When We Are Old (If We Were... Book 2) Read online

  Coming Soon

  The Other Side of Blue

  Lyra Lennox has been in love with her brother’s best friend for as long as she’s been able to walk and talk.

  Blue, the boy in the house next door has become every fantasy she's ever held close, until the night he climbs through her window covered in blood and tears and reveals his less than perfect life.

  Four years later Lyra, a promising violinist, arrives at university only to discover the man she once knew has a new life.

  Lyra holds all of Jack Cross’ deepest secrets from when he was Blue. He knows he should stay away from the girl who was once his only hope.

  To love her would ruin everything they have.

  Can he resist and save her, or will he fall and break them both?

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  15th October 2020

  When We Are Old

  Anna Bloom

  For Nina

  Thank you

  Contents

  Preface

  First Sight

  Unexpected Journeys

  Scots

  Mother and Daughter

  Fresh Paint

  Announcements

  Indegestion

  Teenagers

  Reality

  Grey

  When Demons Come Knocking

  It’s a Carling Kind of Friday

  Rugby

  Shops and Pictures

  Belnded

  Latte and Friends

  Home Fires

  Perfect

  Truth

  Boxes

  Meddling

  All the Good Plans

  Grey Skies

  Wake Up Calls

  Two Months Later

  Epilogue

  The Other Side of Blue

  Thank you

  Acknowledgments

  Preface

  Once I lived for my dreams. For the hours when my eyelashes would blot out reality; a curtain against the world, and I could be with you again.

  To touch you.

  Hold you.

  Own you.

  Now I live for the moments in between: the laughs, the jokes, those glances that pass in a language that doesn’t need words.

  The short, sharp intake of breath my lungs inhale when you plant a kiss on my neck. That shiver so dark and so deep that my heart and soul merge and I want to sing your name.

  Now I watch you breathe, your chest rising and falling, every exhalation an imprint on my skin.

  But when it’s dark and late and I’m listening to the symphony of your lungs I fear what’s to come. I fear the future that we’ve left too late. No time with you will ever be enough. The time will always pass too quickly, the sand slipping through the hourglass of life.

  For when we are old our days will become moments until we part again, each one snatched and shorter than the last.

  Where will we leave our mark of this lifetime of love that we’ve shared? Where will people know that we have loved and lived in a land when we are old and gone?

  First Sight

  Matthew

  The rap on the door landed once, twice. On the third knock, it slid as though the knuckles didn’t have the energy to make the third time relevant.

  The knock at the door wasn’t a surprise. For the last hour, loud cackles and hyena pack laughing had filtered down the hallway from the living area. A game of truth or dare from the sounds of it.

  Alcohol made girls loud.

  Real loud.

  By the time feet had shuffled up the hallway, retreated back to the group, the voice had questioned why she had to knock when she didn’t live here, and then the footsteps had come all the way back down to my door, I’d assumed position.

  Pushing my hand through my hair, I opened the door a crack and leant against the frame.

  She really didn’t live here. I’d already accounted for the four girls on the floor. My window overlooked the path to the main door, so I’d been able to watch them all unpack their belongings from their parents’ cars as they moved in. All except one of them had been dropped off by relatives.

  My own arrival had been solitary and unspectacular.

  Until now.

  Five foot of blonde and cream stood the other side of the door. She swayed slightly as she raised her gaze from my feet to my face and I had to bend slightly from my height to look at her better.

  And she was all the good things to look at.

  All my preparation I’d been making to appear cool and aloof when I opened the door on one of the giggling hyenas evaporated.

  Fucking shit balls. She swiped at a strand of blonde hair and blinked up at me, her lips pursed into a contemplative bud.

  “Oh, you’re a boy.”

  Her cheeks stained a delicious shade of strawberry against the cream of her skin. Pale blonde hair worked itself free from a ponytail that curled at the edges. Grey eyes met mine.

  For a moment I fought hard to find anything to say and we stood in an awkward silence while she blushed every shade of pink in the spectrum of all colours known to man. Her lips parted, her eyes dropping to the ground. I could taste the ‘sorry to disturb you' before it formed on her tongue.

  “Nope,” I called her back. “Last I checked I had a fully working penis and two rather full ball bags.”

  Not exactly what I'd planned to say and I’m pretty sure if I ever got to replay the moment again, I’d make it so much cooler, calmer, and less ‘I’m a teenage lad obsessed with his knob’.

  The strawberry on her cheeks mutated and crossbred with raspberries. I rooted to the spot, transfixed. Wow. That was some kind of blush.

  She turned to walk away again. I should have let her go. You know, now I’d mentioned my penis at our first meeting, but instead I said. “Do you need proof?”

  My brain may as well have been in my knob.

  I didn’t plan to flash her, not really. But she'd looked back at me and for the rewarding reaction of her eyes flying wide open, grey and bright; and her mouth opening on a shocked gasp, well, it made the empty threat worthwhile.

