Another Love Read Free

consoling her with the sticking-plaster of being bright. ‘She really is very clever.’ This her mum said more times than Romilly could count, sometimes followed by ‘Aren’t you?’ And Romilly would nod and smile, because she knew this was what was expected, despite the sinking feeling in her stomach that meant smiling was the last thing she felt like.
    Even though she noticed that the twins were much admired – it was hard not to – it didn’t occur to her to feel jealous. Not a bit. She loved her little sisters, loved their cuteness, the constant burble of conversation, their excitability that made even the most mundane day feel like a party. She didn’t need the constant reassurance from her mum that she had her own gifts, no matter how hidden. In fact, the relentless bolstering led Romilly to conclude that she must be not quite good enough; otherwise, why would her mum feel the need?
    She had, over time, developed a shell into which she could retreat, just like the much maligned common garden snail. She liked all invertebrates, but insects were her special thing. She hid her face inside books and chose bigger and heavier glasses, prompting her classmates to make jokes about Coronation Street ’s Deirdre Barlow. She took to offering her views in a whisper so as not to offend or dominate, happy to hide in the shadow of her sunnier, prettier sisters.
    Romilly grew up, left school, won a place at Bristol University and was happy. Content. Not that life was always perfect, far from it, but she had never seen the point of craving what she didn’t or couldn’t have – longer legs, better skin or a flashier car. She was one of life’s satisfied. Unlike her sisters, she had never sat with her nose inches from the table while holding out a finger to measure the precise amount of orange juice their mum had poured into each of the three glasses. She had never whined, ‘She’s got more than me!’ She was just happy to get the drink.
    At least that was the case until she met David. David Wells. David Arthur Wells, to give him his full but rarely used name. She couldn’t say the words without smiling. Because as she said them she pictured his face, his beautiful face, and then she let her mind’s eye travel down to his hard chest, and then she pictured his muscled arms closing around her, tightly, and she remembered the feeling of utter, utter bliss as she submitted, losing herself against him. And that made her smile all over again.
    The first time he’d sat next to her in the library, Romilly had tried not to show her surprise, tried not to notice him. She hoped he hadn’t seen her neck bulge with a huge swallow of anticipation as she surreptitiously ran a finger around her nose and mouth, searching for any untoward secretions.
    He flashed her a smile and she blushed and went back to her books, leaning forward so that a curtain of hair fell over her face. She squinted at the text and continued to read. Onychophorans are soft-bodied, full-lipped, beautiful boy sitting next to me… For God’s sake, Rom, concentrate. She gave a small cough and tried again. Onychophorans are soft-bodied, muscly arms, gorgeous face, and smells wonderful… It was pointless.
    Engrossed in her prop, she didn’t see him lean forward to write on the side of her notepad, so close she could feel his warm breath against her skin. It sent a shiver down her spine, making her skin taut beneath her goosebumps. With his hand at an awkward angle, he scrawled, Can I borrow a pen?
    She pulled her hair across her face and hooked it behind her ear, raising her eyes to his. ‘You’ve got one,’ she whispered, pointing a finger towards the biro with which he had written the request.
    Wide-eyed, he tapped his forehead lightly in mock admonishment. Leaning forward again, he wrote, I’m a klutz!
    She got it. He was taking the piss. She shifted in her seat and twisted her body away from him, trying to ignore him. She wondered what had prompted the