We drive to Brighton in a car Hugo has rented for the weekend. Why he chose the beach in January, I don't know, but as we leave the city, and the spaces between buildings grow into fields, I'm just thankful to be driving with him into openness.
Hugo holds my hand, even though the car is a manual. He has to let go each time he changes gears before returning, always, to my lap, where he curls his hand around mine.
We stop at a petrol station to fill up with fuel and stock up on road trip food. Back on the highway, I feed him chocolates, and laugh at the childlike way he gobbles them up from my hand.
We drive in silence. And it's not awkward. I'm not searching for words.
Because for now, this is perfect.
***
Hugo booked the apartment we've rented for the weekend, so I'm surprised to discover it's on the beachfront, with huge glass windows facing the sea.
'Wow!' Hugo exclaims, putting the keys down on the table. 'What a view!'
'Yeah,' I say, dropping my bags at my feet. Averting my gaze from the water. 'Should we go down to the promenade? Maybe pick up some food to make dinner with?'
'Sure,' he says, unzipping his bag, 'but first, I have something for you.'
'What is it?'
He pulls a wrapped gift from his bag. Brown paper with a thin blue ribbon.
'I thought we agreed no presents!'
'You said no presents,' he says with a smile, offering me the gift. 'But I haven't got you anything.'
'Meh, my birthday was last month,' he says, waving his hand dismissively.
'I'm not thirty yet,' I say, reluctantly taking the present, untying the ribbon and peeling off the wrapping paper to reveal a book. Collected Poems by Marianne Moore.
'Have you read her before?' he asks.
I shake my head, feeling myself well up.
'Are you okay?' he says.
I nod. 'More than okay.'
He puts his arms around me and the book. I feel its spine digging into my torso. Only the slight pain of it feels distant, as if in another time.
'I'm happier than I remember being,' he says. His words are skin and bone.
And I am air.
***
We walk along the promenade, all the way to the pier. Bulbs spelling brighton pier lit up gold against a brooding sky. Hugo is holding my hand. He steers me towards the pier. Waves are lapping at its posts. Beyond, swells are rolling like bodies turning over beneath a blanket. 'Come on,' he says. 'There're rides down here.'
We begin to walk from solid concrete onto the pier. Slats of wood. Through the gaps, I see the ocean. Washing back and forth. Sways of white foam. My breath quickens. I taste the salt. Feel it in me. Until suddenly, I can't breathe. My muscles clench like ice snapped frozen. I pull back on Hugo's hand.
'What's wrong?' he asks.
'I don't feel very well,' I mumble.
'Do you feel sick?'
'I don't know.'
'You look like you've seen a ghost.'
'I'm just cold,' I lie. 'Can we go home?'
'Of course,' he says, and we begin walking back into the main part of town. On the way we pass two fishermen. One is reeling in. A fish hooked on a line. Dragged through the water, yanked up onto grey sand.
On the way home, we find a grocery store, buy some vegetables, tofu and green curry paste and take it all home with us.
In the kitchen, I chop carrots and broccoli. Hugo is wearing a beanie with a pompom, loose pants, a woollen jumper and my dangly earring. He's cutting up the tofu and courgettes, sneaking across to my bench from time to time to steal pieces of carrot. I pinch his ear playfully. 'There'll be none left for the curry.'
He laughs and steals another piece, putting it in his mouth before I can snatch it back.
We eat dinner on the couch. The night outside is so thick the sea disappears into blackness. I breathe a sigh of relief.
'Should we watch a movie?' Hugo suggests.
'Sure,' I say. 'Your choice.'
Hugo puts on a cheesy rom-com and I fall asleep before anything really happens.
I wake up to his lips on my cheek. 'Come on,' he whispers, scooping me up. 'Time for bed.'
***
I wake to a mackerel sky, tiny white clouds spread out like fish scales. The sea is wide and washed grey. I roll away from it and see Hugo has put my present on my bedside table. I pick up the book and open to a random page. 'A Grave.'
A shiver ripples across my skin, raising it like waves rising out of the deep. I read aloud. But with each new sentence, I feel the words thickening. Becoming more solid. They wedge in my throat like blocks of ice.
I put the book down, feel the weight of it pressing on my belly.
Hugo rolls over, kisses my cheek.
I smile and kiss him on the lips. He lifts his hands from under the covers, holds my face. Kissing. Softly at first. Then deeper. Kissing my neck. My breasts. My stomach. He holds my hips. Gently rolling me over.
So now I'm facing the windows. Facing the sea. Feeling him feel his way inside me. Softly at first. Then deeper.
And it feels good. It does. Until it doesn't. Because I'm looking at the sea, a well-excavated grave. And imagining all the creatures that have died in it. The seabed an underwater cemetery where flesh stretches and breaks apart. Becomes silt and sand. Grey sand. Made of fish eyes and pieces of skin and bones and scales.
And suddenly, I'm falling water. Under water. Below the surface. Below deck. Stretching for someone. Ripping apart. I feel AJ's hand on my thigh. I freeze. All my muscles, clenching around bone. So hard and so tight, I think my bones might break. Turn into silt and sand. Grey sand. A sky made of fish scales.
Fish guts. Raining down from the heavens. A body. Remembering. Why didn't you just scream?
The body always remembers.
***
'Oli?
I look over my shoulder. I'm shaking, hyperventilating. I see Hugo. His face washed white.
'Oli? What's wrong?' He's panicked. 'I'm sorry!' he says. 'Whatever I did, I'm sorry.'
He pulls out of me. But I still feel him. Inside. In there. I hold onto my belly. Roll into a ball. Rocking back and forth. It's all back and forth.
Hugo wraps his body around mine. 'I'm sorry, Oli,' he says. 'I'm sorry.' He holds me until I'm still. Until I can breathe. Until I say, 'I can't be with you.'
And then he lets go.