  “Oh no.” She waved a hand at my crotch, staring at my fingers on the buttons. “But we are having a drink though. If you want to join us?”

  I let go of my fly and relaxed against the doorframe again. Her eyes were on me, but then mine were dancing the same path on her.

  Officially, she came in as the smallest person I’d ever met. She seemed fragile, delicate. With a quick movement, she tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. Her gaze darted down the hallway—possibly hoping someone would come to rescue her if she didn’t return.

  “Us?” I smiled and lifted an eyebrow.

  She nodded but chewed on her bottom lip, making it bloom with red either side of her teeth. “Me, and uh...”

  “With you?” My smile grew. She didn’t even live here. That much I knew.

  “Well. Not like that.” She straightened up, putting her at around the height of my nipples.

  “I can’t have a drink with someone when I don’t know their name.”

  This wasn’t in the plan—flirting with miniature girls wasn’t in my game plan. I’d only been here a few hours and I’d fought hard to get here—too hard some would say—to get distracted within the first half an hour.

  I shouldn’t. I really shouldn’t, but I wanted her to have a name that would swirl itself in my head with a felt tip marker.

  “Veronica.” Strawberries were officially my favourite fruit now.

  “Veronica? That’s a very grown up name you have there.”

  She swallowed hard, like she wanted to puke.

  “Veronica. I’m Matthew.” I held out my hand and waited for her t
o shake it. Her fingers trembled as she reached forward and then she slipped her hand into mine. I met her eyes and shot her a grin.

  “Hi, Matthew.”

  “A drink you say?”

  “Sorry.” She shoved a hand though her hair but then must have remembered she had a band in because she grimaced. I watched, mesmerised, as she yanked out the band and shook out pale blonde strands. “I don’t even live here.”

  I kept my face neutral. I didn’t need to point out I’d been eavesdropping like a freak.

  “No?” We were still by my door and her quick gaze slipped past me and into my room.

  “No. My parents live locally. So… I’m commuting.” Her rosebud lips pressed into a firm line.

  “Oh? Aren’t you worried you’ll miss out? Isn’t it part of the experience to live on campus in digs and throw yourself in?”

  I waited, genuinely interested in her response. Her face flickered with a frown; her lips tightening. “No, not at all; it’s better this way.” She swallowed again.

  This Veronica miniature woman didn’t realise her thoughts were written all over her face. “Sure.” I shrugged.

  “So are you coming for this drink?” She glanced over her shoulder again. Her back up still hadn’t arrived, and a dart of annoyance flashed across her face.

  “I’m interested to know how you got to be the one who knocked on my door when you don’t live here.”

  “Angela.” She waved her hand at the communal area. “I met her earlier. She invited me in, although I think I should probably be getting home.”

  “But you just asked me for a drink.” I felt my lip curl belying my amusement.

  She chewed her lip again. Her skin paled to the white of unripe strawberries, and she swallowed hard—again.

  “Whoa, you okay?” I inched into her space, but she shrank back from my shadow.

  “Ugh. Yeah.”

  She turned and walked back down the hallway. Not moving, I watched as she stood at the door to the lounge. The chatter and shouts didn’t stop. She waited, hesitating, her fingers pulling at the edge of her black cardigan. Then silently she bent down and grabbed a maroon backpack off the floor and turned for the external door.

  The chatter didn’t stop. I doubt they even saw her there, and she opened the door without a backwards glance.

  What just happened? She was fine a minute ago. Had I upset her? Been rude? I wracked my brains running through our conversation. I hated upsetting people. Another reason why my move to university in London had been so hard.

  Turning, I grabbed my shoes and pushed them on my feet as I shot a glance at my watch. I had half an hour until I had to wait in line for the payphone to ring home.

  The internal door clicked shut and I raced down the hallway. Briefly, I peered into the lounge. The girls were all on the low foam chairs, and the girl who’d arrived by herself was talking loudly and using her hands to make her point.

  I yanked at the door and slipped down the stairs. Evening sun lit campus, the air tepid with small insects hovering above the grass, but the long evenings were drawing in and soon it would be dark.

  “Hey, wait up.” I caught a glimpse of the miniature strawberry girl as she paced across the grass. She didn’t stop or turn.

  I ran faster than I had in, well, ever. Pushing my lungs against my ribcage. For someone with such short legs she had some pace behind her.

  “Hey.” I reached a hand for her shoulder and tapped. She wheeled around in shock, swinging her backpack off her shoulder like a weapon and bashing it into my stomach. “Hey, sorry, it’s just me, Matthew,” I gasped bending over, my lungs now vacant of oxygen as it gusted from my mouth in one loud exhalation.

  What the fuck did she have in there? Bricks?

  “What do you want?” Her eyes widened; her lips opening in surprise.

  “Whoa, whoa! I’m fine, thanks for asking.” I rested my hands on my knees and glanced up though my hair that had flopped into my face. I grinned and her lips softened slightly.

