Page 70 of Vying Girls (Girls of Hazelhurst #2)

‘Sort of. I just think—it’s something we both went through, and it might help to get a different perspective on things. A professional one. Someone to help us sift through all the...’ I wave a hand around. ‘Everything. Finally.’

Tilda considers it then a tiny smile springs on her lips. She nods. ‘Yeah. That’ll probably help.’

I give a tight nod, closing my eyes. ‘Alright. I’ll set something up.’

I bathe in the satisfaction of that. It seems like a step, a right one. God knows we both need it. Might get Haz back on that shit too. Why not heal the whole damn house.

‘Hey,’ Tilda says quietly, ‘I’ve got a therapy thing we can do.’

I crack open an eye, rolling it towards her.

With a tentative smile, she leans up on her side. ‘Close your eyes again.’

A warm hand lands on my cheek. For a while, she does nothing. I’m acutely aware of the sensation of being studied, skin prickling with awareness. I wonder what she’s thinking. Her fingers stroke my cheek, tucking a spike of hair behind my ear. So gentle. A loving touch.

‘I want you to remember something,’ she says softly.

I wait, forcing my body to relax. Overhead, a seagull cries, the wind rustling the trees lining the cliff at our backs.

I always thought it odd, how similar waves and wind sound.

I let them carry me away into some in between place.

Without her even saying anything, I’m so easily able to slip back to the past. Disconcerting, really, with how hard I’ve tried to forget.

‘Do you remember that time we went ice skating?’

I nod against her hand. It had only been the once.

‘It was after school,’ she goes on, still stroking my face.

‘Christmas time. Last day of term, I think.’ She lets out a wistful sigh.

‘I still remember that day so clearly. Don’t know why.

I just remember Mum put tinsel in our hair and we had a whole day of fun ahead of us.

The school Christmas party, games, films. I remember walking across the playground that morning with you feeling so, so cosy, like everything was perfect and happy. ’

I nod again, letting her know I’m hearing her. Truthfully, I don’t remember the school day at all, but it’s sweet she has such happy memories of it.

‘We hung out all day. We were on the same teams for the games, huddled in that little corner of the room whilst we watched Christmas films. Then your dad picked us up. We went straight to the ice rink, school uniform and all. Dunno where Mum was. I don’t remember caring.’

‘I think you’re going to have better memories. I sucked at the skating.’

‘I was going to miss that bit out,’ Tilda says warmly. ‘But yeah, you did.’

‘Whereas you were like an underwater penguin. A showy-off one. You must have lapped me about twenty times.’

‘Until I took mercy and grabbed your hand.’

‘Yeah. Definitely staved off a temper tantrum with that.’

Tilda chuckles. I feel a tickling on my forehead as she kisses it. ‘You weren’t too bad by the end. With my patient tutoring.’

I snort at the lie of that.

‘Do you remember afterwards when we got home?’

I hesitate.

‘My headache?’ she prompts.

‘Oh, yeah. I remember.’

‘Well, migraine, I suppose. I used to get them a lot back then, didn’t I?

Wonder if it was the car again. Anyway, I remember you taking me up to your room, tucking me into your bed.

God, you couldn’t do enough for me that night.

Getting me drinks, Calpol, massaging my head, humming to me until I fell asleep. So bloody cute.’

I swallow, the memories coming thick and fast now. These are the things I’d forgotten—tried my best to.

Tilda’s voice is very close to my ear when she asks, ‘Do you remember?’

‘Yeah,’ I whisper. ‘I remember.’

‘What do you remember? What you did or how you felt?’

I open my mouth, then close it again. I know what she wants, what she’s trying to do. With a sigh, I let myself slip back to that night.

We’d been in the new house by then, my bed a big, high one that I’d had to help Tilda onto. She’d been pallid by the time we got back. I don’t remember where her mum was either, but I’ve no doubt she was around, shirking her motherly duties.

Didn’t bother me. I preferred it when it was just us. It felt less performative, more natural. We had no need for anyone but each other.

I remember sneaking the medicine from the kitchen, shaking it upside down for ten whole seconds like I’d seen Dad do. Then drawing it up into the syringe and feeding it to Tilda. Two times, like I’d seen Dad do too.

Then I’d put The Secret Garden on, climbed on the bed after her and watched over as she slept. I don’t remember the humming or the massages. Just that all-engulfing, bone-deep protectiveness.

It’s that she wants me to remember.

I bring up her sleeping face, my shadow cast over it.

Looming, looking after. There were monsters all around us.

I must have been aware of them. The strange lovelessness of her mother, the unknowable threat of my dad.

