Chapter 44
Now
That Sunday, I make my way to Dickens Walk and stop outside number forty.
When I think of this flat, I think of Kasie.
Of her academic textbooks, Tamagotchis and too many tasselled cushions.
I think of clusters of products around the bathtub, six different shapes of pasta in the cupboards, and are these your socks or mine?
I think of her being slightly too tactile, giggling while googling photos of Attenborough lying on the carpet with period pains, and shouting Hey Google, please stop when I shared more trivia than she wanted to hear.
The memories are endless, and the happiness I feel when I bring them to mind is almost as deep and vast as my grief and loneliness was when she first passed away.
The new people have changed the colour of the front door; it’s now a lime green, and there are slat blinds on the windows in the living room, indicators of the middle-class invasion.
I hope whoever’s in the flat is having a good life. I hope they are enjoying the over-friendly mackerel tabby cat in the garden, the upstairs neighbours hoovering three times a day, and radiators that stop working at least twice a year.
I take out my phone to send a message.
Me: Hi. It’s Zoe. Nicole said you were okay with me having your new number. Are you around? Do you want to meet? No problem if not.
The reply comes instantly:
Cian INTL: Yes. I’m here till Tuesday. At my dad’s. We can meet. Where are you?
Me: Dickens Walk
Cian INTL: Really! Come over!
Cian used to joke how the walk between us would take anything between three and eleven minutes depending on how stupid my choice of footwear was that day.
Now, in a pair of expensive running shoes, it takes me two minutes.
I knock and wait, and when the door opens, it’s him.
Standing there in his familiar uniform of all-black sportswear and a pair of glasses that manage to make him look like a little boy and a network engineer at the same time. He’s so comfortingly Cian.
‘Hi,’ he says, after a few seconds of staring.
‘Hi,’ I echo.
His face stays still, full of shock and maybe some confusion, like he doesn’t quite know what he’s meant to do now. Honestly, neither do I.
‘I’m sorry to randomly turn up like this.’
‘No,’ he says. ‘Don’t be. It’s okay.’
Brendan appears behind him. ‘Zoe, I was wondering when you’d show up.’ He brings me into a hug. ‘New hairdo,’ he says, ‘very nice. How are you?’
‘Good, thanks.’
He steps away and roughly pats Cian on the arm. ‘Are you out or in?’
‘I, uh, I . . .’ Cian seems at a loss.
‘’Cause you’ve left the fan on in the living room. I’ll send you the electric bill, shall I?’ Brendan then steps out and indicates for me to step in. ‘The pub is calling. See you two later.’
Cian quickly turns around and I walk in after him.
We stop in the middle of the living room and it’s surreal being back here after so long.
As he switches off the fan, my eyes snag on the scar running through the midline of his knee before popping back up to his face.
‘Sorry,’ I blurt. ‘I should have called you first, given you some notice. This is weird.’
‘No. It’s good. It’s cool.’ He stops to laugh at the floor. ‘Do you want a drink? I’m going to make you drink.’
We go into the kitchen and, as he opens the fridge, I want to make a joke about green smoothies but feel too much of my energy is going into staying upright.
‘Wow, look at this.’ Cian pulls out a can of Coke. He turns it upside down to check the date. ‘Oh, it’s not . . .’ he trails off as he chucks it in the bin. ‘So yeah. Water?’
A glass of tap water is poured and put on the table, and we both stare at it.
Cian folds his arms and it’s not in that hot way I used to tease him for; he seems more self-conscious and uncomfortable. Yes, uncomfortable, that’s it; he’s uneasy in my presence.
‘I wanted to ask you something.’
‘Right,’ he says, appearing quite stressed.
I’m surprised I’ve kept it together for this long, and I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be able to stand in front of him without saying something insane or touching him.
‘I’m job hunting,’ I say. ‘There’s a job that’s come up at Chat to join the language design team. It’s not quite a step up, more sideways.’
‘Oh,’ he says.
‘That’s good though, because it’s what I want to do.
It’s a language designer role. It’ll be a lot of working with AI and they want a native English speaker with European languages.
And Mandarin was listed as desirable. My Mandarin has improved massively.
’ I pause because I’m rambling at him and none of this is what I came here to say. ‘Where was I? My Mandarin—’
‘Can you now do more than order noodles and hit on guys?’ Cian asks.
A small, nervous sound escapes me.
‘So, you’re moving to China?’ he asks, as he unfolds his arms and pushes back his hair.
‘Chat doesn’t have an office in China.’
‘No. Course not.’
‘The Asian office is in Singapore,’ I say. ‘I thought you’d know that.’
