She’s made me my own little beach in this cellar room, just a bag of sand and two deckchairs, and I think it’s one of the most thoughtful things anyone’s ever done for me.
I lower myself into the deckchair next to hers and pull off my shoes and socks, wiggling my feet down into the soft sand.
Growing up at the seaside has made the scratch of sand between my toes feel vital, and the idea that I might never do it again hit me like a slap across the face. I almost couldn’t breathe, back there on the beach. Suddenly, the weight of everything that could be coming felt like too much, and my vision began to blur, the edges darkening until the only thing I could see was right in front of me.
In that moment, the only thing I could focus on was Florence.
And she knew exactly what to do to make me feel better.
‘Thank you,’ I say now, turning to face her. She looks a little flushed, her cheeks and nose pinker than their usual shade. I wonder if she might be blushing before I realise it’s probably nothing more than a skin reaction from the sun exposure. But then the smile that brightens her face at my words is more. I feel that smile in every part of my body.
‘I wanted you to know that not all is lost,’ she says, reaching out a hand. I take it in mine, linking our fingers. ‘If you do turn, I mean. It’s a change,’ she continues, ‘of course it is, but you get used to it. Some things might be gone forever, but in their place you’ll discover new things.’
But what if I die?my brain whispers.What then?I don’t dare say it out loud, though. It’s hard enough to think it.
Instead, I revel in the feeling of her skin against mine. Her hands are a little warmer than usual, as though they’ve retained a little of the sun’s heat. Either way, the contact is warming me too, sending sparks of electricity racing across my skin and down my spine.
She looks beautiful there, lounging in a dusty old deckchair, her hair splayed over the striped cloth, whisky-brown eyes focused on me. I want to kiss her, to drag her over to me and show her with my mouth what I’m too inarticulate to put into words, but I don’t want to ruin this. What we have.
I’ve ruined far lesser connections with my enthusiasm, with my stupid tendency to jump first and look second. This thing with Florence, whatever it is, feels too precious to do that. So instead, I sit back in my chair and return her smile.
‘You know,’ she says then, her free hand tracing a line across the fabric of the deckchair, following the visible seam. ‘I think we need to reassess the timeline here. We’ve been thinking about the things you’ll miss about being human, but maybe it’s time I showed you the perks of beingundead instead. We can’t afford to wait days between these things anymore. Not when your symptoms are getting worse.’
The groove of concern between her brows makes my stomach plummet but I mask it with a cocky smile. ‘It’s time for my vampire dates?’
I watch her bite back a smile and the sight of it eases the awful feeling in my gut.
‘Vampireexperiences,’ she corrects, and it makes me laugh out loud.
‘We’ll see.’
‘A little heater down here wouldn’t be a bad idea,’ she says, making a show of ignoring my comment. ‘The sunlight is obviously a bit of a no-no now, but the way it warms you through is something we could recreate.’
I notice theweshe throws in, and it affects me more than it probably should. I hum a yes, hoping that she doesn’t notice my sudden silence. Because something else is warming me through and it hasn’t got a single thing to do with the sun.
Could I do it? Could I be a vampire?
It seems impossible sometimes, what with the blood issue and all, but I can’t help finding myself wondering about a future in which that happens. Could I overcome my fear enough that I could have a chance at a future with Florence? If that’s my only choice to survive?
I don’t know.
What I do know is that I have to make the most of things while I’m still able.
I stretch out in my deckchair, revelling in the scrape of the sand on the soles of my feet. ‘So, tell me,’ I say, unable to resist teasing her, ‘what’s it like being two hundred?’
She side-eyes me. ‘You know perfectly well how old I am.’
‘I know,’ I say through a laugh. ‘I’m sorry.’
Her eyes are still narrowed at me, but I notice a tiny pull at the corner of her mouth, and that’s my payoff. Florence trying not to be entertained by my bullshit might be my favourite thing in the world.
I smile back as I study her, my head lolling against the old fabric of the deckchair. ‘Is it weird?’
‘Is what weird?’ Her brows tug together, like she’s trying to get a handle on the sudden change of mood.
‘I mean, when I think about all the changes you must have seen in your lifetime, I just…’ I blow out a breath, trying to get the words in order in my head. ‘I can’t comprehend it.’
‘It’s a different world,’ she replies, her voice soft. Her eyes leave mine and scan the room while she talks. ‘Better and worse. But you take the changes as they come. It’s not like flicking through a history book. Things happen gradually, over years or decades, and by the time you notice anything’s different, you’re different too.’