Of course it isn’t. Drugs keep me together, and I’m not ashamed. I hate them because I need them, but I love them because they work. Most of the time. If I take them correctly.
Fear is a constant band around my heart, some days tighter than others. When I’m with Aidan, it’s as though the elastic has worn out, and I start to dream that it might slip away altogether, but then he goes home—or I do—and the tension returns. Throat aching, I go downstairs and make chamomile tea, but my kitchen, flooded with sunlight from the garden, is too hot for me to contemplate drinking it, so I abandon my mug and take my phone outside.
My garden is unrecognisable from when Aidan started working on it. Gone are the weeds and thistles that previously took up most of the space, and in their place are young herbs and shrubs, tiny and full of promise. He says I can use the stronger herbs—rosemary, bay, and thyme—straight away, but I’ve yet to pluck a single leaf. I can’t, they’re too perfect.
I sniff them, though, about ten times a day, more when he’s not here. The lemon thyme is my favourite. I rub the bright leaves between my thumb and finger, releasing oil onto my skin, then I retreat to the upturned plant pot that comprises my entire collection of garden furniture and sit on it.
Aidan has replied to my message.
Aidan:do u trust me?
Ludo:Yes.
Aidan:are u sure?
Ludo:I don’t really trust myself, let alone anyone else, but if I was going to trust someone unequivocally, it would be you.
I send my response and immediately regret how verbose and ridiculous I sound. Aidan doesn’t need a twenty-two-word text message to understand what I mean. Sometimes he doesn’t need any words at all.
Aidan:meet me by the gate at 4. bring bella if you want... and a towel
I’m laughing before I know why.
* * *
“There’s nowhere in these woods I don’t know about.”
Aidan snorts and grabs my hand. He tugs me through the gate and doesn’t let go. We’re not exactly strolling hand-in-hand like lovers, but it’s close enough that I brave a furtive glance around.
He catches me, naturally. “Are you worried someone might see us?”
“Not especially. I’m more curious how you’d react if they did.”
“Why?”
I shrug. “I don’t know how out you are.”
“Out?”
“As in queer. The only person you ever talk about is Bernard. Does he know?”
“Dunno. But I wouldn’t tell him if I had a girlfriend either, so I don’t see how that’s relevant.”
Girlfriend. Does that make me his boyfriend?
Jesus.
I’m not set up for this conversation today, but the dog in me perseveres. “Everyone around here knows I’m queer. I was sleeping with the bloke who worked in the chip shop last summer.”
“How does that mean everyone knows? Did you write it on each other’s heads?”
“No, he put it on Facebook when I told him I didn’t want to see him anymore.”
Aidan grunts. “Good job he fucked off back to Scotland.”
“You knew him?”
“Vaguely. Before you came along I spent a lot of time in the chip shop.”
