“Online, online,” Kieran says quickly.
“Oh. No.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right.” He stares down at Eversford. “You’d only end up torturing yourself. That’s the problem, these days. You can never really escape your past because it’s all there online every day, staring you in the face. You looking, then?”
“For what?”
“Someone else. I can hook you up, if you like. Zoë knows loads of people.”
“Thanks,” I say, feeling a bit blank inside. “But you’re all right.”
“Joel,” he says. “How long are you going to wait?”
Six years, Kieran, I could tell him.Callie’s got six years left. I can’t even think about dating properly again yet. Maybe I never will.
But how do you explain that flings and chance encounters are all you’re really capable of, without sounding like a snake?
By my side, Kieran’s still breathing hard. “Can’t believe I can finally stop worrying about when I’m going to get my best vet back.”
“Get your breath back, did you say?”
Kieran snorts. “Ha. The job does come with terms, you know.”
“Such as?”
“Such as no sarcastic comments about your boss running slower than your average ninety-year-old.”
“We can fix that,” I tell him. “I know a guy.”
•••
That night, I dream about Callie again. And it’s a dream that floods me with joy, brings me slowly round with a smile on my face.
Three years from now, early in the morning. Callie’s on a bench halfway along a promenade, eyes glimmering from beneath the brim of a knitted hat. Her gaze has drifted out to sea, and she’s swigging intermittently from a travel mug.
It looks like a seaside town. There’s a hotel in the background, lightbulbs strung between lampposts. She must live there, I guess, unless she’s visiting. But there’s no luggage with her, and she’s alone.
Alone except for Murphy by her side and the double buggy by her feet.
She’s rocking it gently back and forth, with a smile that tells me her heart is full.
And to know that, so is mine.
81.
Callie—two years after
I hate leaving you,” I say with a sigh, as I’m getting ready to catch the train back to Eversford on a sodden Sunday night in late November.
“Then don’t.” Finn’s topless on the bed, fresh from the shower and smelling of citrus soap. Propped on one elbow, he’s pretending to watch me pack, though the look in his eyes is a full invitation. I’m half-tempted to give in and kneel beside him for a kiss before remembering that I really do have to go. Kissing Finn on a bed without it turning into something more is, as yet, unheard of.
He sits up. “I’m serious. Move in with me, Cal. You and Murph. Come on, this is crazy, all this back-and-forth. Move to Brighton. I love you, why not?”
Why not?would be Finn’s epitaph, I think. That’s just the way he’s been brought up.What’s the worst that can happen? Worry about it later. It’s better to beg forgiveness than ask permission.He says yes to everything, turns very little down. So different from Joel, and his quiet, understated reserve.
And so different from me too—Finn’s my opposite in many ways, though being with him has made me more adventurous by default, I think. We’re always out, these days, and we probably overspend on adventures, like skydiving and gig tickets and invites to overseas weddings. He drove up to see me on a midweek morning once, threw me a surprisebirthday party when we’d been together just a few weeks. Finn has the whole world on speed dial, can make friends in an empty room.
People keep telling me it’s good to be with someone who balances you out. You can’t be all yin and no yang, they say. And I’m sure they’re right.
