‘What do you think the artist is trying to say?’ asks a voice beside me.
‘Oh,’ I say, and it comes out in a way that isn’t just a sign of surprise, but one of relief and I’m-so-bloody-happy-to-see-you when I find Christopher standing beside me. He’s got his hands stuffed in the pockets of his khaki slacks, linen shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows, and I don’t want to know why he still has bed hair in the afternoon.
‘Hello, Kate.’ He grins down at me.
For the love of all that’s sacred, I love how my name sounds when he says it. Even if it’s a nickname I don’t love, I let it slide. My mind draws a complete blank and we fall silent. I watch as his eyes move about my face.
‘Hi,’ I pip.
‘Hello,’ he repeats.
‘What brings you out here today?’ I say.
‘Can I—’
‘—I’d really like it if we could talk,’ I say.
‘Can we please?’ he urges. ‘I’ve got so much I need to say but I feel like a fool and I don’t know where to begin.’
I breathe a sigh of relief and almost laugh. ‘Firstly, you are not a fool.’
‘Let me start with the fact I owe you an apology,’ he adds.
‘You don’t have to do that,’ I say.
‘B-but I have to because I obviously got the wrong—’
‘Honestly, it’s—’
‘And I would hate to think—’ he continues as if he’s not heard me at all.
I kiss him. I reach up, hold his face in my hands and kiss him. It’s not the stuff of romance movies where everything’s perfect and rain tinkles down from the sky. For one, it’s a little awkward. I spend the first terrifying moments thinking my calves are about to cramp on me because I’m stretched up to meet him and, when I’m not panicking about that, I’m worried I’ve just done the wrong thing. Then, something wonderful happens; he relaxes into me and kisses me back.
He leans down into me and my legs are more relieved than they’ve ever been. His mouth is warm against the air-conditioned gallery and his fingers slip and twist between mine, holding me tightly in place as if I’ll blow away if he lets go. I revel in him for a quiet moment, enjoying how different this feels from John. Instead of thinking he’s trying to take something from me, it almost seems as if he’s still apologising. I’m sorry I walked out; I’ve changed my mind; yes, please keep doing this. The amazing thing is, I want to keep doing this.
When someone, somewhere in the back of the room clears their throat, he pulls away only enough to run the tip of his nose down the length of mine.
‘You didn’t get the wrong idea,’ I whisper, my voice tittering with nervous laughter. Only when I loosen my grip do I realise I’ve been clutching a handful of his shirt.
He sucks in a deep breath. ‘Shit. Yes. Okay.’
‘How do you feel about getting out of here?’
Crossing the city centre, we grab some chips and head for the shade of a tree in the nearest park, all while trying to untangle hands and mouths. Or maybe we don’t want to untangle ourselves. This feels huge and precious, and we both know it, and the whole time Christopher is bursting to finish his apology.
‘You know, I’ve been meaning to call you, I just wasn’t entirely sure what I wanted to say.’ I keep my eyes fixed on the greasy parcel that sits between us on the wooden bench.
‘I think I panicked. I mean, we both saw that I did. It’s just that I’ve been on my own for a while now, so the idea of starting over and going through all that stuff again is scary,’ he says, offering me first pick of our lunch.
‘Absolutely it’s scary. All those introductions and new names and fitting in.’ I shudder. ‘Has my father ever told you about the time he introduced us to Fiona?’
He shakes his head. ‘No.’
‘All right.’ I pivot so as I’m facing him, pulling my ankle up under my knee. ‘Dad rang Adam and me on a conference call, which we never do.’
‘Really? Because you kind of give off that vibe of a family who would do weird shit like that.’
‘Oh!’ I laugh. ‘Are you serious?’
‘Well, yeah. I mean, you’re all so in each other’s pockets. Don’t get me wrong, it’s nice to see, but it’s so alien to me. My parents more or less leave me alone ninety-eight per cent of the time. We have supper occasionally and it’s all very “How are you, son?” and that’s it.’
And, I suspect, that’s exactly why he spends so much time with my father.
‘I can’t imagine that,’ I say. ‘Bizarre. Anyway, he invited us up to dinner. He explained he wanted us to meet someone and didn’t want to tell one of us before the other.’
‘You do realise neither of you can do wrong in his eyes.’
‘That’s because we can’t.’ I pat his knee. ‘So, on he goes, he’s telling us about her and adds in that if we don’t want to stay the night, he would pay for a hotel because he knows that this might be awkward for everyone. Immediately, we both jumped in and said of course we’ll stay. It’s Dad. If he’s happy, what’s the problem, right?’
‘That’s still a lovely gesture.’
‘Honestly, I think it’s a little sad he was worried we’d react like that, but nevertheless, we popped up and met her. She was dressed in a Minion outfit because she wanted to paint something fun and she said that got her in the mood. So, immediately we were like “She’s perfect for him.”’
Christopher laughs. ‘Yeah, that’s definitely her.’
‘It gets to dinnertime and Dad needs something, so I volunteer to go up to the supermarket. Fiona says she’s coming, too, and you just know something’s coming, right? We pop into The Moor. I don’t know why we ended up there, we just did. Conversation is all lovely and what about the weather and tell me about your job, that sort of thing.’
‘And then?’ Christopher hangs his elbow over the back of the bench and rests his head on his fist.
‘I turn around and she’s stopped walking and she’s in tears and I ask her what’s wrong because I think I’ve said something to upset her. I don’t know this woman, maybe I’ve touched on something without knowing, I don’t know. So, she dries her eyes and she says, “I just want you to know that I’m terrified of you and your brother.”’
‘Shit, that’s heavy.’
‘What do you say to that though? It’s such a massive thing to be so open about.’
‘And what did you say?’
‘I just hugged her and told her it was okay.’
‘Look, your first problem was shopping in The Moor,’ he says. ‘That’ll make anyone cry.’
I laugh and wipe my eyes. ‘Oh, and I suppose you’re a Devonshire Street lad, are you?’
He winks and I fall about laughing.
‘Anyway, moral of the story is it took Dad ten years to do anything and it was still terrifying, for everyone, so whatever you’re feeling is okay and you don’t owe anyone an explanation as to what you are or aren’t doing.’
‘You’re amazing, you know that?’