“Well, Mara, since you asked, Iamactually making some changes.”
“Like what?” I ask, my eyes narrowing. I glance at his hands again, the plaster on his thumb. “What are you doing to improve your life?”
“Well...” Ash pauses and looks thoughtfully at his drink before downing the last of it. We are both now without a drink, and I can feel that I’m starting to lose myself a bit. I suddenly just want to be transported to my bed.
“Well?” I ask, suddenly urgently wanting him to say something spectacular. Wanting him to be more. “What are your plans? What big thing do you want?”
Ash looks up to a framed picture of the solar system that sits just above the bar. It’s oil on wood, twee but very precisely painted.
“Iwantto be an astronaut,” he says, and then looks down at me, smiling. For the first time since Ash moved in, I notice it: a wistful dreaminess. Like he’s holding something close to himself. Something special.
“Well, I really did mean a grown-up dream,” I reply. “I wanted to be Audrey Hepburn, but that Vespa has driven off.”
“Roman Holiday,” he says. “My mum loves that movie.”
“You know you keep comparing me to your mum?” I say, as I feel a yawn coming and cannot obscure it.
“Shall I walk you home?” he says.
“Ushome you mean,” I say, standing, a little unsteadily, on my feet.
Ash glances out the window. “I’m actually going to head out for a couple of hours.”
“Where?”
“I have to meet someone tonight,” he says, glancing at his watch, which is a very old silver watch, with one of those click-and-pull-back fasteners. Big and heavy.
“Who?”
Ash pauses for enough time that I realize what is going on, and then the outfit makes sense and I feel silly as the heat rises in my cheeks. A date. That’s why he looks like a tall, handsome blue Teletubby.
“It’s okay, you don’t need to say,” I reply as we stand at the entrance to the pub. I glance over his shoulder toward the directionhome. It’s been raining, and the stiff sea breeze makes it feel colder than it is. I take a step to go around him, but he does too, and then there is an awkward dance between us, where he ends up laughing and standing right out of the way with his arms out so I have the whole footpath to myself. And then I look up at him and for a fleeting moment wish he didn’t have a date and we could walk home together.
“Let me know when you need help with any other parts of Project Mara,” he says, putting his hands deep into his jeans pockets, making him look smaller and more boyish. “I’ll get onto the flat in the next weeks when I’ve finished... some work.”
“Really?” I say, wishing I could take back everything I’ve told him tonight. I’ll wake up with regret tomorrow, I just know it. But it’s too late to put it back. It’s out, like a jack-in-the-box. Out for him to find silly, or charming, or whatever other thing he might think that I have zero control over.
“Yeah. And come and meet my mates sometime, Mara. They’re nice. There’s a couple of girls too. You don’t have to hang out with my mum at her book club. Sorry about suggesting it.”
I feel a smile creeping across my face. “I’d probably enjoy it, but don’t tell anyone.”
The golden light from the pub catches his eyes, and the murmur of the crowd can be heard through the inch of open sash window. I glance up at the sky beyond the awnings and see a slash of night stars. I look back at Ash, who has a look I can’t place. Frustration, perhaps? His eyes flicker down toward me, and I feel time pause as we both collect ourselves.
“You look like you need to be home,” he says.
“Yep,” I say, probably too abruptly, taking off before I say anything else I’ll regret. I concentrate only on the sound of my bootson the wet footpath. And this is why I never make new friends. It’s the little steps that you need to take to move closer—the tiny bits you have to give away, and the parts of yourself the other person needs to be able to forgive. The risk they might not like what they see is a risk too big to dare.
14
Today you’ll finally see some things that were hiding in plain sight. You’ll connect with someone in an authentic way. And you’ll refocus your waning attention on the project that needs you. Time is not on your side, Sagittarius. Eyes on the prize.
Every single timeI start to question astrology, I’m hit with a daily reading like that. I close my phone and look for Samira, whom I’m meeting outside Fired Up café. I wave through the window at Chrissie behind the counter, who waves a hand back at me, lazily, without really looking up. Like we’re neighbors. I’ve become something of a regular here lately, and it’s comforting to be known, but at a distance.
The air is starting to get hot now, with July having firmly brought in the summer sun. The trees are green; the gardens outside the waterfront hotels are a symphony of scent and color. I gazeout across the bay. Gone is the dark, peaty water, the high sun bringing out all the shades of green against the shore. On this gorgeously sunny Saturday morning, I can see groups setting up on the beach for the day. Children being rubbed with sunscreen, parents erecting sun umbrellas, the beach huts open, bright patterned towels flung over their doors. Cars drive at a crawl along the promenade. There is music, too, coming out of a new ice cream store with a striped-pink-and-white awning. Everyone is sinking into this gloriously hot summer; the huddled, solitary tone of winter has given way to color and sound and people. So many people. I spot Samira as she makes her way across the road to me.
“It really comes alive, doesn’t it,” I say, my mouth starting to water at the thought of a vanilla cone.
“What? Broadgate?” She laughs as she says it. “Nightmare, mate. It’s like an invasion. Still, we make hay, my friend.” She clutches a clipboard and waves me back down the main street. She looks so understated in her maxi-skirt and a blouse with an oversize collar.
