Cover Story - 65

I can’t leave, I don’t want to leave , Connor had thought, while ‘The Queen Is Dead’ thundered in his ears on his final morning run around Salford Quays, except this pervasive ennui made no sense because he absolutely did want to leave.

When he was comforting Bel, without his shirt on and somehow unselfconscious about the fact, what was going on came into very clear focus: he didn’t want to leave her.

It wasn’t the moment he’d have chosen to fully understand himself. After Psycho Tumnus and Bitter Tim, Connor was supposed to be the reliable pal, not the next applicant.

After ‘you’re human’, he’d wanted to add: the only one I lie awake at night thinking about, possibly my favourite one but it definitely wasn’t the time. Sadly, time wasn’t something they now had much of.

Worse, it seemed this wasn’t merely ‘fancying’ Bel. He could tell his symptoms were not going to abate if they had a night together, or even a fling. It would probably make his suffering even more acute. It was as if Connor had put off seeing the GP until he was an urgent A&E case. Except the dangerously high fever was Bel Macauley.

If it wasn’t simply fancying her, he asked himself what word he might use instead to sum up the combination of adoration, fascination, tenderness and fierce desire he felt towards her. It had one syllable and, as soon as he spoke it in his head, he knew it applied.

What practical use was this surreal revelation? He couldn’t disgrace himself and embarrass her by revealing that their game of splashing around the shallow end for show had seen him accidentally drown. Falling for her was, apart from anything else, idiotically suggestible.

Of course he got on famously with her family, who were a total delight, a demonstration to him of things that would never be. Her mother had short grey hair and an aristocratic bone structure, very well-spoken but entirely friendly. Connor had briefly worried ‘what if Miles was a to-the-manor-born Guy Ritchie film character’, but he was a great laugh, and Connor genuinely felt that in different circumstances they’d be friends.

As he embarked on a wedding day with Bel at his side, he thought, is there the smallest chance she has started to feel feelings for me? Unfortunately, paying closer attention suggested: lol no.

When Bel said she’d love them to stay ‘friends’, then teasingly inquired if he and Jennifer would be back on in London – as if he’d do that, and as if she’d not care in the slightest! – Connor could see that while her regard for him had soared, when it came to attraction towards him, nothing had changed. To be fair, why would it have? It still hurt.

Then came the catastrophic wonder of there being a legitimate reason to offer to kiss her as a favour. The opportunity served up to him as if a benevolent God decided Connor should have a wish granted before his life continued on its sad-sack trajectory.

Obviously, circumstances conspired to force it, but if Bel was willing to do it, she couldn’t find him wholly off-putting.

It was strange, auditioning for a role he so badly wanted, trying to communicate passion in a way that would make her think: woah, maybe I’d like to do this for pleasure as well as business. Connor thought he’d go all in, give it his best shot. He feigned confidence he didn’t have in response to her nervousness and just kissed her like she’d asked him to do it for real.

And, oh God, of course it was shockingly perfect: compatibility and chemistry and the sweet softness of her. It felt like confessing everything, non-verbally.

He could see the surprise on her face afterwards that surely he wasn’t that good an actor. It somehow affected his vocal chords when he tried to speak to her. She said are they looking over? and Connor was momentarily completely unable to wrench himself out of the fantasy and simply said: I don’t know . He could’ve just as easily said, ‘I don’t care’, and in a way he wished he had and then it would be done, dealt with, out there.

Although unfair on her, given they still had to share a bed.

Connor tried to detect if they’d shifted gears, yet Bel seemed more insouciant than ever. As soon as they were back in the room, kicking her heels off, putting Point Break on.

Bel was still in the floofy feminine dress, like a bedraggled Tinkerbell. Something about the layers of froth in her hitched-up skirts, her bare legs stretched out beneath, made Connor think unclean thoughts. He could grab her waist, pull her down the bed towards him …

She began joking about paying him gigolo cash and once again Connor thought: are you hinting that you’re authentically enjoying this, or are you reminding me it’s pragmatism?

Either way, he wasn’t going to say no, taking his own shoes off and pulling himself up next to her. She leaned back on his chest, and Connor did what felt natural and put his arm round her.

