“Yeah.”
“Okay, cool.”
The moment we were swallowed by the forest, Kyle pushed me up against a tree, putting his hands either side of my face. We kissed like there was no tomorrow, which there wasn’t really. Well, there were limited amounts of tomorrow… I couldn’t believe I’d waited seventeen long years before doing something so great. The way he tasted, the way he caught his hands up in my mess of hair, the way he’d pull away from me, just to stare, before lowering his mouth again.
The milk was practically off by the time we’d managed to bring it back to the campers.
Yep – each day was torture. Having to talk about camp. Having to deal with runny noses, or grazed knees, or arguments over whose turn it was to have the special gold pen, and homesickness, or I-don’t-like-spaghetti, when I could be learning Kyle’s favourite book, or all his best and worst childhood memories, or what book-to-film adaptation made him the most angry, and where he kept his Prom King crown – and all the other tiny intricacies of a person that you only learn through time, when time was the one thing we didn’t really have.
But the night-times… They were the opposite of whatever torture was.
I’d wait, every night, in my room – listening to Kevin and Mum’s going to bed noises. I’d feign sleep until they went quiet. Which, for at least two nights in a row, took far too long. Mum had a mini insomnia patch, and I could hear her pacing around the living room, making cocoa, not realizing just how much she tortured me. I’d lie, waiting, staring at the wall, unable to keep still, my entire body anticipating Kyle…
When the cabin finally went quiet, I’d jump out of bed, shoving any bits of clothes on, before bolting through the door and running towards the small clearing outside Kyle’s cabin.
He’d always be there, waiting for me. A smile already on his face, before he’d even seen me in the darkness.
“Amber.”
And we’d mesh together, in a frenzy of kissing and touching and giggling. His fingers trailing all over my body. The weight of his body keeping me warm from the cool evening air. Touching each other’s faces, tracing the details with our fingers to the backing vocals of cicadas.
We talked too, of course. Between all the kissing. There was nothing I didn’t want to know about him.
“So, Mr Fan of Musical Theatre.” I’d dragged some cushions out with me and we’d made a mini-camp under the trees. “What’s your best bit of any musical, ever?”
Kyle absent-mindedly played with my hair. “Is this the point where I pretend to be all macho, and act like I don’t have one?”
I kissed his cheek.
“This is the point where you tell me the truth. And, just so you know, that point always needs to be the point. I will have no macho posturing thank you very much. I’m not the kind of girl who likes all that nonsense.”
More kissing. My insides melted in on themselves with happiness.
“Delay tactics won’t work,” I said, after a huge amount of kissing that led to one very long delay.
“Okay then.” Kyle leaned back against the tree, picked up a stray pine cone and began expertly tossing it from one hand to another. “There’s this bit, right at the start of Phantom of the Opera… It begins with this auction at the old opera house – everything is dusty and covered in sheets. All the actors and actresses are made up to look old… So you know we’re at the end of the story, before it’s even been told if that makes any sense? Anyway, the final lot is this gigantic chandelier. And then, all of a sudden, WHAM. The old chandelier turns on in a big blast of light, and all this crazy music starts, and the chandelier starts rising up above the audience. All the sheets are thrown off the set, and you’re transported back into the opera house’s glory days… Yeah –” Kyle looked down, embarrassed – “whenever that bit happens, I basically almost piss my pants.”
We both burst out laughing. “I’m such a loser.”
“You’re not. I know that bit – it’s good! Anyway I get excited in any song with a key change.”
“Key changes are so exciting!”
“Especially if boy bands do them, and all get off their stools at the same time.”
“Do British boy bands do that too? Wow, who knew the key change stool stand was an international phenomenon?”
I pushed a cushion over my bare feet to keep them warm. “Have you ever read an Andrew Lloyd Webber biography then?”
“Does one even exist?”
“I’m not sure. But I do remember hearing this rumour… that he has a massive…umm…appendage.” I was glad it was dark, as I’d started blushing.
Kyle cracked up laughing. “How could you POSSIBLY know that?”
I laughed too. “It’s a well-known fact. It’s a monster apparently.”
“Jesus, this changes everything.”
“What does it change?”
“I’m not sure… I need to digest this information for a while. Everything I thought I knew has been…drastically altered.”
We laughed more.
“Amber?”
“Yes?”
More kisses.
“Why are we sitting in a wood, in the middle of the night, discussing the size of Andrew Lloyd Webber’s schlong?”
“Do you not like it?”
“No, it’s not that…”
I unravelled myself from his arm, so I could better look at his face. He was staring at me, really staring. It made me feel vulnerable, but in a really nice way.
“I’ve got a knack for bringing up inappropriate topics of conversation. The very first Spinster Club meeting I organized was about periods. I announced the agenda over lunch.”
Kyle laughed and pulled me back under his arm. “You see. We’ve jumped from Andrew’s tool to menstruation… What’s next?”
I peeked up at him. Even the underside of his nostrils were attractive. It was overwhelming, how much…something…love, maybe? (No it was too soon for that…) But something was oozing off me in waves. All I wanted was to look at him, talk to him, be with him.
“I can totally ruin the whole evening and tell you all my bad childhood memories of my mother?” I joked.
Kyle’s face dropped. “I want to hear all that too. And it would never ruin anything.”
I clung to him tight.
“You say that…”
“I mean that…”
“Should we talk about periods instead?”
Kyle wiggled us both down, so our backs were on the ground, looking up at the sky through the trees. “You know what, Miss Inappropriate? We don’t have to talk at all.”
SITUATIONS THAT ARE DESTINED TO FAIL:
Hearing the romantic story of how your parents met
+
After their bitter divorce
Twenty-seven
From: LongTallAmber
To: LottieIsAlwaysRight, EvieFilmGal
Subject: Is there something wrong with me?
…I literally can’t stop smiling. Like, at all. You know me. This is not usual. Have I got a disease?
From: LottieIsAlwaysRight
To: LongTallAmber
Subject: RE Is there something wrong with me?
Yes you have a disease. Hopefully by now a SEXUAL DISEASE.
From: EvieFilmGal
To: LongTallAmber
Subject: RE RE Is there something wrong with me?
It’s okay. Lottie’s calmed down now, and admits that romanticizing STIs isn’t appropriate, or funny.
IT WAS A BIT FUNNY… That was Lottie taking over my computer. So, we take it you’ve kissed him then? Sounds like you’re falling hard, girl. We’re happy for you. Though, hasn’t it only been like a week? That is falling both hard and fast.
IGNORE EVIE, SHE IS FAR TOO SENSIBLE. FALL IN LOVE AND USE A CONDOM.