Every Touch (16 page)

   [don’t know.  death didn’t come with a manual]  There was a pause, then he typed, [smiley face!]

   She smiled and reached her hand over to the keyboard, feeling his arm brush against hers as she did so. 

   “Like this,” she said, pressing the alt key and the number pad one key at the same time.  The desired emoticon appeared. 

   She watched as he tried it out for himself, creating the smiley face, then squeezing her hand again in gratitude.  This time when he tried to pull his hand away again, she held onto it.

   “Thank you,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, “for... for being here tonight.  For protecting me.”

   An unexpected sob welled up in her chest.  Tears began to slide down her cheeks.  She felt Denny go still next to her and, after a few seconds, the laptop floated onto the coffee table.  She felt him move beside her and pull his hand from her grasp and then his arms were wrapped around her.  She stiffened for a moment then melted, helpless, into his embrace.  Clutching onto his shirt with one hand, her fear and humiliation poured out of her in great wrenching sobs against his chest.

   It was a while before she stopped crying. 

   Her tearful breakdown shocked her.  She hadn’t cried that way since the few weeks after she moved into the flat four months ago when the whole emotional upheaval had finally got to her.  She never cried in front of anyone, only ever by herself when she knew no-one would see or hear her.  Then it came to her, had Denny been there that first night in the flat?  Had he seen all the times she’d cried herself to sleep those first weeks?  She thought it was probable he had.  Knowing that should have made her feel at least awkward, self-conscious, maybe even angry at the invasion of her privacy.  But amazingly, it was comforting. 

   She hadn’t been alone.  She wasn’t alone now. 

   When her tears finally did stop, she drew away from him, a little reluctantly, and apologised.  He retrieved the laptop and assured her it was alright and that she didn’t have to feel self-conscious about her emotions with him. 

   And then they talked. 

   It was a slow process, with his inexpert, halting typing, but Laila loved seeing his words appear on the screen.  She imagined him saying them to her, even though she had no idea what he sounded like.  Her questions were endless and a couple of times she felt the need to ask him if she was being nosey or if he was tired of answering.  Both times he seemed very eager to make her understand he was enjoying the conversation as much as she was.  But she didn’t ask him about his death.  It seemed such a personal thing to ask and she didn’t want to bring up bad memories.  Although she had some very bad memories of her own, she imagined that nothing could be as traumatic as remembering your own death.

   As it passed midnight, Laila began to yawn.  She didn’t want to stop talking to Denny, but she had to work in the morning and her eyelids were drooping.

   [do you mind if I keep sleeping on your sofa?] he said when she told him she needed to go to bed.

   She didn’t.  “No, I don’t mind at all.” She really truly didn’t.  In the slightest. 

   [thank you. I feel more comfortable sleeping in my own flat] He paused.  [I mean your flat. And I want to be here just in case the creep]  He stopped, then erased ‘the creep’ and replaced it. [Avery tries to come back]

   She reached across the keyboard, erasing ‘Avery’ and replacing it with ‘the creep’, smiling when she felt Denny laugh next to her.

   “Do you need a blanket or a pillow or anything?”

   There was a pause.  [that would be nice thank you]

   As she got ready for bed, Laila thought about how safe she felt knowing Denny was in her living room, watching out for her.  For the first time in a long time, she felt no fear whatsoever.  It was liberating. 

   It did occur to her as she undressed that she wouldn’t know if he came into her bedroom and watched her, but somehow she knew that he wouldn’t.  Even though she’d only just met him, she trusted him.  She had no idea why, she simply did.  She did wonder if he’d ever watched her when she was naked, but the idea that he may have didn’t disturb her as she thought it should.  In fact, she felt a frisson of excitement at the notion.

   That was her life all over.  She’d finally found a man who was interesting and caring and sweet and kind and who she felt safe with, and he was dead.  She rolled her eyes at the realisation as she climbed into bed.  That was just typical for her, falling for the man she couldn’t have. 

   But she couldn’t stop herself from smiling as she turned off the light and fell asleep.

***

Denny lay awake on the sofa, a blanket wrapped around him and his head on a pillow.  It felt strange.  He’d become used to just stretching out, as much as he could at over six feet, on the bare sofa and sleeping.  Even when he slept in the spare bedroom in flat three, when Mr Jameson and his wife hadn’t had an argument and were actually sleeping in the same bed, he couldn’t use the covers.  He’d almost forgotten what it was like to wrap a blanket around him.  He didn’t need it for warmth, but it felt good.  Comforting. 

   But not comforting enough to make him sleep.  His thoughts were spinning around in his brain like a whirlwind. 

   He’d dreamed of Laila finding out about him, but the dreams had always been ruined by how much of a disaster he thought it would be.  He had been convinced the idea of a ghost she couldn’t see or hear in her flat would send Laila screaming, and he wouldn’t have blamed her.  From her point of view, it was at best disconcerting. 

   But not only was she not running or screaming, she seemed to trust him.  Knowing that made him unbelievably happy.

   He’d seen her fear close-up, knew something had happened to her that had affected her so deeply she hardly ever even left the flat, other than for work.  She should be terrified of him, but she wasn’t.  It was a life-changing, or rather death-changing experience.  She knew he existed, they had talked, and she wasn’t afraid of him.  She even seemed to like him.  It couldn’t have gone any better.  It had certainly gone a lot better than he ever thought it would.

   He smiled into the darkness.  This could work, whatever this was.  Their relationship, however it developed, could work.  He didn’t know what would happen from now on, but for the first time in a long time, he had hope. 

