‘I found these,’ Mum says, coming back out after loading the dishwasher. We tried to help her, but she insisted on us staying out and ‘catching up’. We haven’t talked much, but I did establish that he still playsPokémon Go, and we are now friends on the app. He’s already kicked me off a nearby gym. Got his Nintendo friend code, too. She places a leather-bound photo album down on the table, brushing off a sheen of dust.
‘Mum, no.’
‘Oh my God.’ Will leans forwards eyes wide. He reaches for the album, putting his wine glass safely down, fingers splayed, like an excited child who has just seen a bar of chocolate. ‘This isn’t what I think it is, is it?’
‘The very same one.’
My hands cover my face, groaning. ‘Please don’t.’
‘But Sam, there are photos in here I haven’t seen for years.’
As Will turns the pages, the creak of the plastic wrapping screeches out.
‘Aw, look at you.’ He’s peering at a photo of five-year-old me, holding a stuffed bear. ‘This is so cute.’
‘That’s Mr Blanky,’ I say, nodding slowly.
‘What happened to Mr Blanky?’
I clear my throat. ‘Uh…’
‘Sam still has him.’
Flushed, I meet Will’s eye. ‘Yeah.’
Will hoots, his feet kicking the air. ‘Amazing. Oh, and this one? Wow.’
My hand slams over the photo. ‘Mum.’
‘Oh, it’s fine.’
It most certainly is not fine. It’s a photo of me crying after my candy floss had fallen on the floor.
‘Such a traumatic time,’ Will remarks, winking at me.
My chest flutters. Will’s eye contact breaks, but he chances a quick look at me, a slight flush to his neck.
‘Sam.’
His tone sends a jolt through me, making me lean closer. Close enough to feel his warmth, smell something exotic on his skin, a masculine musk of earth. He’s pointing at a photo of two boys cross-legged, knees touching, clutching Gameboys.
‘Some things never change,’ Mum says, tutting affectionately.
I admire his skin up close. He peers down at the photograph. ‘We were so nerdy.’
‘We’re millennials, what do you expect?’
My knee brushes his, and he jolts away, the book slipping from his grasp. ‘Oh God.’ Will leans forwards at the same time as I do. As he leans up, book retrieved, the back of his head bumps the edge of my nose. I move back before I can do any more damage, but not before I inhale the scent of his shampoo.
‘Oh my God. Have I broken your nose?’ he asks.
I laugh, placing a finger to the edge of my nose, which feels a little warm from the bump but nothing else. ‘You barely touched me.’
‘You promise you’re okay?’ His eyes search my face, his tongue brushing his lips.
I drop my hand, adopting a confused expression. ‘I might be concussed.’
‘Not funny, Sam.’
