Chapter 22
Alistair
Are there narcotics in this pie? I hadn’t even hesitated before texting Isla, my mind still reeling from what had happened on her sofa. She was in my nose. In my lungs.
Isla: That was fast.
Isla: Better than swamp juice?
Music pulsed on the other side of the wall – barely audible, like she was making an effort to be quiet. I pressed my ear to it, recognising the soulful saxophone opening of Pink Floyd, though I couldn’t remember the title of the song.
Alistair: You know it is.
Isla: I’m not sure it’s good enough for the contest. Apple feels a little boring.
Alistair: Did I mention this is the best pie I’ve ever tasted?
Isla: I’m convinced it’s the only pie you’ve ever tasted.
I knew the conversation should end there. That I should let her get on with her evening. Paperwork waited for me on the kitchen table. But the taste of apples was fading from my mouth. The high from those hours with her fading along with it.
My thumbs moved independently from my brain. Turn it up.
The ticks turned blue.
The music crept higher. No more than a decibel.
Alistair: Higher.
It grew louder, and I laid out on the bed, satisfied as the lyrics became audible.
My phone buzzed. Didn’t take you for a Pink Floyd fan.
Alistair: I’m not. I only recognise the song because I went on a date to a Pink Floyd planetarium show.
She replied quickly. Your pick or hers?
Alistair: Mine. Kind of. I got the tickets from a colleague who couldn’t attend.
Isla: Gasp. A hand-me-down date.
I smiled, and typed, Even worse, I’d forgotten the date was even happening until thirty minutes before.
The wall muffled her laugh. Really selling yourself as a boyfriend here.
I cared about little beyond work back then, I typed then deleted. Because what? Now I did? Was that what I was trying to say? I settled on: Keep your expectations low, Lang.
Isla: Did she like it?
Your date I mean, she added on a second later.
Alistair: She fell asleep ten minutes in. I’d loved it though. For the first time in ages, my mind had gone completely blank as I flew through space.
Another laugh, louder this time. I pressed a hand to the wall, grinning.
Isla: Man, those free tickets were wasted on her.
I imagined taking Isla there. Sitting in the narrow seat, holding her hand. Glancing over in the darkness and catching her wide smile. Finding a dessert shop on the walk home and buying her a slice of every cake on the menu.
The thought didn’t feel like a chore or like I was forcing myself to make room.
Maybe we could go one day. I paused before pressing send.
She did love the stars.
Her reply came just as slowly. Sure, hit me up when the planetarium comes to Skye.
A joke. But it wasn’t a no.
The final notes of the song drew to a close, the silence ringing like tinnitus.
Play it again, I typed.
She did. And when no reply came, I let my phone fall to my chest, closing my eyes, seeing the cosmos fly behind my eyes. I fell asleep that way, irrevocably tied to this moment by a song I couldn’t even name.
This woman.
This fucking day.