‘Yeah,’ he says, his voice a little high. ‘I did know that. I did.’
‘I don’t know anything about Singapore. No. That’s not true. I do know stuff. I’ve been researching it ever since you left.’
His eyes widen for a split second.
‘I think I’d love it there,’ I say quietly. ‘What do you think?’ It’s like throwing a rope across a ravine and praying the person on the other side catches it.
I swear I hear him swallow, though it’s probably just how hyper-aware I am of everything in this moment.
He takes a small step forward, almost bumping into the table.
‘Well, it’s hot, and you never have to cook because there’s so much good street food, and it’s not expensive like here.
When you go to the beach, you can’t get fish and chips but there is sand.
What else? You’d love the public transport. ’
‘That’s all very specific.’
‘However, people value silence there.’ His eyes settle on me. ‘I’d worry about your laugh on the buses. There’s a great cat café in my neighbourhood and my neighbours are all impressively multilingual, like you.’
‘What more do you need?’ This is insane. This is an insane conversation.
His face is set hard and serious, though the more I study it, the more I see a shade of amusement.
‘I was thinking if I got the job I could go for six months. To try it out. See if it works for me, and of course,’ I stumble, ‘for them, to see if it works for everyone involved. Six months is a good amount of time. Long enough for the holiday thrill to wear off. Long enough to get an idea of if it’s going to work out.
’ I wish I could say it straight, rather than in this roundabout way.
‘Six months? I didn’t know you could do that there.’ He rubs the side of his face. ‘I think that’s an awkward amount of time.’
Oh no. It’s tumbling down, and he’s horrified by my suggestion. ‘You do?’
‘Yeah, who’s paying for all this? You can’t move into a hotel for six months, who d’you think you are? Beyoncé?’
‘Beyoncé has never lived in a ho—’
‘You’re not going to find an Airbnb for that period of time either.’
‘No?’
‘No. Can’t you stay longer? What type of work visa is six months?
It took me ages to get my visa and that was with a confirmed job.
Are you sure you can get six months? Like, have you seriously investigated this?
’ His eyebrows flick up and now he’s the one who doesn’t seem so sure, the one throwing the rope.
‘The job comes with the normal two-year working visa, that’s the offer,’ I admit. ‘If I get it. It’s not a done deal. I mean, I’ve applied and even spoken to Jimmy about it.’
‘Right,’ Cian says, his forehead creased with confusion.
‘Yes. I only said six months to test things out.’
‘Still. Six months. You’re going to need to find a very flexible landlord.’
This is too much, too high stakes. With the balls of my hands pressed into my eye sockets I wish the moment were over already. Let me deal with the heartbreak and humiliation that will flatten me when I leave here; anything but this, this not-knowing.
Cian steps closer and pries my hands from my face. ‘You’re shaking.’
‘I am so nervous. I can barely get my words out.’
‘Really? Cause you just rambled at me for like five minutes.’
My hands fall from his, but we’re close and he’s smiling, and I allow myself to think that maybe this is good.
‘Zoe,’ he says.
‘Yes?’
‘Why don’t you stop trying to explain everything and just .
. .’ He widens his arms and folds them around me.
And there’s the smell of his T-shirt and the close way he holds me and the realisation I’ve missed him more than I ever truly understood.
Yet there’s also doubt, because he could still reject me.
I pull away enough to look up, but not far back enough that he lets go.
‘I’ve missed you,’ he says.
‘I need you to know I’m doing this for myself,’ I say, because it’s important I get this point across. ‘I want to do things again and be open and see stuff.’
‘I get it.’
‘I’m sorry I hurt you and I’m sorry I messed everything up.
I don’t know if it’s too late for you to give me another chance.
If you’d consider trying, if you want to try, I promise I will put everything into it, because I love you, and I’ve missed you so much and I want to be with you and have a life with you. ’
‘Are you sure about this?’
‘Yes, though maybe I should have waited to find a job before embarking on this grand romantic gesture.’
‘Maybe.’
‘Cian, I know I’m putting you on the spot here, so if I move there and you decide that you don’t want me –’ my voice cracks – ‘I’ll accept it, but will you at least take me to that place where they sell salted egg-yolk ice cream, because I heard it’s really hard to find.’
He laughs and wipes my face. ‘That’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever asked me, but yes. And yes, I’ve missed you and would also like to make it work. And yes . . .’ He stops and takes a breath. ‘I love you too, and I’m sorry I didn’t say it before.’
‘I don’t think I gave you much of a chance to.’
Suddenly he lets go and steps back. ‘Are we really doing this?’
‘Yes.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘Yes.’ I go to him and, after so long apart, a kiss could only happen at this speed.