Today is the 29th of July, and I'm now officially twenty years old.
To be honest, being twenty doesn't feel any different to being nineteen. I haven't suddenly become more responsible or mature since casting off my teenage mantle. I do, however, feel much more buoyed about having a birthday than I did this time last year, because right now, I'm sitting on a train bound for London, on my way to spending a whole precious day and night with Al.
Not at his parents' flat, though. I discovered a few weeks ago that the family apartment was out of bounds. Unless I give up medicine and sign up with MI5 or MI6 as a secret agent instead, I guess I'll never get to visit it.
For the last few weeks, Al and I have met up for a few hours every Wednesday in Meadowhall during his lunch-break as he's conveniently been working one day per week in Sheffield. It's better than nothing, but it's not the same any more. Without wanting to sound ungrateful, there's absolutely no replacement for waking up to Al in the mornings. I miss the intimacy. There's only so close I can get to him in public without being wildly inappropriate.
I'm supposed to be working tomorrow, but Mum has permitted me to take the day off in lieu of a 'London 20th party invite from Judith, Saffron and Veronica'. It's a whopper of a lie. Not only are none of the girls going to be present, but they wont even be remotely close to the city today. Veronica is on holiday in France, Saffron will be at her family home near Bath, and Judith lives even further afield in Belfast. However, at a bit of a stretch, I could justify that Belfast is only a stone's throw away from the county of Londonderry, and whilst the UK's capital was implied, I never actually specified which London I'd be visiting.
"Hey Sunny, happy birthday!"
Al is waiting for me in St Pancras station when my train rolls in, tall and breathtakingly handsome as always, hair crafted into what I call his 'wild and styled' look, as though he's just stepped out of a modelling photoshoot on a wind farm. He engulfs me in his arms and we share a long, lingering kiss right on the platform, not caring that we're causing an obstruction. I feel like pinching myself. How the Hell did I get so lucky and land up with him?
"I've missed you," I sigh when we finally break apart. "It feels like forever since I last saw you, even though it was only seven days ago. Why do you have to live so far away? Why do you have to work full-time during the summer holidays?"
Al places a soft kiss on my nose and laughs. "Is there any point in trying to defend myself? Here, let me take that." He puts a hand out for my luggage, but I push it away.
"It's okay, I can manage my own bag."
He flashes me an adorable grin. "I know that! Just let me carry it for you."
"Oh, if you must," I reply, lobbing it at him with a laugh. "So where are you taking me, then?"
"Where would you like to go?"
"Hmm, the Maldives or the Seychelles would be good," I reply dreamily. "Somewhere hot and exotic with a bright, white beach and a top-notch cocktail bar. I've always wanted to visit an Indian Ocean island paradise."
"I was thinking closer to home this year and slightly less sandy," frowns Al as we walk out of the station together, "but your dream destination has been noted for future reference."
"Al, I was only kidding! It costs a fortune to go to those places and it'd be way too embarrassing to accept something as lavish as that!"
"Choose somewhere less expensive then, if the price bothers you that much."
"Okay; McD's then."
"Fuck's sake; anywhere but there! I hate that place."
"Yeah, and whose birthday is this?"
"You really want to rot your insides with McD crap?" He sighs as though bitterly disappointed in my choice of cuisine, which is quite contradictory of him because I know full well he loves their fries. "Okay then, if you insist. It is your birthday after all."
"Where are we staying tonight, Al?" I ask, biting my lower lip suggestively. "Should we go there first?"
His mouth quirks into a seductive smile. "You know, that's not a bad idea at all."
Nothing works up an appetite for lunch quite like sex in a luxury hotel bed does, especially when it's the desperately wild, I-haven't-had-a-shag-for-over-a-month-and-if-I-don't-get-some-immediately-my-reproductive-parts-will-shrivel-and-die type. It's only after we've fulfilled that particular need that I really sit up and take notice of my surroundings.
This boy definitely doesn't do things on the cheap. He's booked us into a beautiful suite, which oozes opulence yet remains tasteful and classy. There's some sort of jacuzzi in the dark marble en-suite bathroom which I'm definitely indulging in later. And he's already cracked open the complimentary bottle of champagne sitting in a silver ice-bucket on a coffee table by the balcony. He pours us each a glass.
