You didn’t think I would?
I’m never sure, with you, she says. She’s bought a couple of pastries, too, without comment; passes him one as they head back towards the door, and Bren says well, why not try to be? Sure, I mean. Get to know me better, again.
Nora pauses by the exit, her coffee in hand. Mocha, rather. A shot of espresso, dark chocolate flakes. Uncertainty in the set of her mouth.
You don’t think we know each other?
I saidbetter, Bren reiterates. After years of emails and video calls, he says, I hear a coffee’s a good way to start.
Her mouth twitches, and she says okay. Just a sec. Turns away, lifting her phone to her ear. Bren takes a sip of his cappuccino, watches the people in the café while he waits. They’re just like the people in her café, though there are more men in here; a woman with a dachshund in her lap; a barista making drinks the wayheused to, with clenched-jaw focus in case he boiled instead of frothed the milk.
Shay says it’s quiet, Nora says, when she turns back.
Great, Bren says. So shall we … sit?
Sure, Nora says, and they do. Peel the lids off their cups, both drink.
Are you leaving, then, she asks him.
What?
Are you leaving the country? Is that why you came to see me today?
No! Bren says. Well, I will be leaving, obviously. But not right now.
Soon, though?
If you want, he says, and it is meant to sound light, but she says no, and it is more forceful than either of them expected; someone at the table next to theirs looks up, just briefly, from their laptop. Nora drops her gaze. Drinks more of her mocha.
Why is this so hard, she says, and Bren looks into his own cup.
I can think of a few reasons, he says.
Nora laughs, then, or at least tries to; tears a piece of pastry from inside the paper bag and puts it in her mouth. Chews, for a long time, so that eventually, Bren is the one to speak.
I’m sorry for showing up without telling you, he says. The other night, I mean.
Nora nods, swallows. Says no; he’s already apologised.She’ssorry she wasn’t nicer about it. This Danish, by the way, is unbelievable.
She offers him a piece. He takes it.
You’re always nice, he tells her.
I’m not, she says. I want to be, but I get it wrong a lot of the time. It’s an effort. Whereas I look at some people and think, they are just good to their core. Like your mum. Or like Robin.
Or this pastry, Bren says, while he chews.
It’s easy for them, she says, but I have to think about it. I feel like I think too much, sometimes. Or all the time.
Bren doesn’t know what to say to this, or indeed what she’s getting at. Nora had always been one for these sorts of conversations – earnest, near philosophical – and he was always happy to listen, but not necessarily engage. A personality thing. A boy versus girl thing. Raised by Freya versus Josie, who knows.
You have tattoos, Nora says next, and he drinks more coffee. Says yeah.
A lot of them, she observes.
It became kind of an obsession, he says. Collecting them, each place I went. But I’m a coward, really. I only get them where you can’t see them. Unless I’m swimming with my shirt off.
She blushes again; he did not mean this to sound so flirtatious, but he finds it’s easy to fall into, around her. Like before. There was always something between them, something magnetic they weren’t able to touch, but could both undoubtedly feel – a palpable force between their poles.
