2016

Just in case it isn't Ryan at the door, I grab my wine bottle to use as a potential weapon and sneak over to the door, flinging it open abruptly so the element of surprise is firmly in my favour. If it does turn out to be that bastard from "Scream" then he'll be getting lamped over the head before he can even think about asking me what my favourite scary movie is.

However, it is Ryan. And he is surprised. He jumps back, one hand over his heart. "Fuck! You nearly gave me a heart attack, Iona."

"Sorry." Apologetically, I lower my bottle. "I couldn't take the chance in case it was a serial killer."

He shakes his head, a wry smile turning the corners of his lips up. He's holding a torch in one hand that illuminates the space around us. "Are you okay?" He asks softly. "I know you were never the biggest fan of storms; thought I'd better check on you."

I'm beyond touched that he remembers this about me.

"I've just been hiding under my covers and trying not to cry, but no big deal," I shrug. He sees right through me.

"I'm not trying to be sleazy here," he begins. He seems nervous. "But if you want some company, you can hang out in my room if you want?"

"You mean that?" I ask. I'm not entirely sure how I feel about being alone with Ryan again but . . . I also don't want to be alone with myself. Another flash of lightning lights up the whole corridor just then, and it's my turn to jump.

Ryan nods. "I've got something in there that I think might help." He winces. "Why the hell did that sound like an euphemism?" He mutters to himself and I can't help but giggle. I love how sometimes he still reverts back to Ryan 1.0. He scrubs a hand across his face, shaking his head again. "Will you join me?" He nods at my half-full bottle of wine. "You can bring your 'weapon', if that makes you feel safer."

I take a deep breath. "Okay," I agree, following him to his room.

I've walked almost completely into the room before I take in what's in front of me. "W-what is this?" I ask hesitantly. But I know exactly what it is.

Ryan has made me a pillow fort.

I honestly want to burst into tears at the sweetness of the gesture. My eyes slide back to him, and he's rubbing at his face again, looking away awkwardly. "I just . . . I knew you were here alone and that the storm was coming so I thought I'd have one ready just in case," he mumbles bashfully.

"I can't believe you remembered," I breathe. I mean, I must have told him once, in passing, about the storms and the pillow forts. I don't even know how it came up in conversation.

"I remember everything," he says quietly. Even in the dim room, lit only by a few torches dotted around, I can tell he's blushing again. Why does he have to be so ridiculously adorable?

He clears his throat. "Take a seat," he invites me, gesturing towards the fort. "Hopefully it's comfy enough, I took all the spare bedding out of the staff cupboard in the utility room." He holds up a bottle. "Unfortunately I don't have any board games . . . But I do have whisky."

My hero. Superman to the rescue. Actually, it's Clark Kent again as Ryan is wearing his glasses tonight; I always preferred Clark anyway. Dressed in tartan pyjama bottoms and a hoodie, his cheeks still flushed and his hair messy, he looks cosy and huggable and good enough to eat. And, God, do I want to take a bite.

I try to divert my thoughts into safer, cleaner areas as I settle myself into the fort, propping a cushion behind me so I can lean against the bed. "What type of whisky have we got then?" I ask, accepting a fleecey throw from Ryan and wrapping it around my shoulders. I'm hoping it will keep me warm for now.

"Tamnavulin." He places the bottle on the floor along with two small glasses, and lowers himself to the ground too. I notice he's careful to leave a good amount of space between us but, still, I can still catch his scent, woody and fresh. He smells like outside. He smells like home.

"So what's with the power going out? Is this a regular occurrence?"

He pours us each a whisky, brow furrowed in concentration. "It happens. Thankfully not too often. Chances are the wind brought a tree down on a power line. Or the lightning hit something."

He pushes the glass over to me, raises his. I hold mine up too in a silent cheers, then we sip. The alcohol burns pleasurably on the way down but unspoken words thicken the atmosphere between us . . . Which seems fitting as the storm rages on outside.

Ryan sighs. "Remember how we used to be able to talk about anything?" He says wistfully.

I nod. "It was so easy."

He raises his eyes to me, his face slightly mournful. "When did it get so difficult?"

I shrug. It's all I feel capable of. "We grew up?" I suggest eventually. "We grew apart? These things happen."

His fingers are clutched tightly around his drink, his knuckles white. I'm actually worried he might shatter the glass. "I didn't think it would happen to us," he says. I can barely hear him.

There's another protracted silence.

"Okay, how about this?" He says finally, raking a hand through his hair. "I'll tell you something real, if you do the same."

"What do you mean?" I ask, confused.

"Just tell me . . . Something. Anything. From any point in your life. As long as it's honest. Just . . . Listen, I'll start." He stares down into his glass for a long moment, takes a deep breath. "You know I'm divorced, right?"

I grimace, despite myself. I still don't like thinking about this, especially now that it reminds me of my ridiculous dream. "Yes."

"No one cheated in our marriage," he said. "Not physically anyway. But we both may as well have been." I know there's a question in my eyes when I look over at him. "We were drifting apart, both caught up in our jobs, and she ended up with a guy she worked with within a matter of weeks of us finally splitting. Apparently she'd liked him for a long time. She was only not acting on it because of our wedding vows. Once we decided to divorce, she felt finally free to be with him. Immediately. "

"And you?" I can't help but ask. Although do I really want to know who he ended up with next?

"Oh, I never actually moved on in the same way she did." He takes another sip of whisky and I notice his hands are shaking. "Deep down I think I'd been emotionally cheating on her for a long time, but with a fucking memory. Don't get me wrong, I did love my ex, I wouldn't have married her if I didn't. But as things started to wrong between us, I just started to dwell more and more on what might have been." He stops abruptly before I can really wonder what he means by this. "Your turn."

I screw my eyes up, I don't want to look at him. "I've self-sabotaged every relationship I've ever been in," I admit. "They never feel right. And if I don't break up with the guy first, they end it with me because they think I'm too 'emotionally unavailable'." I laugh bitterly as I use the airquotes. "I've been told that by several exes."

"I can't ever imagine someone calling you that." His voice is serious.

"I'm not the same girl I once was." I lie down on my back, staring at the roof of the fort. Ryan's somehow found some battery-powered fairy lights and they're glowing inside. This pillow fort is by far the best constructed, most aesthetically pleasing fort I've ever had the pleasure of being terrified in.

And I'm not even sure how much of the dread I'm feeling now is because of the storm. I'm also scared the weight of my feelings could bring this structure tumbling down around us.

"Is it your go again?" I ask. My voice is wavering.

Honesty, I realise, is also fear-inducing.

Ryan lies down too, but he shifts himself onto his elbow so he's facing me. "Okay. This is a big one."

That's what she said, I think to myself. I resist a nervous giggle. "Okay," I echo him. Waiting. Tension stiffening my limbs.

"Remember the first day we met?" He asks me. I turn my head to face him, curiously, wondering what is coming next.

And then he speaks again, saying the one thing I really didn't expect . . .

"I lied to you."

The storm is raging on, and truths are coming out.

But what did Ryan lie about?

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