"We're drinking this now?"
"Sweetheart, if you're dragging me to McD's for lunch, I'm getting tipsy first. I don't want to face that shit-hole sober."
"Posh boy, if you're that averse, let's find a nice pizzeria or gourmet burger bar instead."
"I miss Enzo's," he says, looking slightly downcast. "I wonder if there's anything similar in Peru?"
"Enzo's will still be there when you return for fourth year," I murmur, taking a sip of the champagne and giving an appreciative sigh. "Mmm, this is really nice."
"I'm not coming back to Cambridge after Peru."
He says it so quietly that I almost don't hear. His words send a jolt of cold horror ricocheting through me and I nearly drop my champagne in shock.
"What do you mean you're not coming back?" I yelp. "Don't tell me you're planning on giving up medicine or staying in Peru forever? Don't you dare!"
I stare at him, pulse rate soaring, mouth suddenly dry despite the champagne that I've been tipping down it.
My outburst must have alarmed him, because he's quick to reassure me.
"Relax! I'm coming back home next year - of course I am - but I'll be studying elsewhere for the final part of my course, that's all," he says, taking my hand in his and making soothing circular motions on my palm with his thumb. "That was always part of the plan. Look - unfortunately, I can't explain it all yet - there's something I want to discuss with you before I go away. Something important."
"But you're not returning to Cambridge? Why? Where are you going instead? Why can't you tell me now? What the fuck's going on?" Jumbled words pour out of me in a torrent as I try to make sense of this unexpected information.
"Oh Sunny," he sighs, his brows knitting together in frustration. "I'm sorry, but you'll have to wait until I've worked some of the details out. I don't have all the answers yet."
"Is it a 'right moment' kind of thing?" I ask, crazy speculations already beginning to accumulate in my head. Where exactly is Al going with all this?
"Very much so. And I don't want to rush and ruin it. Now's not the time. Do you think you can wait a little longer, and in the meantime, forget I said anything?"
"Al! How the fuck am I supposed to forget something like that?"
He just gives me an appeasing grin and presses his lips to mine, sending my mouth completely haywire with his trademark intoxicating kiss. Which, I have to admit, is a very effective distraction technique.
There's no further discourse on the subject. I try to bolster myself with the fact that he's not emigrating permanently; he'll be back next year, and that will have to do for the moment. After all, I trust his judgement, as infuriating as that is for me right now.
As soon as we've polished off the champagne, we head out of the hotel and take a short walk along Oxford Street, where we engage in a fast-food-related dispute and wind up having lunch in a fancy burger restaurant called Gesso's. Then shortly after eating, we head to Hyde park where we sit down on an expanse of grass to digest our gourmet food and soak up some sunshine. Well, Al is sitting. I'm reclining with my head in his lap, my gaze alternating between the cloudless blue sky and my boyfriend's perfectly contoured face.
"Honestly, Al; McD's would have done! This whole day must be costing you a bloody fortune and we're only students! Twenty-five quid for a veggie burger is daylight robbery."
"But did you enjoy it?" he asks in his smooth Etonian voice, the one I'm sure he reserves purely for decapitating me in arguments.
"Well yes, but…"
"Then it was worth it."
Reluctantly accepting his logic, I pause for a while to study his features, mapping them in my mind in an effort to remember them exactly. The way his irises shift from emerald to sage to sea-foam, depending on the light and his mood. That little dimple sitting close to his mouth, activated by his smile. The shape of his lips and the manner in which they curve when he breaks into a heart-stopping grin. There's so much information I want to keep fresh in my mind.
"Al?"
"Hmm?"
"What's your favourite colour?"
He bursts out laughing. "What on earth are you asking me that for, Sunny? I dunno; it's not something I've ever thought about."
"Well think about it, okay?"
Al picks up a piece of my hair and idly twirls it between his fingers. "Are you going to tell me why?" he asks softly, his gaze so tender that it threatens to melt me completely.
"I just want to know, that's all. So what is it?"
"It all depends. Are we talking about colours I'd wear? Colours that I like the look of? Colours that I could live with in my room? Any chance you could be more specific?"
"An all-rounder - something you could wear, paint on your walls, look at without getting tired of."
