I shrug. ‘I didn’t do anything.’
‘Yeah, you did. You called me a dick.’ And before I can argue, Paul puts his hand on mine and squeezes it.
We stay like that for a few seconds. His hand is warm and firm, and I’m afraid to breathe.
‘Another drink?’ asks Cormac.
‘Go on then.’ Paul takes his hand away.
‘No, thanks,’ I say, and rest my hand on my stomach, still tingling from Paul’s touch. ‘I don’t need anything else.’
And maybe I don’t.
I text Ben.
Hey I’ve been a bit caught up in
the move here but wanted to
check how you are
Three dots stop and start, until eventually his message pops up.
All good, cheers
Well, it’s a start. I put my phone away. I am now a boundaried and respectful friend who is ready to acknowledge the emotional complexities of straight and maybe straight guys. I will not flirt with them or obsess over the fact that a newly single one just held my hand.
Sure…
Chapter Fifteen
Meg’s place is a new build at the side of the estate. It’s a huge detached house and her bedroom is massive. She has a double bed in the corner and along one wall are two floor-toceiling bookshelves. Each shelf is full to bursting with books crammed in every direction. On the other side is a desk at least three times the length of a school one. A monitor competes for space with more books, several decks of tarot cards and overflowing plants.
The walls are covered in sketches, collages and richcoloured oil paintings of trees, flowers and wildlife. A painted hare stares out from behind a thorny bush, while a giant bee hovers in the air, its legs caked in thick pockets of amber pollen. In the centre is a crow standing on a rock, the purples and greens of its inky feathers sparkling.
‘Wow.’
Meg smiles proudly. ‘Yeah, love my room.’
In the corner is a large black bowl filled with shiny pebbles. Nestled on top is a bleached-white sheep skull.
Meg follows my gaze and shrugs. ‘Skulls are cool.’
‘I can’t believe you’re allowed to do all this up here.’
‘My mum’s pretty chill and Dad is barely here. As long as I vacuum, they don’t mind what I get up to.’ She grins. ‘Including turning it into a dark room.’
We set up a string to hang the prints to dry and place three trays on her desk, one for developing, one for stopping thedeveloping and the final for fixing the image. While she sets out the ingredients under a desk lamp, I pull down the blinds and draw the heavy curtains across.
‘This is very witchy,’ I say.
She smirks. ‘I know, its class.’ She shakes some dried mint leaves into a steaming flask of water. ‘We need to let that brew for a bit.’
I mix vitamin-C tablets into a jug of water that bubbles up furiously as I add bicarbonate of soda. We then mix the two solutions together and pour them into a tray, and the developer solution is ready. She fills the second tray with water and squeezes in some lemon juice. The acid will stop the photos over-developing. For the final fixing tray we mix salt and water.
Meg produces a raven-shaped lamp holding a red bulb in its beak. ‘You ready?’
I hold the envelope of photos close to my chest.
