face still pensive as he thumbed open his cigarette packet. Then he switched gear, instantly alert, as if seeing me for the first time in all my city-girl awkwardness.
‘Hey, here.’ He stuffed his cigarettes into his pocket and stepped close, offering a hand, his smile strained.
My fears melted into relief. He was pleasant and kind, not evil at all. I had nothing to be afraid of. I grasped his fingertips, reassured by their strength as I tottered over the wooden structure. I plunged down to the grassy path, shifting my weight onto his hand. His grip tightened in response, fingers curling into mine.
His fingers, oh God. That small moment of intimacy and support. Something broke inside me. Such a cliché, I know, but that’s how it felt, as if a bar of steel which had taken up residence behind my sternum was shattering into a soaring fragility. A sob rose, too high and hard to contain, a tsunami of emotion. I made a sound, a strangled wail, my shoulders crunching, my eyes flooding.
Sol was motionless, still clasping my hand like a chivalric prince. To think that he held me so politely as I ruptured. To think it, oh God. So close. I heaved for breath and straightened my back, pinching my lips together. I made my eyes wide, fighting back tears as I shook my head. ‘Don’t be kind to me,’ I wanted to say. ‘Don’t be kind.’ But I couldn’t speak. My constricted throat wouldn’t let me form words.
Sol stared in bewilderment, the light of pale leaf-ghosts flickering over his face. For a second, we were worlds apart. I might have been on the other side of the stile, where order reigned. Then his face softened and he clutched me in a hard embrace, hiding me in his shadows. He nestled me in the crook of his neck, tilting his chin as he cradled my head, his other arm wrapped tight across my back. His chest was a solid wall of security, and the scent of his skin made me weak.
‘Hey, it’s OK,’ he soothed. ‘If you need to cry, go for it. I’m here, I’ll hold you.’
I gazed into the blur of his T-shirt, tears falling fast as I fought to put the brakes on. If I started crying properly I might never stop.
‘This sucks,’ he murmured. ‘Such a shock. He can’t have been more than mid-thirties. And only hours ago we were all …
I gulped for calmer breath, digging my fingernails into my palms again as I quelled the tears. I could hear Sol’s heart pumping steadily in his ribcage. Dark splashes marked his tee. I remembered his tennis-match sweat dripping from his torso onto the stone floor of the utility room, and the blood which surfaced on his lip when he laughed. All these liquids; all this life. Bodies which can’t contain themselves.
How long ago that utility-room meeting seemed. How uncomplicated and innocent. If only we could rewind and do the day differently. I could barely comprehend how rigid the dividing line was, how this sudden death had fallen like a guillotine. There was a before and an after for us. For Misha, there was nothing, neither before nor after, unless you believed in heaven.
And right at that moment, across the world, were Misha’s friends and family, oblivious to his death, unaware that a bomb was about to explode in the timeline of their lives. How could this man, who’d recently been so vital, now be cold and breathless? The heart behind his ribcage didn’t beat, and yet Sol’s was a dull, regular thud in my ear. How arbitrary life seemed. How prosaically fragile, when it was contingent on the functioning of this organ, on meat.
‘You OK?’ asked Sol, stroking my hair.
I tried to remember when a man had last held me so closely. Probably Jonathan as our marriage nosedived and we didn’t dare face it. Sol’s embrace seemed to me the essence of humanity, the living comforting each other in the face of death, two bodies with heartbeats finding solace together. For an instant, I saw the chambers of the heart as four glorious, magical cathedrals, keepers of life in all its
‘Hey, here.’ He stuffed his cigarettes into his pocket and stepped close, offering a hand, his smile strained.
My fears melted into relief. He was pleasant and kind, not evil at all. I had nothing to be afraid of. I grasped his fingertips, reassured by their strength as I tottered over the wooden structure. I plunged down to the grassy path, shifting my weight onto his hand. His grip tightened in response, fingers curling into mine.
His fingers, oh God. That small moment of intimacy and support. Something broke inside me. Such a cliché, I know, but that’s how it felt, as if a bar of steel which had taken up residence behind my sternum was shattering into a soaring fragility. A sob rose, too high and hard to contain, a tsunami of emotion. I made a sound, a strangled wail, my shoulders crunching, my eyes flooding.
Sol was motionless, still clasping my hand like a chivalric prince. To think that he held me so politely as I ruptured. To think it, oh God. So close. I heaved for breath and straightened my back, pinching my lips together. I made my eyes wide, fighting back tears as I shook my head. ‘Don’t be kind to me,’ I wanted to say. ‘Don’t be kind.’ But I couldn’t speak. My constricted throat wouldn’t let me form words.
Sol stared in bewilderment, the light of pale leaf-ghosts flickering over his face. For a second, we were worlds apart. I might have been on the other side of the stile, where order reigned. Then his face softened and he clutched me in a hard embrace, hiding me in his shadows. He nestled me in the crook of his neck, tilting his chin as he cradled my head, his other arm wrapped tight across my back. His chest was a solid wall of security, and the scent of his skin made me weak.
‘Hey, it’s OK,’ he soothed. ‘If you need to cry, go for it. I’m here, I’ll hold you.’
I gazed into the blur of his T-shirt, tears falling fast as I fought to put the brakes on. If I started crying properly I might never stop.
‘This sucks,’ he murmured. ‘Such a shock. He can’t have been more than mid-thirties. And only hours ago we were all …
I gulped for calmer breath, digging my fingernails into my palms again as I quelled the tears. I could hear Sol’s heart pumping steadily in his ribcage. Dark splashes marked his tee. I remembered his tennis-match sweat dripping from his torso onto the stone floor of the utility room, and the blood which surfaced on his lip when he laughed. All these liquids; all this life. Bodies which can’t contain themselves.
How long ago that utility-room meeting seemed. How uncomplicated and innocent. If only we could rewind and do the day differently. I could barely comprehend how rigid the dividing line was, how this sudden death had fallen like a guillotine. There was a before and an after for us. For Misha, there was nothing, neither before nor after, unless you believed in heaven.
And right at that moment, across the world, were Misha’s friends and family, oblivious to his death, unaware that a bomb was about to explode in the timeline of their lives. How could this man, who’d recently been so vital, now be cold and breathless? The heart behind his ribcage didn’t beat, and yet Sol’s was a dull, regular thud in my ear. How arbitrary life seemed. How prosaically fragile, when it was contingent on the functioning of this organ, on meat.
‘You OK?’ asked Sol, stroking my hair.
I tried to remember when a man had last held me so closely. Probably Jonathan as our marriage nosedived and we didn’t dare face it. Sol’s embrace seemed to me the essence of humanity, the living comforting each other in the face of death, two bodies with heartbeats finding solace together. For an instant, I saw the chambers of the heart as four glorious, magical cathedrals, keepers of life in all its
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