"Okay." He furrows his forehead in thought. "I guess it would have to be grey."
"You can't have grey - that's my favourite. You'll have to pick a different one. We can't both like the same thing."
"Says who?"
"Says me, obviously," I reply, before dissolving into peals of laughter as he begins to tickle me mercilessly. "Stop!"
"Only if you let me have grey as my favourite as well."
"No! Get some originality, Al!"
"Wow, harsh! Okay, you can keep grey; I'll choose something different. Just tell me why you want to know."
"What colour are you having instead, then?"
"Blue."
"What shade?"
"I don't bloody know! A dark greeny-blue, maybe?"
"Teal, you mean?"
"Do I?"
"Yes, you do."
"Fine. Teal's my absolute favourite colour, no doubt about it. So tell me why you want to know, otherwise I'll resort to tactics. And you know I like to play dirty, sweetheart."
"Okay, okay! I just … want; oh, I don't want to say," I reply, shoving my face into his chest in embarrassment.
"Why not?" He slips a finger under my chin to tilt my face up to his, and gazes at me imploringly.
Fuck. I cannot resist that earnest expression.
"You'll laugh," I mumble.
"Try me."
Like a dam bursting, it all gushes out before I can halt it. "There's just so much simple stuff I don't know about you yet. All those little details I feel I should know, so that if I ever had to answer a quiz about my boyfriend, I'd know what to say. And…when you go away, I want something to hang onto," I say, taking a short breath to disguise the fact I'm almost choking on this heartfelt speech. "Mundane facts to remember. How can we say we're genuinely interested in each other if I don't know what size shoes you take or what your favourite vegetable is?"
"Eleven and a half, and potato."
"Pardon?"
"Eleven and a half, and potato," he repeats, an adorably stupid grin etched upon his face. "Shoe size and favourite vegetable."
"But…potatoes? Why, out of all the vegetables in the world, would you pick the most boring one?"
"Boring? Potatoes are so versatile! Mashed, fried, roasted, boiled, waffled, hash-browned…need I go on?"
"You could have opted for something interesting and shiny, like - I dunno - red peppers?"
"Red peppers are fruits, sweetheart."
"What utter bollocks. Cucumber, then."
"Also a fruit."
"All right then, clever-arse; a courgette."
"Yet another fruit."
"Since when?"
"Since forever. Look it up in a book if you don't believe me. Courgettes grow from the flower of the plant and have seeds in the middle. They're fruits, not vegetables."
"I've never encountered a fruit salad which contained courgettes."
"Just because it's a fruit, doesn't mean you have to eat it as one."
"Oh stop being so fucking right all the time. What's your favourite fruit, then? Something potato-level dull, like rhubarb?"
"No, because rhubarb is a vegetable."
"That's it; I'm leaving you. Consider yourself dumped, you bloody know-it-all," I huff, letting out a squeal as he wraps me up securely in his arms and bundles us both to the ground, kissing me senseless.
Approximately ten minutes later, after rolling around on the grass and giggling hysterically like children, we resume our discussion, beginning with his favourite animal (brown bear), journeying through children's book characters ("just what the fuck is a 'Winnie the Pooh?'") and ending when I feel the need for a snack.
"Tell you what," I murmur, still inwardly astounded that Al has never read any of A. 's stories about the famous yellow bear with no pants; where has this boy been all these years? "It's perfect ice-cream weather and I could do with something sweet now."
Al raises an eyebrow. "Hmm, let me guess. You'd pick pistachio, right?"
"Yes! And you'd choose…salted caramel?"
"Nailed it." He slaps my palm for a high-five. "I think I noticed an ice-cream parlour on our way here. Shall we see if we can find it again?"
The day progresses swiftly, as all my days in Al's company do, and the evening soon draws in. Twinkling lights reflect in the rippling water of the Thames and the air is warm and sultry as we make out way back to the hotel, full of food, drink and the joy of being with each other.
A busker, softly singing "Streets of London" to his own guitar accompaniment, draws my attention for a moment. I stop and listen to the end of the decades-old song, alongside a small collection of other people who are already lost to the music.
