37 plaid pyjamas and dino-snores
37
plaid pyjamas and dino-snores
Ava
It’s a confusing thing, to want time to stand still and speed all at once. There’s the part of me that wants to savour these last days with Finn, and the part of me that hopes they pass in a single second so Max can get started on his treatment sooner.
On Max’s end, he’s been up to London a couple of times for various tests in preparation for the radiotherapy that’ll start in a few weeks. In line with my promise for normality, we don’t talk about the elephant in the room, and he even joins Finn, Josie and me at Somerset House for the last of their summer movie sessions; a showing of Legally Blonde in the courtyard. Not quite under the stars, but I know they’re out there, through the smog.
One evening, Finn and I go to a Never After gig at the Underworld with Dylan, and as we stand right at the back with our ciders and overpriced merch, I question what possessed me to have spent my teen years queueing for hours to be near the front at shows when there’s just so much more room at the back to dance. Or, specifically, to watch Finn dance. Terribly.
Another day, we see a play at the Globe and I wonder if Elizabethan theatregoers also felt like their feet were falling off after standing for three hours watching Titus Andronicus , or if they had stronger extremities than I do.
We walk along the canals in Little Venice with Josie and Rudy, trek up Primrose Hill to admire the view, and see the deer in Richmond Park (there’s lots of walking, incidentally, but I don’t mind it).
And so, the days pass by exactly as I thought they would; jam-packed with moments so vibrant they’ll be branded on to my memory forever.
On his penultimate day, Finn has leaving drinks at a pub in Clapham, and Josie comes along too. I hold the door open for her as she tells me about her week.
‘We’ve finalised some of the tech for the big piece in the exhibition and I cannot wait for you to see it.’ Rudy leads her to the beer garden out back. September’s mild temperatures mean we can still sit outside, although this might be the last time we get to do it this year. It feels like a fitting end to summer. ‘But oh my god, I’m exhausted. I intend to do absolutely nothing this weekend. I’m locking myself in the flat. If you find me wedged between the sofa cushions, do not attempt to move me.’
‘Noted.’ I spot Julien and Rory already seated at one of the tables at the back under the vine-draped pergola, heads bowed, knees touching. Rory waves us over and I slide on to the bench directly opposite an empty spot, the table wobbling as I do. ‘You both good for drinks?’
‘The man of the hour has already ordered,’ Julien says, nodding towards the doorway, through which Finn is coming with a tray of drinks, including an Aperol Spritz for me and a G messy hair, open face, warm and patient and earnest. ‘Did your wish ever come true? The one you made that night?’
He puts his hands in his pockets and looks directly at me too. ‘I’m not sure yet.’
When the intercom buzzes the next day, sometime in the early evening, I let Finn up. He’s lugging two massive suitcases behind him, a rucksack slung across one shoulder, a Tesco bag on the other arm. He’s unusually dishevelled, with wonky glasses and hair askew. I take one look at him and cover my mouth to catch the laugh before it leaks out.
‘Your lift’s broken, by the way,’ he says flatly.
‘It’s not. You just need to press the buttons twice, for some reason. It’s always been like that.’ He drags the cases in behind him with a groan and I close the door. ‘Didn’t you get the lift up last time?’
‘I’m gonna be honest, I don’t even remember how I got here last time. I had a lot on my mind.’ It was the night after we kissed. The night we ended up doing a lot more than kiss. I let the memory fizzle out when I realise he’s still talking. ‘I wasn’t even sure if you’d let me in that night.’
I reach out to pull one of the suitcases further into the flat. ‘Well, at least you made it today.’
‘Barely,’ he mutters, following me into the kitchen and leaning against the counter like he always does at City Roast. Always did , I correct myself.
‘Do you want a drink?’ I pull out glasses from the dishwasher and inspect them for any grossness. ‘We still have some stuff left over from the party. There’s wine, rum, the shitty sambuca—’
He crosses his arms, eyes twinkling. ‘Does not-shitty sambuca exist?’
‘Unsure. But what do you want? Water? Tea? Coffee? Milk?’
I’m not quite Josie when it comes to hosting, and his laughter lines deepen at my aggressive hospitality. ‘Did you really just suggest milk?’
‘Oat or cow’s.’
