I glanced at Eliza, who shrugged. “So long as I can drive.”
The moment the electricity kicked in and we lurched forward, I was transported back to being 10 years old, screaming with laughter as we careened around the small track. Every collision sent us slamming into each other, my shoulder against hers, her thigh pressed against mine as we braced for impact. A guy in a red car seemed determined to target us specifically, and each hit sent us into fresh fits of giggles and closer together in the confined space of our tiny vehicle.
“What’s his fucking problem?” Eliza shrieked as the red car slammed into us again, sending me almost into her lap.
“Get him back!” I yelled, and she spun the wheel hard, sending us careening across the track in pursuit. When we slammed into the side of his car, he grinned at us as he spun, and we both threw our heads back laughing. Ever since Eliza and I had come back into each other’s lives, I’d been holding my breath. Being in this car in this moment, my guard dropped. I was glad it had.
When the ride ended and we climbed out, breathless and dishevelled, there was a moment where we looked at each other, still riding the adrenaline high.
The dodgems had given an excuse for contact we couldn’t justify elsewhere: my whole body pressed to her as we span round a corner, her thigh crushing mine, the way I’d grabbed her knee when that bloke slammed us from behind. All perfectly innocent. All completely necessary for the ride.
But now, standing on solid ground with the flashing lights painting her face in alternating shades of pink and gold, the air between us was charged, like the static electricity from the ride had somehow transferred to us.
Something dangerously close to that moment just before we’d kissed in the New York bar passed between us. Only this time, there was no reason to kiss. Nothing to hide behind.
The only reason to do it was because we wanted to.
We walked towards a cinnamon doughnut stand that was doing a roaring trade, the smell of sugar and spice immediately transporting me back to countless festivals and fairs from my childhood.
“We should get some.” I pointed with my finger.
Eliza stopped dead in her tracks.
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s just… they’re Michelle’s favourite. I haven’t had one since we split.”
I rolled my eyes. “Cinnamon doughnuts are everybody’s thing. You can’t walk through life avoiding everything Michelle liked. Take control, take back some agency. Especially when it comes to cinnamon doughnuts.”
For a moment, I thought she might argue, but then her shoulders squared in that way they did when she’d made a decision. “You’re right. Fuck it. Let’s get doughnuts."
We ordered two each, and when she took the first bite, Eliza’s face lit up as she chewed, sugar dusting her lips.
Her very perfect, inviting lips.
Not now, Poppy.
“Damn, these are perfect,” she grinned. “You’re a good influence on me, you know that?”
I nearly choked on my doughnut. “I’ll remind you of that later.”
She stared at me for a beat too long, and I swear her eyes sparkled. But that could be the sugar rush that was almost instant, making everything that bit brighter.
We found a patch of grass near a large tent that was pumping out old-school 90s tunes, and settled down with a couple of ciders that tasted like crisp summer sunshine. The alcohol loosened my tongue, and before I realised what I was doing, I was telling her about Sage.
“She did a tarot reading. Said Gran was in the room with us, which was either comforting or mental, depending on your perspective.” I was comforted, on reflection.
“Mum sees her, too,” Eliza said quietly. “Your gran, I mean. Says she pops around for tea sometimes.”
My brain exploded inside my skull. Did everyone have chats with my dead Gran apart from me? “Next you’ll be telling me she brings scones.”
Eliza smiled. “My mum loved your gran. She was the mother she never knew. She enjoys her visits from beyond the grave.”
I blinked hard. This was difficult to take in.
“She talks to her?”
But Eliza shook her head. “No, she just says she feels her.” Eliza took a long sip of her cider. “I made the mistake of telling Margot one morning after seeing Mum, thinking she might be pleased. She dismissed it as hippy-dippy mumbo-jumbo.”
