Free The Director's Cut by JS Taylor

me.
    Inside is quiet, peaceful. And I feel myself slip into a thoughtful mood with James beside me.
    All this devotiona l beauty has put me in another frame of mind, and I find myself thinking seriously about our future together.
    In the short time I’ve know n James, I’ve fallen for him hard. There is no question in my mind that I am deeply in love with him.
    Of course, I’ve never thought about marriage, or what it might be like to live with him. It’s too soon.
    But I’m suddenly realising, with a kind of shock, that I can’t imagine my future without him. The church seems to be prompting these thoughts, and I don’t try to dispel them.
    We walk through the nave, keeping a silent respect for the church. And come to a standstill in front of a collection of flickering candles.
    “Would you like to light one?” asks James quietly.
    My mother and I always used to light a candle for my father. It’s been years since I did that. But standing with James, I feel strong. I feel as though I want to remember some of the things I tried so hard to forget.
    “Yes,” I whisper.
    James pushes a handful of euros into the box and passes me a candle.
    Keeping my gaze centred on the flames, I tilt my wick into the fire and watch as it blazes to life. Slowly, I press it into place, amongst the other burning lights.
    As I watch it burn, a few faint memories of my father swirl in my brain. I let them rise and fall in the candle flame. Thinking of him feels comfortable.
    Then unbidden words pop into my mind that I haven’t heard for a long time.
    P apa. Why did you leave us?
    The memory shocks me so rigidly, my entire body freezes. Then I see that beside me, James has lit two candles and is placing them reverently with the others.
    Two candles. One for his mother. Who is the other one for?
    Suddenly I know, and the thought fills me with horrified outrage.
    The ex -girlfriend. The one who died.
    I know I should feel respectful for his loss. But the anger rises up so quickly, I hardly know where it’s come from. All I know is that I don’t want this. I don’t want these feelings which come so thick and fast when this man is here.
    Why is he always making me think about painful memories?
    And before I know what I’m doing, I turn and race out of the church.
     
    “Issy!” James is stumbling after me as I run, blinking into the sunlight. “Issy! What’s wrong?”
    He catches me in his arms, and I wriggle to be free of him, but he’s too strong.
    “I don’t want this!” I shout, not caring who hears. “I don’t want any of it!”
    “Shhh.” He pulls me closer, and I feel my body begin to convulse in sobs.
    “It’s your stupid method, isn’t it?” I accuse, although some of the anger is coming out of me now. “Your acting method. You want me to feel… All this pain. ”
    I am struggling to breath e and get the words out through the sobs.
    “Well I… Don’t. Want. It! ”
    I take a deep, juddering breath, and James holds me close. I don’t know why, but I let him.
    “Issy,” he says softly. “This is nothing to do with my method. I wouldn’t do that. Not without telling you.”
    “Then why?” I accuse. “Why take me in there and let me see that?”
    He’s quiet for a moment, and his face shows confusion.
    “You didn’t like me lighting two candles,” he says slowly, as though working something out.
    I say nothing in reply.
    “Listen.” He pulls me away from him a little, so he’s looking in my face. “I respect the dead, Issy, and I like to honour those who have passed. But I have never felt about anyone, living or dead, the way I feel about you.”
    His face is so sincere, that I give another sob. And then I’m halfway between laughing and crying.
    James’s face breaks in slight relief, but there’s still an anxiety there.
    “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” I say. And I don’t. This laughing, crying mess, is not who I usually am.
    “There’s nothing wrong with you,” says James.