‘Ava, I’m not drinking a glass of milk .’ He blinks as he thinks through the onslaught of options and proceeds to take a completely different approach. ‘No squash?’
‘If you’re being facetious,’ I dig around one of the cupboards and pull out a bottle of orange and pineapple, ‘it’s not working. I live for squash.’
‘I was being serious,’ he says through a laugh. ‘They don’t have it in the US and I need to fill my quota before I leave.’ We take our drinks to the sofa and he says, ‘I have something for you.’
‘I have a gift for you too. But you go first.’
‘Okay wait, no, it’s not actually exciting.’ He empties the contents of his Tesco bag on to the coffee table, following it with something akin to jazz hands. It’s multiple share bags of crisps and popcorn and, inexplicably, a handful of carrots.
‘God, you know how to treat a woman.’ I rake my hands through the loot.
‘Sorry, that was ridiculously underwhelming. I just didn’t wanna waste the food I had in my cupboards.’
I burst out laughing at his grimace and open one of the packets, crossing my legs under me on the sofa. ‘There is no gift I enjoy more than salt and vinegar crisps, and I mean that with my whole heart.’
‘Well, now I wish I’d brought more.’ He leans in and takes a handful. Once he’s finished eating, he adds, ‘Think of me every time you see them from now on.’
I’ll be thinking about you more often than that, I’m sure of it.
My clothes suddenly feel like they’re too tight and I leap to my feet again, Finn glancing over at me in surprise. ‘I’m gonna put my pyjamas on. If you eat all those without me, I’ll kick you out.’
When I come back to the living room, Finn’s rooting through his rucksack. ‘I’m gonna put mine on too.’ He puts on a fully American accent and says, ‘Slumber party?’
‘Please never, ever do that again.’
He laughs to himself all the way to the bathroom.
By the time I hear the bathroom door open, I’ve made an impressive dent in the snacks, and the gifts I grabbed from my room for him are tucked behind my back on the sofa. I look up as he comes closer and have to immediately avert my eyes, narrowly avoiding choking on a crisp in the process. In theory, plaid pyjama trousers should be wholesome. Somehow, on Finn they border on obscene.
One corner of his mouth lifts infinitesimally, but he doesn’t say anything straight away. He eyes the packet I’m clutching. ‘Don’t worry about saving any for me.’
‘Wasn’t going to,’ I say, crunching my way through a few more crisps and keeping my eyes on his face.
‘I assume you’ve noticed my shirt. Got it at the museum.’
I hadn’t noticed, actually. I was otherwise occupied. He stands in front of me in the kind of emotionless pose of a kid waking their parents to tell them they had a bad dream, wearing a ridiculous blue T-shirt that reads I survived a night with the dino-snores.
‘Firstly, I have no recollection of you making that purchase and absolutely would have talked you out of it had I known.’ I tilt my head back like I’m praying to the heavens, but I can’t help the laugh that spills out of and over me. It turns his deadpan expression into a grin. ‘Secondly, and most importantly, why are you like this?’
‘I’m like this because I have minimal shame.’ He stretches, all faux-awkwardness gone from his posture, dropping back on to his spot on the sofa. ‘Hey, so I know I should be like Oh no, Ava, you shouldn’t have got me anything, but the suspense is killing me. What did you get me?’
‘Give me your phone. Unlock it first.’
‘You’re very commanding.’ He does what I say anyway. He usually does.
I catch a flash of his lockscreen and my heart pangs when I realise he’s changed it to one of the photos we took under the archway at the Barbican. That was before I really knew him. Before he really knew me.
‘Now close your eyes,’ I say, clearing my throat. I place two items in his hands and he opens his eyes. He looks at the larger item first: a pack of hazelnut wafers. One of those sunshine smiles spreads across his face, and I repeat his words back to him, ‘Think of me when you eat them.’
He shakes his head with a small chuckle. ‘I’m not gonna eat them.’
‘You don’t want a reminder of me?’ I say it with a laugh, but when he meets my eye, he says what I kept to myself just a few minutes ago.
‘I’m gonna be reminded of you all the time anyway.’ He blinks a few times and looks at the second item, turning the plastic over in his hand. ‘What’s this?’
