire in his dark, messy hair, making the breath catch in my throat.

He’s utterly beautiful to me in every way.

First thing in the morning when his hair is standing out everywhere, his face bleary with sleep as he demands a cup of tea and a kiss; tender as I open my eyes from a bad dream and find him watching me with his hazel eyes full of love; and last thing at night, sated and sleepy as he twines his legs with mine.

I’ve never been so happy as I have been this year.

Being with him eases something inside me that I never knew was drawn too tight.

I can have the worst and most frustrating day, and then I’ll see his messy head of hair and hear his clear tones with their precise consonants and everything will be okay.

I no longer have the desire to roam. Occasionally, a story will come up, and I’ll spare a fleeting thought for how Ivo and I would have covered it, but then it vanishes, lost to the way Felix makes me laugh.

I want to grow old with my wonderful boy, listening to him snark at me down the years and take care of me with that wry look on his face that wars with the tenderness in his arms. I want my last breath to be filled with the scent of him.

Because I was right with what I said on Vauxhall Bridge that day.

There is no “After Felix” for me. He’s my present and my future and always my end goal.

“Are you listening to me?” he demands, a laugh in his wonderful voice.

“Always,” I say, and it’s the absolute and utter truth.