Healing - Book One

twenty three

"Tea?" I chirp from the doorway into the library.

"I'm alright, thanks." Enoch calls back to me while he places some books back onto their shelves.

A few days have passed since the funeral, and the younger children have been put to bed after our final dinner in the hotel. I have perked up a little after receiving some belated birthday presents from my family: perfume, lip rouge and a white, crocheted pull-over.

"Are you sure you don't want to stay here?" My mother had asked as she handed me the parcels.

"I will be alright, mother, I promise." I say, echoing what I had said around a month earlier when I had first set off for the south.

Earlier in the day, Emma, Olive and I were allowed to venture into the closest village, "for a little retail therapy" as Miss Peregrine put it. Our renewed friendship grew ever stronger while drooling over pearls and diamonds in the jewellers to pressing our noses against the seamstress' windows and gazing at the beautiful gowns.

Once we returned, we were set the task of packing up all of our belongings, ready for an early departure tomorrow morning.

Now, it is late evening. I stand with my mug of hot tea in the entranceway of the library. Enoch seems to have taken a large interest in books recently, as he is returning what appears to be most of the bookshelves' contents to their places.

I make my way into the room, put the cup on the end table and take some of the books from the towering pile on the floor. With a smile at the boy next to me, I move around the room, searching for the corresponding shelves for the first letter of each title. Gently handling the delicate covers, I set them back where the shelves look sparse.

Once the stack has depleted into nothing, I throw myself onto the sofa and sip on my tea in front of the blazing fire. It is beginning to get cold outside, so the addition of the fire makes the atmosphere become extra cozy.

"An' that's everything!" Enoch exclaims, stretching his arms out laterally. He slowly paces towards the couch, before dropping down beside me. "How were things with Olive today?"

"Much better, I feel as if I have truly got her friendship back. How is she with you?"

"We haven' really spoke."

"Not even a smile?"

"Well, maybe. I don't remember."

Once again, the conversation fizzles away just like the embers in the fire, which crackle comfortingly in the silence. My mouth makes a 'slurp' sound when I take another gulp of tea. Chuckles ensue from both parties present.

"You tried to hold my hand at the funeral party, when Mary made that comment." I say, before raising a hand to my mouth in horror of what I just said.

"Oh..." Enoch hesitates, fiddling with his thumbs in his lap. "Perhaps I... brushed your hand with mine. I'm not sure..."

His voice trails away into a strange, tension-thick silence. I become increasingly eager to ease the tense air in the room.

Spotting the gramophone in the corner, I push myself up from my seat and walk, bare feet patting against the wood, towards it. A record already sits on top. I lift the needle onto the record, which crackles out the crooning of a female vocalist. Turning back towards Enoch, I let a small smile spread across my face.

"Did anyone ever teach you how to dance?"

His eyes bulge, mortified. I let a small laugh slip, striding towards him; I grab both of his hands and haul his from his seat.

"Don't make me." He pleads, not letting go of my hands.

"Come on, you might just like it. Now, put your right hand on my waist."

Enoch looks at my lower half, a terrified expression plastered across his face. I sigh heavily, irritated at his lack of confidence. Tightening my grip on his knuckles, I pull his arm forward and rest his hand on my hip. His fingers become tense and do not quite make contact with my body at first. After a few moments, the scot relaxes and lets his palm mould into my curves. His touch is gentle; the contact sends tingles down my spine.

"Good...Good." In response, I place my left hand on his shoulder. As soon as I touch him, his whole body shivers. I raise our remaining set of intertwined fingers to my shoulder height. With me initiating the movement, we begin to sway on the spot to the rhythm of the record. I feel his hand slide into the small of my back, pushing me closer to him. He has a content smirk on his face, a glint in his dark eyes.

The final chorus approaches far too quickly. A curl falls in front of his eyes. My hand rushes towards his face, sweaty from being clasped with Enoch's for a prolonged time, and returns the spiral back atop his crown. Not allowing my hand to return to the uncomfortable right-angle it had once sat at, I snake it around his neck and link it with my other hand. Left without it's partner, Enoch's remaining hand also finds its way to the counterpart at the base of my spine. The increased force pulls me closer into him than I was before.

I can feel the scot's warm breath against my face. He is so much more calm now. I let my face come forward so him and I are nose to nose. His hands feel tempted to wander, sliding  an inch onto the bulge of my rear. However, for whatever reason, they return back to their original position. This is the closest the scot and the doctors' daughter have ever been, both physically and emotionally. A familiar warmth returns inside me, and it is growing rapidly. I never want it to end.

Sadly, all things must terminate. The record ends and I feel as if I have been dropped from a great height. We halt our dancing. I shut my eyes and let my forehead gently bump against his for a fraction of a second, before releasing my hands and letting myself fall back from the safety of his arms.

"I..." I stutter, beyond excitable. "I shall see you tomorrow."

He gives me a nod, his cheeks pink.