Bel vaguely chattered about what was happening on screen and he wondered if she, like him, could only think about the way it felt, wrapped around each other. It was difficult to care about Johnny Utah infiltrating the coastline community.

‘If it’s useful information, you kiss really well, by the way,’ Bel said. Connor twinged with pleasure and held her tighter.

‘Thanks, so do you.’

‘You have to say that.’

‘I probably would have to say that, but it’s true anyway.’

She turned her head as if to say something, he turned to listen, their lips right by each other. Like it wasn’t a big deal, as if what he’d said was an invitation, as if it was the natural thing to do, Bel kissed him. Reality raced ahead, Connor’s executive function in breathless pursuit as he kissed her back.

Bel pulled her dress down, a black lace bra underneath, and plonked his hand onto the pale skin of her right breast, her hand clasped over his. Connor couldn’t move, frozen in a virginal fright. His brain played him a supercut of all the times he’d been interested in Bel’s chest and in lofty denial of the fact. Now he was being asked to reveal that enthusiasm and he was in terror at finally making his feelings known. His mind left his body as they carried on kissing and he watched himself from the outside. This was his dearest wish, wasn’t it? But what was this? Apart from what it was, obviously.

Bel started fumbling with his fly and his stomach flipped. There was no more messing around, Connor had to decide. He’d have no willpower to call a halt if she got any further.

‘Bel,’ Connor blurted, his hand over hers to stop her, ‘I’ve really liked fake dating you. You’ve been the greatest girlfriend I’ve never had. But I draw the line at fake sleeping with you.’

Bel looked justifiably confused.

‘Given no one knows, I was thinking that we were real sleeping with each other?’

Connor let go and pulled back a little. How did he navigate this, stand her down without saying why?

‘But we’re only here …’ he gestured at their surrounds, ‘because of all the pretending today. I don’t think it’s enough reason to trash a great friendship with a one-night stand.’

Connor wished he’d anticipated Bel initiates sex – he might be handling this better. You didn’t tend to disaster plan for best-case scenarios.

This is the part where you reassure me it doesn’t need to be a one-night stand.

He knew this wasn’t going to happen; of course it was a one-night stand. That’s why she’d launched it when they had one night left.

‘Would it ruin it?’ Bel said.

‘Are you in touch with any of your past one-night stands?’

Connor wouldn’t have said this if he’d thought it through. Apart from anything else, he was jealous enough that he didn’t want to know.

‘Honestly, I’ve never actually had one before. Unless you count … that incident, which I don’t. Are there rules?’

‘Not exactly … but weren’t we staying friends?’

‘Friends can’t ever have done this?’

‘In theory, yes, but in practice we’ll feel strange about it and never know what the subtext is if we get in touch, and therefore won’t get in touch.’

‘Yeah, I see your point.’

No no no, you don’t ‘see my point’.

‘We don’t want to be sharing smash burgers and a beer and getting involuntary flashbacks to the sight of each other writhing around naked. Like prisoners of war with PTSD,’ Bel said.

It would be absolutely fine if the burgers and beer was a date, were the words that wouldn’t leave his mouth . In that context, my memory could play any X-rated highlights reel it liked. But the fact it hasn’t crossed your mind it could be a date, is a massive clue.

‘Bel, this is because I want to stay in touch so much. I haven’t said it before because I worried I was being … what do the kids call it … extra. But I’m really going to miss you. Some serious attachment has been created.’

‘Sure! I get it,’ she said, with a robust indifference, with no: ‘I will miss you too.’ Bel pulled her dress back up and Connor inwardly winced. To call declining her offer counter intuitive was a hilarious understatement.

But in her uncomplicated eagerness to shed their clothing, she’d been offering all and nothing, Connor felt sure of it. He sensed the limits of her feelings for him and faced the extent of his own.

He’d handled that with effortful restraint and qualified honesty, so he didn’t wake the next morning to the sound of a shower and lingerie strewn on the floor and the sensation that he’d gambled any future away to have her one time.

Why then did it feel like he’d handled it really badly?