"I wish you'd serenade me one day, Al," I murmur wistfully, once the song finishes and we carry on walking again. "It would be so romantic! Rose in your teeth, strumming a few chords…I can just imagine it."
"I'm not sure you can," he replies drily. "I'm barely able to sing a note, with or without flowers in my mouth."
"Really? What about playing an instrument? You could borrow one from that busker."
"He's already using his guitar. I can't just nick it off him mid-play, can I?"
"You could play his triangle, Al."
"The what?"
"Didn't you see it? The triangle! The metal one dangling off his arm!" I reply, laughing incredulously at his blank expression. How can he not know what a fucking triangle is? "Did you never play percussion instruments at primary school?"
"I went to a very small school, okay? One which didn't have any triangles in it."
"As exclusive as that super-posh public school you went to? Honestly, there are huge gaps in your expensive education! I'd be asking for a refund if I were you."
"I guess I really should…" he begins, then seems to decide against continuing, because he just grins ruefully and shakes his head, leaving the rest of his sentence unsaid. He looks up briefly into the dusky sky, where the full moon hangs like gleaming ivory over our heads, and emits a quiet groan. "Come on, Sunny; let's get back."
My hand rests in his as we proceed down neon-lit streets to our hotel, the slightly calloused texture of his palm comforting and reassuringly safe as always.
We step into our room and I kick my shoes off before throwing myself onto our bed, taking full advantage of its super-king dimensions, and sighing in satisfaction as I stretch my limbs across the whole of its surface.
"I hope you're not planning on sleeping like that," says Al drily, rummaging through his bag for something, "because I don't fancy having to kip in the jacuzzi, you know."
"Mmm," I reply, noncommittally. "Forgot about the jacuzzi. Might have to test-run it in a bit."
He nudges me a moment later, and carefully moves my leg so that he can perch on the edge of the bed. "Here. These are for you."
"Al, you have to stop giving me stuff!" I reply, rolling over and sitting up in embarrassment as he hands me several parcels wrapped in silvery paper. "This whole day has been more than enough."
"It's your birthday, Sunny! Of course I'd want you to have something. Anyway, these presents are mostly silly. You'll see when you open them."
I begin with the largest, squishiest one first. Having no patience with wrapping paper, not even paper as nice as this, I rip forcefully into the package, staring in surprise when I see the contents.
"A scarf and gloves?"
"So you don't get cold when cycling to University next winter, because there might not always be someone on hand to help you use your bike locks," he replies, a hint of pink creeping over his cheeks.
I extract the garments from their wrappings. Not just any old scarf and gloves. The scarf is of the thickest, most luxuriant wool I have ever encountered, and the fur-lined gloves are made from some rich, buttery-soft black leather with a faint emerald sheen.
"Now I feel totally spoilt! These are gorgeous and so thoughtful. Thanks, Al," I say in genuine appreciation, leaning over to give him a kiss on the lips, before eagerly opening a second parcel. "What's in this next one? A…pen?"
"To replace the one that I borrowed from you and never returned."
"But this is much, much nicer than the one I gave you," I remark, turning the black-and-silver ballpoint pen over in my palm and squinting to read the brand name inscribed around the cap. "Montblanc. It's really lovely. I'll think of you every time I'm using it in an exam."
"In between bouts of panic, you mean," he quips, tucking a stray lock of hair behind my ear.
"Fucking cheek." I side-eye him in faux annoyance, as I tear into the third gift. "Oh my God, Al, this is super-cute!" I laugh in delight.
I pull out a little glass stegosaurus model and hold it in my cupped palm, tilting it slightly so it catches the light and makes bright rainbows appear on the bed-cover.
"Memento of the Zoology museum. I know you can still visit that place whenever you like because you're not leaving Cambridge, but I saw this little guy and thought you might want to give him a home. Here," he says, pushing the fourth item towards me. "This is the last one."
"I'm already completely overwhelmed," I murmur, as I hesitantly take the present and begin to pick my way into it. "I don't think I can cope with any more. Oh…"
A delicate silver chain, studded with the tiniest rubies, sparkles from a nest of plush black velvet. "To match the bracelet," says Al quietly. "This one is just because."
"Al, I can't possibly accept all these things," I say in hushed bewilderment. "It's too much! You're ruining me with your generosity - how do I ever repay you?"
