“The eyes,” he says, motioning to them with a wave of a large hand.
“Oh yeah, I think I can see more than a letterbox now. I’m seeing in four by three instead of sixteen by nine.”
“More wine? Cup of tea? And can I pick another card?” he says. “Although it’s a bit annoying you’ve seen them all. As much as I enjoyed that, I did find the commentary a bit distracting.” He looks quickly to me with a broad grin, to ensure I know he’s having a laugh.
“I can’t help it,” I say. Then I pause for a moment to consider something. “I do have another deck with films I’venotseen. Can you make tea, though? I’ve had enough to drink.”
I feel his eyes on me as I squeeze past him between the coffee table and the sofa. He has to move his knees to make room, and yetthey still brush. I am finding sharing such intimate space with a man I don’t really know strange to navigate. The intimacy feels like a prelude, although it isn’t. It’s like there needs to be a clear statement at some point that this is not something more than it is so I can stop reading into potential signals. As I push open the door, I decide that at some point, I’ll make clear my intentions about Joe. Just to clear the vague air of unknowing that I’m feeling.
In my room, I reach into my cupboard and pull out the second small box of cards. It has been almost two years since I’ve looked inside it, and I run my fingers across the edge of the red cardboard. Do I want to share this with Ash? I’m not sure. It feels like holding on to it is holding on to a piece of Charlie, and like sharing it is giving part of her away. Still. Charlie isn’t going to use this box anymore. Oh, fuck it, I’m going to share it with Ash.
“Another box?” he says, as I return to the lounge.
“It’s full of all the films me and my best friend wanted to see. We started this whole dumb thing because after hours of scrolling we could never decide on a film, and she was sick of me rewatching my favorites. I have to say, though, it’s got more additions from Charlie than me, because I worked at a cinema for years. Now, Ash, I feel a bit like sharing this is a betrayal. But I’m sure she and Alex have their own movie selection process now.”
Ash laughs. “I’m sure they do, Mara.”
“What?”
“Nothing,” he says. “It’s the idea that everyone has a movie selection process. It’s funny.”
“It’s weird. Weird and reclusive, my workmate called me the other day.” I laugh once. “Perhaps she’s right.”
“You’re just new here,” he says, and then he looks me in the eye with a teasing grin. “Although you’re notthatnew. You must let metake you to the Star and Anchor for a proper drink and some scampi fries. Once you’re feeling up to it, of course.”
“Fine. Fine,” I say. “Fine.”
“Fine?” he teases.
“Yes, I’d love to, thanks,” I say, throwing a cushion at him. “Have you always lived in Broadgate?”
“Mostly. Had a stint at uni, but that didn’t work out.”
“Ha,” I say.
“What?”
“Same as me. I went to film school. But I... I failed my final year.” I shrug.
“Oh yeah?” he questions, his eyebrows furrowing in disbelief.
“There was a whole thing with a final group project,” I say, trying to keep it light. “And I had this idea, but my partner, who was also my boyfriend, sort of stole it, but not in a way I could prove. And then we broke up. He also told our professor that I was suffocating him. And I was just basically a mess. It was humiliating.”
I feel my cheeks burn red-hot while I recount the memory, knowing I probably shouldn’t share it. I don’t come off looking very good in this story, even if Noah comes off looking worse.
“Oh my God,” Ash says, turning to face me. “That’s fucking... well, appalling.”
“Yes. But in a weird way, I feel sort of like I ignored the signs and so I have to shoulder a bit of the blame.”
“I can’t imagine you ignoringsigns,” he says.
“Oh, not those kinds of signs. Now,thoseI would have listened to,” I say, laughing. “I mean like, like, my actual feelings. I sort of knew deep down he wasn’t completely honest or, you know, credible, or, like, faithful. I mean, you wouldn’t point at Noah across a street and say, ‘That man is built from blood and integrity.’ If I lookback now, most of the embarrassment is that I didn’t stand up for myself sooner,” I say, sighing. “But then, I’ve never been good at intuiting things. I don’t really trust myself.”
Ash doesn’t respond right away. He looks like he might say something, but he doesn’t.
“Why didyouleave?” I say now.
“Missed home,” he replies, shrugging, and I can’t say I’m surprised. He turns his whole body around so we are both leaning back on opposite sofa arms, his legs on the floor and mine tucked out of the way. Neither of us crossing the center line.
