Page 82 of Oleander

“What are you doing this summer?” I asked in what I hoped was a nonchalant tone.

“I haven’t given it much thought.”

“Right.”

There was a stretch of silence before he said, “I suppose I’ll be at Deveraux. I miss my horse. And my books.” Now, thiswassaid nonchalantly, but the way he avoided looking at me entirely made something hopeful bubble up in my chest. “Gideon mentioned something about taking a cruise on the Nile, I think, but I couldn’t think of anything I’d want to do less.”

“Yeah, that doesn’t sound all that fun, to be honest.”

“Exactly.”

“I called you on Saturday night,” I said. “You didn’t answer.”

He gave me a hard look. “I was busy.”

“With Hannes Meier?”

He didn’t react. “And if I was?”

“Were you?”

“I actually don’t think that’s any of your business, do you?”

I wanted to say that yes, it was, but I didn’t dare. It was on the tip of my tongue then to mention Blackwell, to tell him that he and Gideon looked rather cosy when I left and that I wouldn’t be surprised if he were busy with him right now. But apart fromsome hollow momentary satisfaction, I couldn’t really see what good it would do.

“I was at a double feature in town,” Caspien said, though he sounded a little embarrassed by it. “They’re doing a week of Studio Ghibli films.”

I had to bite back the smile that threatened to spread across my heating face.

We spent the rest of the call talking aboutThe Cat ReturnsandTales from Earthsea.

Twenty-three

Caspien’s homecoming, scheduled for the last week in March, began to feel like a countdown. A countdown to the starting point of the rest of my life; when everything I was confused about or which kept me up at night, would finally be resolved.

As soon as I saw him again, I imagined some great shift would happen inside me, like a big boulder would be rolled away to reveal the answers to the questions I’d been torturing myself with for months.

I thought about how it had started between us in the summer and wondered, not for the first time, how we had ended up here. How had I gone from loathing his every molecule to hanging on his every word? How had I gone from plotting his murder to dreaming about the scent of his skin and the shape of his hands? The wanting of him had grown so immense that it had the power to stop me in my tracks.

Caspien was an altarpiece, Deveraux his reredos, and I came to him in blind idolatry.

I’d planned to break up with Ellie prior to Caspien’s returning home to Deveraux. But the week he was due back, she’d called to say her grandfather had died. Old and apparently quite senile, he’d been living in some elderly home in Norwich. She’d cried quite inconsolably over the phone while I’d said things like ‘At least he wasn’t in pain’ and ‘He knew how much you cared,’though I had no way of knowing either was true. Before hanging up, she’d said she loved me and would call me when she arrived. I’d said it back because not saying it then wasn’t an option.

I’d gotten around the Italy question by saying Beth and Luke were considering it, and it would depend on how hard I studied for my A-Levels (my mock results had been decent) and how much I helped Luke in the lead-up to summer. Conveniently, both of these meant I’d have less spare time to spend with her. The guilt at spinning these lies lasted only as long as I was with her. After, as surely as the wave always returned to the shore, my thoughts would return to Cas.

We’d spoken only once on the phone the week he was due home. On Monday, he called to say he’d beaten Hannes at Fence with a ‘very clever point-in-line’ and then a ‘disengage.’ He was as excited as I’d ever heard him.

“What time are you due home on Saturday?” I’d cut in when I’d heard more than enough about Hannes Meier’s superior swordplay.

“The car is collecting me at 8:30; my flight leaves Zurich at eleven.” He hadn’t video-called, so I couldn’t see what he was doing, but it sounded like he was moving around. Packing, maybe. “What are your plans this weekend?” he said as though my entire month, year, hadn’t been leaning toward this point, as though it was even slightly feasible I’d made any other plans except wait for him to call.

“Not sure,” I said. “Do you want to do something?”

There was a short silence before he said, “Something?”

A jolt of delicious heat shot straight between my legs.

I swallowed. “Yeah, whatever you want.”