Too young to understand but aware, nevertheless.

No wonder we never let each other out of our sights. We were survivors.

Until I became just another monster to her, one I couldn’t save her from.

God.

Tears sting at my eyes. I keep them screwed shut, not letting them fall, not letting her see.

‘We’re still those kids, Nic,’ Tilda whispers. ‘We just got a bit hurt.’

I swallow, capturing her hand with mine. Holding it there.

‘Open your eyes, Nic.’

I shake my head, the tears burning, burning.

‘Please. Open your eyes.’

At first, I see nothing through the veil of tears. I blink them away, ashamed when they trickle to my temples. And Tilda’s face, full of compassion.

I’m still trapped in that half place, her face staring back at me ten years old, full of an innocence soon to be shattered.

All at once, I can’t bear it.

‘Tilda,’ I breathe.

She comes to me without hesitation, wrapping her arms around my shoulders and lifting me into her. I cradle her back, probably too hard, our legs tangling together. There’s no getting close enough.

Sniffing the tears back, I bury my head in her neck.

‘Shhh. It’s okay.’ She strokes my back with gentle hands. ‘It’s okay.’

‘I’m so, so sorry.’

‘I know.’ She kisses my damp temple. ‘I forgive you.’

I shake my head, finding that the most unbearable thing of all.

‘And one day,’ she goes on soothingly, not letting me pull back, ‘you’ll find it in you to forgive yourself. We both will.’

I hold tight to her words, daring to wish for the same thing. After all, what’s to stop that from happening? It’s only us again now. We’re safe.

It’s hot in the crook of her neck. I press my lips to her bare shoulder, dragging them along it, kissing the juncture of her neck. How lucky are we to be here, to be given this second chance. I’ve never believed in God, but there’s definitely something divine in all of this.

Tilda nuzzles my cheek, drawing back enough to kiss the salt from them. The scent of her is heavenly. Berries and suncream and whatever she washes her hair with. I breathe her in, letting it settle the frantic beat of my heart.

‘I want to know every little thing about you, Nic.’

‘Anything.’ I press my lips to hers, safe and hidden in the fall of her hair.

The sun’s moved elsewhere now, allowing a bank of shadow to be cast over us. Tilda touches her tongue to mine, tentatively at first. It tightens my pussy, my hips rising to meet hers. She rolls onto me, breaking the kiss with a breath.

Straddling me, she captures my gaze as her hands drift to the ties of her bikini top. I lick salt off my lips as she undoes them, the material coming free easily. I cup her waist, eyeing her small pink nipples, the couple of freckles on her torso, the black artwork adorning her.

‘Definitely didn’t have these as a kid.’

Tilda smiles. ‘The boobs or the tats?’

I give her a playful slap. ‘The tattoos.’ I trace the edge of her mandala. ‘I love them.’

‘Thanks. I love yours too.’ She leans down to kiss me. ‘Super hot.’

I touch Haz’s name on her chest. ‘You always said you wanted to get tattoos, as soon as you were an adult.’

‘Didn’t waste any time, did I?’

Shaking my head, I rear up, capturing her easily in my arms. Tilda hums at the new position, winding her arms around my neck as she kisses me deeply.

I definitely did more growing than her. She feels so light. So precious and breakable. I stroke open palms across her bare back, thumbs swiping the delicate curve of her waist. Her breath catches when I skim close to her boobs, the soft flesh pressed against my chest overly tempting.

‘I want to know everything you like,’ she breathes against my mouth.

‘You already have a pretty good idea.’ I duck my head, pulling one of her nipples into my mouth.

She lets out a quiet groan, lifting up a bit to help me out. I close my eyes, feeling her harden on my tongue, the creamy taste of her. My hands move down, cradling the soft roundness of her ass as she starts moving against me.

Grabbing my face, she forces our lips back together. It’s my turn to groan when she snakes a hand down to stroke between my legs.

‘I definitely know you like this,’ she murmurs.

‘It’s not awful.’ I bite at her neck, spreading my legs as much as I can with her in my lap.

My abs are screaming. Gathering her in my arms, I lift so I can get my legs under me.

I toy with her denim shorts, getting the belt unfastened.

The sound of protesting metal is satisfying.

Tilda lets out a gasp when I pull hard, letting her hips crash into mine.

She stands up to pull the shorts off, her knickers, too, landing in a puddle at her feet.

I stop her from sitting back down, enjoying the sight of her looming naked above me. I’m still dressed—loose shorts and a tee. I love the imbalance, the vulnerability it summons in her.

‘Just gonna look at me all day?’