I slide along the sofa until I’m pressed against his side. ‘I removed Mateo’s name from his badge when he left the coffee shop and added yours instead. As proof of your last bucket list item.’ I show him his phone and the final point on the list stares at us, waiting to be crossed off. Become a regular. ‘Finlay O’Callaghan, I hereby declare you a regular.’
A sad smile tugs at his mouth and he nods at his phone. ‘Will you do the honours?’
The act itself is kind of anticlimactic: I press the tick mark and then it’s over. But seeing the whole list in front of us is unexpectedly heavy. For a while we both stare at it, at all the items we’ve completed. A scrapbook, of sorts, of the summer. I feel the sway of the boat bar, smell the plants at the Barbican Conservatory, taste the bagel from that shop on Brick Lane. It’s all here, on this note in Finn’s phone.
‘Can you believe this whole thing started because I wanted to get away from a dickhead in a pub? It feels like forever ago.’
‘I’m glad he was a dickhead,’ he says simply. ‘But I think I would’ve found a way to hang out with you anyway.’
I often feel like I got caught up in Finn’s orbit. All those times I’ve tried to close myself off, be alone, wallow, and he’s pulled me towards him instinctively; easy and warm and safe. But when he says things like this I wonder if maybe he got caught up in mine too; two lonely satellites tumbling through the cosmos, some gravitational pull drawing us together.
I don’t know how to say what I want to say without making it the sentimental goodbye I was hoping to avoid. But in the end, I lean into it. ‘I think I’ve had more fun in these last few months than I have in years.’ I push my arm against his. ‘And it’s because of you. So thank you.’
Uncertainty creases his forehead. ‘Am I making the right decision?’
‘There’s no such thing as the right decision. It’s just a decision.’ Everything in me wants to avoid eye contact, but I fix my gaze on to him. ‘You make it, you nurture it, and eventually you find out what it grows up to be.’
‘Then why does it feel wrong?’
‘It’s a big change.’ I analyse him – messy curls, ridiculous T-shirt, eyes like velvety espresso, curious and playful and thoughtful all at once. ‘Are you excited for this job?’
‘Yes.’
‘And are you ready to explore a new place?’
He sighs, scratching his jaw. ‘Yeah.’
‘So what’s stopping you?’
The silence stretches between us into something physical. It presses against my lungs, an ocean opening its jaws. His voice is low when he says, ‘I think you know.’
I let the next wave of quiet roll over me before I speak again. ‘You can’t pin your happiness on someone else.’ The words surprise me. Because really, haven’t I been doing the same? I gain momentum, remembering what Josie said ages ago about how she and Alina take the time to work on themselves individually so they can become better for each other. ‘It feels good, but it’s not healthy. And it’s not the right time. I think we both have things we need to prove to ourselves. I need to know I’m okay. That I’m not broken.’
He curls an arm around me and pulls me to him, his face in my hair as he murmurs, ‘You’re not broken.’
‘I have to confirm that for myself.’ I relax into the security of his hold and give him some of the truth I’ve been unpicking over the past few weeks. ‘Being around you made me forget that feeling, but it didn’t get rid of it, or all the stuff underneath. That’s still there.’
His chin rests on top of my head and I feel him nod, feel the urgent, anxious pace of his heartbeat. ‘I want you to feel better. More than anything.’
‘And I want you to feel settled. You won’t be satisfied until you’ve proven to yourself that you can do this job.’
‘I just hope I’m good enough for it.’
‘You will be. But you have to give this decision the attention it deserves,’ I say, closing my eyes and imagining a world where I can spend more time tucked against Finn like this. ‘A couple of months ago, San Francisco was all you were talking about. Maybe it’ll become your favourite place you’ve ever lived.’
I don’t say I’ll visit, because it feels too close to a lie, and because he might do what he told me he’s always done and start his life completely fresh, no looking back, as soon as he settles in his new home. There’s no way of knowing if I’ll just be another of his loose connections that fades away with time.
His pulse slows and finally, he gives a long, low sigh. ‘A decision is a decision. I’ve got a new job and I’ll make friends, and it’ll be fun.’ It feels like a mantra.
‘It’ll be fun. And you’re excited,’ I remind him. That’s when the idea comes to me. ‘Let’s make a San Francisco bucket list. Tonight.’
