Ethan Justice: Origins

17: Sunday 25th September, 10:50

Savannah laughed louder and longer than she could remember. Their lives were still in danger yet she had never felt so awake, so alive or so grateful. When a shortage of air to the lungs brought her fit of mirth to an abrupt halt, she looked at John as she breathed in.

"Thank you, John Smith," she said. "If that really is your name." She fell backwards on the bed in an even bigger fit of giggles. After only one miniature brandy, she was as high as a kite. The brandy had smoothed down the edges and the exhilaration, born of relief, had flooded out like water from a busted dam.

John put down his drink and lay next to Savannah. She could feel his eyes on her as she stared at the high ceiling.

"I mean it, Smith," she said. "I don't know how to thank you."

"It's not all over yet. We still have the mad bomber to worry about."

"I know but I feel different. You know what you said before we went into the escort agency?"

"I told you yesterday, I can barely remember my name."

"Don't kid around, Smith. You know what you said about me having been a victim all my life?"

"Yes, I remember."

"Well, you're right and now I don't feel like that person anymore."

"That's great." John poked a finger in Savannah's side. "That's for the elbow. I'll get you back later for breaking my foot."

Savannah jumped up and leapt on John's stomach, straddling him and sending the air rushing from his lungs.

"Ooomph! That hurt. Get off me you lunatic."

She looked at his face. His eyes were blue-grey and mischievous, shining with life and vitality, nothing like the eyes that had judged her yesterday morning. Sure he was handsome, but he was also twelve years her senior. Was that perverse? He looked much younger - did that make a difference? Graham had been twenty-seven and looked older than the man beneath her.

"Get off me," grumbled John, making suspiciously little effort to remove her from his person. "Have you got lead in those lanky legs of yours?"

She didn't reply. She was lost in his eyes and everything he had done for her. If she tried to kiss him, would he reject her? Was not throwing her off him a sign that he would like her to kiss him? Shouldn't he make the first move?

She had never trusted or wanted somebody so much than at that moment but it was too important. Yesterday she had been a prostitute. Sure, not a very well paid one, her whole career grossing fifty pounds, thirty of which she gave to that dirt bag Christos. But she couldn't forget the look John had given her yesterday when he realised she was in his bed for money. Could he ever get past that? Could any man? They were proud and strange beasts.

Being sat upon by a silent person was obviously not the correct protocol. "What's up?" John asked.

"Just thinking," she replied.

"About what?"

About kissing him, about whether he found her attractive, about whether he ever could, about how he was the bravest, most selfless man she'd ever met. Not much really.

"Nothing," she said.

He gazed up at her. Perhaps her display of uncertainty was putting him off.

"Your eyes are amazing," he said. "I never saw such bright, shiny eyes in all my life."

That was it - confirmation to proceed. No attempt to shake her off and a compliment about her eyes - it was enough. She leaned forward taking her weight on her arms which she placed either side of John's shoulders. As her face drew closer to his, she hesitated, suddenly nervous and unsure of the advance she was clearly making and the message it gave out.