  “What do you want?” she repeated. She didn’t look quite so angry, so I chanced standing and hoped she wouldn’t smash me with her killer backpack again.

  “Sorry. I just wanted to check on you.”

  “I’m fine.” She turned and started her fast-paced march again. I stepped into place next to her.

  “Okay.”

  We walked, her attention on her feet.

  “What are you doing?” she mumbled, casting me a sharp side eye. I smiled at the delicate stain on her cheeks and shrugged. “You should go and have a drink with the others; they look like fun.”

  I answered with another shrug.

  Out on the main road, she stopped by the bus stop. Only then did she turn to me. “You can go now. I’m waiting for my bus.”

  “What if I don’t have anywhere else to be?”

  This wasn’t true. Our silent walk across campus had brought me closer to phone call time.

  “I can’t believe that.” She ran a hot gaze over me, and I smirked.

  “No, why? Although I might be taking myself to the hospital to get checked out. I think you’ve broken my ribs.” I rubbed at them. Fuck, they were sore. “What do you have in there?”

  She snorted in answer.

  “How far away is home?” I leant in closer. If she smelled like strawberries and cream, it would be perfect.

  “Twenty minutes.”

  “It’s getting dark.”

  Her lips ghosted a smile. “And?”

  “Maybe I’m a gallant kind of lad.”

  She laughed and it did something unexpected to my chest. Made it tighten and hollow, made me feel a tiny bit sick.

  “Go back in there.” She nodded to the dorm. “They're planning to hit the student union bar.”

  “And you don’t want to go?”

  She stared longingly at the gates, her expression almost wistful. “No. I, uh…”

  “Uh…?” I prompted when she didn’t add anything else.

  “I’m not great in crowds.”

  I watched her face. Her nose had a little upturn, her lashes long but pale.

  “Maybe I’m not either.”

  She batted a hand at my stomach, but the colour drained from her face again and she became an unclassified shade of grey. “You should go.”

  A red bus careered around the corner. “This yours?”

  “Oh, yeah.” Pushing a hand into her jeans pocket, she pulled out a pound coin. “Thanks.”

  The bus stopped and she climbed up the steps. She didn’t talk to the bus driver, her head down.

  It took a split second.

  I patted my pocket to see if I had some loose change and jumped up the stairs after her.

  She watched me warily as I walked along the bus, hanging onto the backs of the seats as the driver pulled away from the curb. My first trip on a red London bus.

  “What are you doing?” she hissed as I slipped into the seat behind her and stretched my right leg out into the aisle.

  “Walking you home.”

  She paled further. “But you don’t know me.”

  I shrugged. “I told you, I’m a gallant kind of lad.”

  She sighed and it ran through me. “Thanks, Matthew.”

  My name had never sounded more foreign. Here in London, I was Matthew, not Matty or Matt. Not a harrumph or a glare of dismay instead of any name at all.

  She gave me that. My first Matthew.

  Turning, she blinked up at me, “Are you Irish?”

  I laughed loudly. “Guess again, Veronica.”

  “Welsh?” She winced with a shrug.

  “I’m bleeding here. Welsh? “I clutched at my chest and pretended to die on the red and grey seat, groaning a death rattle that Shakespeare would have been proud of. “You don’t get these rugged good looks being a Welshy I assure you.” I poked my head up from my dying position to meet her gaze.

  She laughed and strawberries ripened into a full crop. “Sorry.”

  I straightened up,
leaning over the back of her seat. “I’m Scottish, lassie.” My stomach dropped as I heard my dad in my words.

  “Sorry, Braveheart.”

  “For freedom, Veronica.” I winked and she bit her lip.

  “Ronnie. I prefer Ronnie.”

  “Ronnie.” I rolled it around my tongue.

  “And you?” she asked. “What do you prefer?”

  I leant closer to her, leaning over the back of her seat. “Matthew, from you, I think.”

  “Matthew.” She tasted my name the way I tasted hers.

  Then she shifted so her back was against the window, and tucked her legs up on the seat, linking her arms around her knees.

  “Tell me about where you're from.” She seemed surprised at her words and smiled, a small upturn of her lips.

  I knew right then though that I never wanted her to know about my home and all the things I’d left behind. On the red bus, in South West London I was someone else.

  Someone new.

  Unexpected Journeys

  Ronnie

  The door closed with a snapped click as I fell backwards against its hard surface. Matthew’s thumbs pushed at my cheeks, swiping at the sticky hot trail.

  My chest laboured up and down, painful breaths grasping air—I had just run almost the length of Scotland and back looking for him on this damn train.

  I’d found him.

  Matthew was mine.

  His mouth pulled a kiss from deep within me, like he dove into a well and wouldn’t stop searching until I stopped my blubbering and gave him what he needed. His tongue searched mine, hot and resolute, asking questions of me that I wanted to give all the answers to for the rest of my life.