It was a long moment before he answered and she realized what it was that she saw in him. Pain. ‘Everyone. There was an accident and . . . my wife, child, father . . . I lost them all.’
She stared at him, open-mouthed, words stoppered in her throat. None would do. ‘Oh my God,’ she whispered finally. ‘Emil, that’s –’
His eyes flashed to her again as he heard his name in her voice.
‘I just don’t know what to say.’
‘No one ever does,’ he said, shrugging his eyebrows with a tired smile, and she saw how the loss curled up in him like a sleeping mouse. She felt a swipe of guilt, for his was surely the greater: his wife, child, father . . . it was as multi-layered as a peony, a blade on every petal. ‘Words aren’t enough.’
He was right – they weren’t. Words didn’t bring back souls that had taken flight; they weren’t arms that could hold her in the night.
They let a silence envelop them, the distant beat from the Yacht Hotel dance floor drifting over like mist on the water. Time was beginning to lose its edges. It was well after midnight now, the sky still a brilliant red as though set to pause on a dazzling sunset, a perpetual dusk.
‘Flares,’ he murmured, looking at a point beyond her head.
She looked back over her shoulder, just as a burst of red smoke painted the sky. It was too light for fireworks to work their magic, but it was something, a last spectacle to keep the party spirit going. ‘Oh wow.’
‘You can see them better from here, if you want,’ he said, shifting up the bench seat slightly as explosion after explosion rocked the archipelago. Red, purple, green.
His gaze was fixed on the sky as she came over and sat down beside him, wordlessly. Still, she immediately felt the shift at the new proximity. They weren’t touching but she could feel his body heat as they watched the light show, two strangers, alone together on the shortest night of the year – both sad, both broken, both a bit drunk.
She had finished her beer, the bottle sitting empty and light in her hands. It was her cue to go, soon.
‘I love Midsommar,’ he murmured, before she could stir, as though sensing her thoughts. ‘As a boy, I thought it was better than Christmas.’
‘Mmm, it’s not a patch on St George’s Day,’ she murmured back, prompting him to look over at her quizzically – until he saw her deadpan expression.
He grinned at her quip. ‘Now who’s being controversial?’
They continued to look into the sky, but, too soon, the show was coming to an end, the punk colours and intermittent bangs dwindling.
‘What is it you like about Midsommar so much?’ she asked, not wanting to leave yet.
‘Growing up, my mother used to tell me it was our consolation for all the months of darkness we had to endure –’
Consolation . . . She looked at him and found he was already watching her.
‘– And now, as an adult, I hate the darkness. I would happily never sleep again. I want the shortest night, every night.’
Time contracted in on itself as she looked into those eyes. She was drunk, but they both knew what he was saying. They’d had their dark days; tonight was about grabbing the light . . . Their consolations . . .
She realized something suddenly.
‘You’re speaking in English,’ she whispered, seeing that his gaze was on her lips and feeling the indefinable something that hovered between them – an instinctive locking of spirits – bloom into being.
‘I know. Are you impressed yet?’
Slowly, so slowly, she leaned towards him, stopping with her face just inches from his, his eyes roaming hers for an answer to a question she didn’t yet know. His hand cupped the back of her head, holding her, before his lips pressed gently on hers – softly at first, then firmer – and she sensed the world shifting around them, changing by a single degree.
Chapter Ten
‘Where have you been?’ Tove asked, almost falling out of the chair as Bell opened the squeaky gate, her crown lopsided on her head, her hair particularly bed-headed this morning.
Bell winked as she closed it behind her and stretched her arms high above her head. She felt like she was floating on air.
‘You did not! Who?’ Tove gasped with deep melodrama. ‘You weren’t even dancing with anyone.’