The transformation is instant: he goes completely rigid.
‘What’s wrong?’ I ask with concern as he lets me go and backs up.
‘No one calls me Danny.’
‘Oh.’ I’m confused.
‘Why did you call me Danny?’
‘Um …’ I decide to come clean. ‘My mum—’
‘Your mum?’ he interrupts.
‘She’s a doctor. She used to work at Perranporth.’
He takes another step backwards so he can see me more clearly. All contact between us has been severed.
‘What’s her name?’ he asks carefully.
‘Kay Stone.’
‘Dr Stone is your mum?’
I nod. ‘Don’t worry, she didn’t tell me anything.’
He lets out a brittle laugh. ‘I should hope not.’
‘She saw you leaving through the gate a couple of weeks ago. She referred to you as Danny.’
‘She really didn’t say anything else?’
He’s perceptive.
‘Only that your family circumstances were difficult,’ I admit reluctantly.
He shakes his head with what looks like disgust and walks away a few paces, halting with his back to me.
I stare at him miserably, wondering how such a perfect moment could have taken this horrible turn. I have a feeling that he’s going to keep walking and leave me here alone, but then he turns around and slowly retraces his steps, coming to a stop in front of me.
The wind is brutal, whipping his hair against his face in dark slashes. I’ve never wanted to lay my hands on clay more.
His gaze falls to my cheekbone and he comes even closer, lifting his hand.
‘Stay still,’ he commands when I pull back reflexively.
I feel his fingers brush my cheek and then he shows me the stray eyelash that he’s collected.
‘We can solve this once and for all,’ he murmurs, pincering his own eyelashes and extracting one.
I belatedly realise what he’s up to.
‘Don’t let it blow away!’ I say with a gasp, and we huddle together, our bodies forming a shelter from the wind.
‘Yours is longer,’ I say, somewhat indecisively.
‘Yours is,’ he replies, flipping his over so the lashes are spooning each other.
I glance up at him. ‘Draw?’
