Page 52 of Tribute Act
His body was wide-open to me, his arms and legs holding me close, and even then, it wasn’t enough. I didn’t just want these naked moments of sexual pleasure and orgasm. I wanted more from him, an emotional connection. So I kept my mouth on his, kissing him, watching him, willing him to open his own eyes, which he finally did.
I love you.
I desperately wanted to say it. It was on the tip of my tongue, but I knew it would make him run. I just knew. So I stayed quiet. I was sure, though, that he must see in my eyes how I felt about him. Must taste it in every kiss I gave him. I might as well be wearing a sign that announced to the world that he was it for me, it was so painfully obvious.
I love you.
When it was over, when we’d both come hard, together, he drifted off in my arms. Asleep in my arms for the first time since the night we’d met.
I remembered his words from that night.
“Hold me.”
He hadn’t had to ask this time.
When I woke up the next morning, I was alone.
I wasn’t exactly surprised, but that didn’t stop me feeling empty when I saw the space in the bed beside me.
I touched the pillow, still dented with the hollow that had cradled Mack’s head as he slept, only to snatch my hand away again. Jesus, what was wrong with me? This wasn’t me. I was pragmatic, resilient. I didn’t moon over anyone, had never done that over any of my boyfriends.
The difference was, I was in love with Mack, and it was a deeper, sharper emotion than I’d ever experienced. Maybe I’d be happy if Mack felt the same way, instead of lying here, staring miserably at the ceiling.
Fuck it. Time to get up. I had the day off and had planned to stay in bed for a while, but I couldn’t lie here any longer, brooding.
It was the first Saturday I’d been off in ages, and I wondered what on earth I was going to do with myself. I’d got so used to spending what little free time I had with Mack, that I was at a loss. Maybe a run? It’d been a while since I’d done anything resembling exercise.
I dragged myself out of bed, pulled on my robe, and wandered through to the kitchen. I wasn’t sure if I’d find Mack in there or not, but no, it was quiet. The living room was deserted too. Either he’d gone to his own bedroom and was still sleeping or he’d gone out.
I tried to banish from my mind the suspicion that he might’ve just packed up and left altogether. That was ridiculous. Even so, as I ate breakfast, staring unseeingly at some American sitcom repeat on TV, my attention was elsewhere, listening for sounds of Mack getting up or coming back to the flat.
Eventually, disgusted with myself, I dragged myself back to my bedroom and got my running gear on.
I spent a good long time doing stretches before I headed off, making for Caerdu Castle. Once there, I would loop round the coastal path to Mother Ivey’s Bay and come back in at the other end of town. It was a decent six miles or so, starting with a punishing climb, so I’d be feeling it soon.
The day was wintry and cold. A mackerel sky stretched above me, a ripple of grey over steely blue. As I ran uphill towards the ruins of the castle, my thighs burned, lungs heaving far too soon. It was easier though, once I got to the headland. The gradient dropped to nothing and as I circled round on the coastal path, on the flat now, I began to enjoy myself at last.
The wind was strong up on the clifftops, ripping through my hair. Overhead, gulls screamed and kittiwakes circled. It felt good to be outside. Why had I let my runs slide? It was crazy considering one of the reasons I’d agreed to come home had been to spend more time doing stuff like this.
I wished Mack was with me. I wanted to do all this stuff with him. All the ordinary, wonderful stuff that you found yourself desperate to share with a new lover. It hurt that I was never going to have that with him. Not the way I wanted anyway.
I ran past the life boat station, and then I was on the home straight to Porthkennack, the wide, golden sweep of Mother Ivey’s Bay to my left, at the bottom of the cliffs. The beach was almost empty of people at this time of year, though I spied a few dog-walkers and a family with a couple of little kids rock-pooling. Another half mile took me off the uneven path and onto the flat tarmac road again. The buffeting wind and the cries of the gulls faded, replaced by the sounds of traffic and people.
I brought my pace down to a jog as I made my way through town back to the flat, gradually letting my muscles cool. By the time I reached my street, I’d slowed to a walk. Scrupulously, I performed my stretches, then headed inside, feeling more centred and calm than I had in ages—until I strolled into the living room and saw that Mack was there. With Mum.
They sat on either end of the couch, and Mum had clearly been crying. Her eyes were rimmed in black from where her mascara had run, and Mack was grim faced. The atmosphere was strained.
“He feels terrible about everything,” Mum was saying. “He just finds it difficult to tell you—he was trying to yesterday, before Rosie interrupted.”
Mack said nothing.
She looked at me, her expression pleading. “Tell him, Jonathan.”
“Tell him what?” I said flatly. I wasn’t happy to find her here, doing Derek’s dirty work—especially if she was trying to lay a guilt trip on Mack.
“That Derek’s . . . well, he’s Derek.” She turned back to Mack. “He finds it hard to say sorry, even when he knows he’s in the wrong, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t all torn up about this! You think he doesn’t care, but the truth is, he’ll never forgive himself for leaving you.” She shook her head. “He has so many hang-ups. You’re probably not aware, but he had a difficult childhood—”
Mack physically recoiled at that, one hand going up, palm out. “Lorraine, please stop. I don’t want to hear it.”