"There's nothing to repay," he says gently. "Sunny, I don't expect you to understand, but when I'm with you, I feel completely free from any constraint, as though I can finally just be myself. I don't have to put on a performance or worry about ulterior motives…"
"Performance? Ulterior motives?" I ask curiously, as memories of the Valentine dance come flooding back, where I wondered if Al was perhaps descended from royalty or born into a celebrity family. Is this why he's been so cagey about what his father does for a living, and why I can't visit the family flat? Of course! It all makes total sense to me now. He's the son of someone famous!
"Some people…well, let's just say that not everyone wants to know me for who I am."
"You'll always be 'Al Potter' to me," I reassure him, relieved and rather proud to have worked it out for myself. "Or Al Basrah Potter, or whatever your full name is. Is this what you wanted to discuss?"
"Kind of, I suppose. Not tonight, though."
"That's okay. Take your time and I'll stop pestering," I reply, wrapping my arms around him. "But I do have one request for you tonight."
"Oh?"
"Let's have a shag in the jacuzzi."
Nothing beats the melodic sound of Al's rich laugh, or the strength of his toned arms as he scoops me up from the bed and carries me towards the bathroom. Apart from the sex, of course. But that goes without saying…
"Sunny?"
"Mmm?"
Yawning, I unfurl my arms slowly, not quite ready to prise open my eyelids, but vaguely aware that it's morning. I roll over sleepily towards Al's side of the bed, expecting to make contact with his warm body, but to my surprise, there's just an empty wrinkled bed-sheet in his place. Blearily, I gaze around in search of him. He's sitting on the edge of the bed, already wearing his dark jeans, his torso still bare.
"Shame I had to wake you. You were smiling in your sleep," he says softly, leaning over and kissing me gently on my lips. "I'm so sorry Sunny, but I've got to go. Work called - they need me today."
"Oh yeah, your bloody job," I mutter in drowsy annoyance. "Tell them to bugger off. You're taking a vacation."
"I wish it was that simple," sighs Al. "They pay for my education and I have to work during my holidays, remember?"
"I wish we could do this every day."
"Same. Although it would be a fast-track to poverty if we did. Living in hotels isn't a cheap long-term prospect. But stay as long as you want today, yeah? I've got the bill covered."
"Al!" I protest. "At least let me help pay for all this!"
"It's your birthday, remember? You're not paying for anything."
"It was my birthday yesterday. I can pay for things today."
"Don't you dare try!" Al says firmly as he pulls on a clean white t-shirt
"Al?"
"Hmm?"
"When will I see you again?"
"Next Wednesday, of course. I'll meet you in Meadowhall as per usual."
"I wish we could have longer together."
"Me too," he sighs. "I'll try, but I'm unlikely to be able to get away next month, even on weekends. If we're as short-staffed and busy as we've been during July, there's no way they'll let me take any extra time off."
I gaze at him beseechingly. "Please let me visit you instead? I can just sit around in your house or flat and we could have the evenings together. I promise I won't look at anything I shouldn't. Hell, I'll even keep my eyes closed while you lead me there if that helps."
"Sunny, as much as I'd love to come home to you after work, I can't. My shifts are erratic and I've already said; it would be a security issue if you stayed in the flat because of the nature of Dad's job."
"I wish you could tell me what it is he does. I'm intrigued, but I'd never tell anyone, you know I wouldn't. We always said we'd not keep secrets from each other."
"It's not my secret to tell! I'm working on it…"
The end of his sentence peters into nothing and I realise I'm being a selfish, pushy bitch, wanting more of Al than he's able to give. I promised him yesterday that I'd give him time, and I'd hate myself if I let him leave now whilst thinking ill of me.
"Al?"
"Hmm?"
"Thank you. For spending my birthday with me. For all this. For everything."
"You're more than welcome. I'll try and figure something out so we can meet up properly again soon. Oh, and don't forget to eat some breakfast before you go, okay?"
Al reaches over to plant the gentlest whisper of a kiss on my forehead and cup my cheek with his palm. Within a couple of minutes, he's gone, leaving behind the echo of his footsteps and me alone in this vast expanse of bed.
Just how am I going to cope without him for a whole year?