As we scroll through pages and pages of tourist websites and travel blogs, I could almost forget he’s leaving. We get sucked into bizarre Reddit threads and read Am I the asshole? posts aloud like they’re slam poetry, making our way through a good chunk of Finn’s second-hand snacks in the process.
It’s still fairly early when he notices the time; the sky a dusty violet, wisps of clouds only just visible through the living-room window. I watch him do the maths to make sure he can get enough sleep. ‘I don’t really want to sleep yet, but I probably should finish getting ready for bed.’
I join him in the bathroom and we stand next to each other at the mirror as we brush our teeth, taking part in that silent contest you do in other people’s company where you spend far longer brushing than you normally would. I don’t know how many minutes it’s been by the time he caves.
‘Jesus,’ he says after he’s spat out the toothpaste and rinsed it away. ‘I thought I was gonna end up having to swallow that.’
‘It wasn’t a competition,’ I say through my toothbrush, the words garbled. ‘I won though.’
‘Where’s your spare bedding? I’ll set up the sofa.’ He moves into the hallway when I point towards the airing cupboard. I spit out my toothpaste and he says, ‘I hope I’m not being a stereotypical man here, but I can’t see anything.’
I wipe my mouth and go to the cupboard, sure I’m going to find our spare set right in front of me. But he’s right, it’s not there. And I know I washed it after Max used it the other week. I open Josie’s bedroom door and there, in the corner, is a pile of bedding. Grabbing my phone from its spot on the side of the sink, I see a text on my home screen from Josie from over an hour ago that I must’ve missed.
josie: just remembered that rudes peed on the spare bedding so it needs to be washed, sorry!!!
As far as I’m aware, Rudy hasn’t had an accident since he was a puppy. I spin around and Finn’s running a hand through his hair, still squinting into the cupboard like the sheets might materialise if he looks hard enough.
‘Sorry, Josie’s used it recently so it’s dirty.’ I wish we still had the sleeping bags from the museum, but Alina’s already taken them back.
‘I can just sleep on the sofa with a throw, it’s fine.’ He closes the cupboard door and I can feel the warmth coming off him, he’s that close.
‘No.’ I step back and make a decision, determined to be a good host for his last night. ‘You can sleep in my room and I’ll sleep in Josie’s. I washed my bedding a couple of days ago. I’m not gross, I promise.’
‘If you’re sure you don’t mind me stealing your bedroom?’ he asks.
Without warning, my mind flashes back to the one other time Finn was in my room, and maybe his does too, because his face contorts and he looks up at the ceiling, slightly pained.
My voice is breezy when I say, ‘I’m sure. All good. Do you want some water?’ I catch sight of the clock as I head to the kitchen and my heart pangs with the realisation. He’s leaving. Soon. Fuck.
While I’d personally be happy with a glass of London’s finest chalky tap water, I use Josie’s filtered water from the fridge this time. In these last few moments we have together, it feels like every decision I make is important. Finn takes his glass from my outstretched hand and leans against the counter in the corner, his left hand braced against the worktop as his right holds the glass to his lips. His stance is relaxed, but his knuckles strain on the edge of the counter.
That’s how we stand for a while, wordlessly sipping, like the longer we make our waters last, the longer we can pretend he’s not getting on a plane tomorrow and flying thousands of miles away. I’m distracted enough by the thought that I’m surprised when I hit the bottom of my cup. I stare at it for a while, as if there’s a way to soothe my clamorous thoughts to be found there.
I’m dimly aware that the sirens that usually screech at all times of day seem to have quietened. It’s like we’re trapped inside during a snowstorm; the outside world muffled and distant while we’re suspended in time and space in this corner of my kitchen, the air between us heavy and singing with static.
‘So,’ I begin, breaking the silence by placing my empty glass on the counter. I wince when it hits the granite. ‘The London bucket list is officially complete.’
Finn inspects me over the rim of his glass and says quietly, ‘No stone left unturned.’
‘No stone left unturned,’ I agree, eyes locked on his, aware of the determined set of his jaw.
I don’t move a muscle. All I hear is the sound of the clock and the roaring of my own heartbeat. Everything else in the flat seems to be holding its breath.
He finishes his water like it’s a shot. Maybe he wishes it was.
And then he delicately places his glass in the sink, takes a single step forward, and says, ‘Apart from one.’