   And as he finally drifted off to sleep, he knew one thing.  He knew he needed to learn how to type.

Denny woke to the soft touch of a woman’s fingertips on his face. 

   He opened his eyes to see Laila sitting on the coffee table in front of him, her arm extended towards him and her fingers brushing his hair back from his eyes.  He smiled, thinking he could really get used to waking up to her face every morning, and turned his head. 

   She gasped at his movement and snatched her hand back.

   “I’m sorry,” she said, looking embarrassed, “I didn’t... I mean, I’d only just... I was curious.” 

   “Oh, Laila,” he said, sitting up, “you can touch me all you want.” 

   He grinned, thinking it was just as well she couldn’t hear him.

   Settling in front of her with their knees brushing against each other, he reached his hand to hers and touched the back.  She smiled and turned her hand over, wrapping her fingers around his and making his heart flip in his chest.  It was something he would never tire of seeing her do.

   “Good morning,” she said.  “Did you sleep okay?”

   “Yes, amazingly, I did,” he replied, tapping the inside of her wrist at the same time.

   He brought her hand up to his face, straightening her fingers and placing them onto his skin, hoping she understood he was giving her permission to touch him.  The flush that coloured her cheeks made him smile.

   “Oh, now I feel all awkward,” she said with a small giggle, but she didn’t move her hand from his face.

   He took her other hand and laid it on his other cheek, placing both his hands over hers briefly in encouragement, then letting go.

She began to touch his face. 

   It was a scene he’d watched in any number of movies with characters who were blind.  There was always soft music to convey how intimate the moment was.  Denny didn’t need the music to tell him that.  He was relieved she couldn’t hear him because, at that moment, he was sure she would have heard the thudding of his heart. 

   Her eyes closed as her fingers slowly travelled up to his forehead and along his brows, over his eyes, down his nose and across his cheeks, then back in to his lips and his chin.  They pushed gently into his hair and finally down his neck to his chest before she dropped her hands back into her lap, sitting back. 

   Denny realised he was holding his breath and exhaled.  He hadn’t wanted her to stop.

   “Thank you,” she said.

   “I love you,” he said, unable to take his eyes from her. “I love you so much.”

   He raised his hand towards her face then stopped, instead lowering it to her hands in her lap, taking hold of one and squeezing gently.  He wanted more than anything to touch her face the way she had his.  He drew a shaky breath in and let it slowly out again.

   She was staring at her lap where she was holding onto his hand the same way she had the day before, as if she never wanted to let go. 

   “I have to go to work,” she said, her hand staying in his.   

   Her free hand turned over and wrapped around his so she was holding him with both hands.  Heart beating rapidly, he added his other hand to the pile and they sat for a while, facing each other, knees touching, holding on to each other with both hands. 

   Denny temporarily forgot how to breathe.  He couldn’t remember ever experiencing anything so intensely intimate in all his life. 

   “I have to go to work,” she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper.

   Suddenly, she sat back, extricated her hands and stood up. 

   Denny blinked, feeling as if he was waking from a dream. 

   “Is there anything I can get you?” she said, taking her jacket from the hook by the door and slipping it on.

   Denny stood and looked at the laptop which was sitting on the dining table, then back at her.  She opened a drawer in the kitchen and placed a pen and pad on the counter top, smiling.

   “Old school,” he said, “I like it.”

   “What about books?” she said.  “Or DVDs?  Or music?  I can bring them home from the library.  Do you get bored?  Or I can stop at a shop on my way home if you need anything.”

   He picked up the pen and looked at the blank page of the writing pad.  It had been so long since he’d got to really choose anything for himself that he didn’t know what to ask for.

  
I think,
he wrote,
that I need to put some thought into that.  I haven’t had to decide that sort of thing in a long time.

   She smiled and nodded.  “I understand.  If you think about it today, you can give me a list for tomorrow later.”  She picked up her bag.  “You can use the laptop if you want to.  I don’t mind.”

     He wrote,
Thank you,
and held it up for her to see.  Then he wrote,
Can I walk you to the front door?
 

   She smiled and nodded.  “I’d like that.”

   He wanted to make sure Avery wasn’t lurking around.  He was slightly worried he might try to see her at work, but at least there were lots of people around her there and the streets between the flat and the library were always busy.  He also simply wanted to walk her to the door.

   He put the pen and paper down and walked up to her as she opened the door to the corridor.  After a moment’s hesitation, he took her hand in his.  Her answering smile and her fingers tightening their hold on his made his stomach somersault.  Grinning like crazy, he walked with her to the lift and they rode down to the lobby together, hand in hand. 

   She turned to him and smiled when they reached the door

   “Goodbye, Denny. I’ll see you tonight.”

   He tapped her wrist once and reluctantly let go of her hand.  Watching her leave the building and walk away, he leaned his head against the barrier. 

   “Wow,” he breathed. 

   He was still standing there when Oliver walked up to the door five minutes later.

   “It was that bad last night?” he said, faced filled with sympathy.  “I saw Laila just now.  She looked happy.”

   Denny straightened.  “She did?”

   “Yeah, she was smiling.  Oh no, the creep didn’t stay, did he?”

   Laila was happy.  It had to be because of him.  If he’d been alone, he might actually have jumped up and down for joy.  As it was, the huge smile that spread over his face had Oliver looking at him in confusion.

   “I’m guessing there’s something I don’t know going on here,” he said, narrowing his eyes.  “Spill it, Carpenter.”

   Denny filled him in on the events of the previous night a little nervously, not knowing how his friend would react to the news that a living person now knew he was in the building.