In my defence, none of that is a lie.
She shrugs out of my jacket and hands it back to me with a sheepish smile, which transforms into a long look which could be anything from concern to intrigue.
‘You’re allergic to sunlight?’ she asks eventually, her voice careful and slow.
I mean, no, but it’s as good a way to explain it as any.
‘Essentially, yes.’
She nods, brows pinching tighter. ‘Does anything soothe it? Aftersun? Holy water?’
My laugh bursts out a little too loudly, and I disguise the moment of panic by rummaging in my jacket pocket for my pill box. ‘Antihistamines help with the itching,’ I say, and swallow down the small white pill without water, trying not to grimace at its bitter taste. Let’s be honest, I need to claw back some cool points in case she finds out about my prescription sunscreen. There’s really no sexy way to explain that.
‘Come on,’ I say instead, popping the collar on my jacket. It’s already begun to smell of her perfume, and I sneak a lungful when she’s not looking. It’s fresh and sweet, floral, but with a warmth that reaches fingers deep into my chest. I just want to breathe it in forever.
In a cool way, obviously.
We reach the top of the steps, and I lead her through the graveyard and around the side of the church. It’s a path I must have taken hundreds of times, but every time I get here, to this spot, I feel the same rush of relief. I don’t know if it’s the view, or the cliff, or the way that the wind seems to hit you from two directions at once, but somewhere along the line, this bench in the shade of the church became my sanctuary. There isn’t much I haven’t processed here over the years.
Grief, heartbreak, fear, loss.
Immortality.
‘This is the second thing,’ I say, and I turn to face Lucy, who is visibly confused.
She turns, taking in the surroundings. ‘What am I looking for?’ she asks, and I can’t help but chuckle at her bewilderment.
‘This is Heartbreak Bench,’ I say, gesturing to the bench behind me. She follows me the three strides it takes us to reach it and sits beside me.
‘This,’ I say, patting the worn wooden slats beneath us, ‘is where I come when I’m feeling bad.’ My fingers move to the brass plaque on the back of the bench: a memorial to a person I never knew. ‘It always makes me feel better.’
She blows out the tiniest of breaths. ‘A graveyard makes you feel better?’ There’s incredulity in her voice, but no judgement.
It makes me smile again. ‘Absolutely.’ I shrug. ‘’Cause I figure that, whatever’s happened, at least I’m still on top of the ground and not underneath it.’
Her eyes widen. ‘That’s… pretty dark.’
I laugh, motioning vaguely to myself. ‘Hi, I’m Bram. Nice to meet you.’
That makes her laugh too, and for a second there’s something in the air– some beautiful tension in the way she meets my eyes. It’s like a connection, that same thread pulling me in. For a second, nothing else exists, and it doesn’t matter what my golden rule is or that we’re within spitting distance of a church, or that we’re surrounded by goths taking questionable selfies with the headstones.
Old Bram–humanBram– would have given in to this feeling. He’d have pulled Lucy in for a kiss without a moment’s hesitation. He wouldn’t have worried about doing the right thing, or about timing, or about consequences. But I’m not him anymore, and this version of me has a lot more to lose.
I break the eye contact before I lose myself in it, scanning the coastline as a distraction. The wind is sharper up here, butit’s still a beautiful autumn day, and I can feel the warmth of the sun through the leather of my jacket. The sky’s a deep blue, which reflects a little in the water, itself choppy and textured and glinting with small reflections of the sun’s rays. I silently hope I’ve put enough of my factor 500 on to stave off any more skin issues.
Around us, a strange collection of people mill about: goths in their finest, hikers walking around them, families enjoying what could be the last warm day of the year. I watch an old couple walk a dog down the path until they vanish through the gate.
It’s only then that I chance a look back at Lucy.
She’s looking out to sea, over the fence and across to the jut of the twin piers into open water. Her brows are pulled together in concentration, her lips parted just a little as she appreciates the view. I can’t resist doing the exact same thing. Only, if I’m being really honest, I’m not looking out to sea.
It’s a little while before either of us speaks again, and it surprises me that she’s the one to break the silence first.
‘It is actually beautiful up here,’ she says, not quite pulling her eyes from the horizon.
I nod, though I know she can’t see it. ‘You know what makes it better?’
That breaks the spell, and she turns to me, brows pulled together. She shakes her head, and I pull the two bags of fudge from my pocket with a flourish. I’ve found I can survive on human food, and though I do best on a meat-only diet, I can’t resist the odd treat. And this fudge is worth every last stomach cramp.