‘So, salad cream with chips?’ I ask as we make our way back to the bench by the bus stop. ‘Yep.’ She nudges me with her shoulder. ‘Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it.’
We sit down, a few late-night couples stumbling past us up the road.
‘Do you have family?’ I ask, before blowing on a chip and putting it into my mouth. The salt, vinegar and grease are just what I need to sort me out. Maybe some food will sober me up and I’ll stop acting like I’ve just met my soulmate.Soulmate? I’ve definitely had too many pints and nowt but a crisp butty for tea.
‘Yeah. Older brother, younger sister. You?’ she asks, spearing a chip with a wooden fork.
‘Younger brother.’
‘How old?’
‘Fourteen.’
‘Ouch. Tough age. I bet you make a good big brother though?’
I think of the way I laid into Carl just before I left for using my deodorant and leaving his stinking socks and dirty crockery around the room.
‘What makes you think that?’ She discards the fork and reaches for a chip, examining me again while she chews.
‘You’ve got a wholesome vibe about you.’
I laugh. ‘Vibe?’ I shake my head, frowning a touch. ‘Nobody has described me as wholesome. Prone to brooding, maybe. Shouts at the telly too much, and has the attention span of a fly, more like.’
‘But you’re an artist. That takes attention, right?’ She sucks the salt from her thumb.
‘That’s different.’
‘How?’
I take another couple of chips and think while I chew, trying not to sound like an almighty wanker before I say the following words. ‘It’s like time disappears when I draw… like it doesn’t exist.’
She stops eating, chip halfway to her mouth before replying. ‘That’s how I feel when I research. I can think ten minutes has passed, but then I’ll look at the clock and a few hours have slipped by. And there I am… lost in the past.’
We continue eating. A few groups pass us by, and I wonder what we look like to them. Do we fit? Do we look like a couple? She’s out of my league, I know that. Her eyes are dark brown, almost black, her eyelashes are long, her jawline is sharp but the dimple in the middle of her chin softens the clean lines.
‘You’re staring,’ she says, but she’s smiling. It’s not a shy smile, it’s confident, like she knows how good she looks and is comfortable with it.
‘Just committing you to memory, is all.’
‘Am I to be your next muse?’
I eat another chip and look at her again. There is something contagious about her confidence, like it gives me permission to be just as bold. ‘Maybe.’
She turns her head, showing me her side profile, lifting her chin. ‘How’s this?’
I smile as she meets my eyes. ‘Aye. You’ll do.’
She laughs. It’s low, as though it comes right from deep inside her. ‘Such a charmer.’
‘I’m a Yorkshire lad. Won’t do to throw about compliments left right and centre.’
‘And if you weren’t? A Yorkshire lad?’
I snort at her attempt at my accent. ‘Then I’d say that you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met. But I won’t, because…’
‘You’re a Yorkshire lad. Well, Michael, I might not have lived here for long, but for what it’s worth, I think you’re more than just a lad from Yorkshire. You’re really very beautiful yourself.’
I laugh. ‘Nowt about me is beautiful.’
