CJ can’t believe how beautiful she is, first thing in the morning. How the light falls at just the right slant through the voile of the floor-to-ceiling glass door of the balcony, illuminating Ash from the side so that she subtly glows, skin glimmering and radiant, hair messily down her back, slim shoulders and pointy collarbone and elegant pianist fingers waving in front of her in jumpy, adorable gestures. All CJ has wanted, she now realises, is this access to Ash, this ability to admire her up close and without reason. All this time she’s stolen looks, glances, information about her, and now Ash is in her bed and the looking, the staring, is condoned, allowed. It’s like baking a cake for guests who have been delayed, permitting yourself to slice into it only once they arrive, thegooey chocolate middle and the thick fudgy icing all the more delicious for having to wait, for being such a good, patient girl until it is time.
‘Where I come from,’ Ash presses, ‘it is customary to answer when asked a question?’
CJ blinks, shakes her head. ‘Yes,’ she says, forcing herself to speak. ‘I’m … OK. This bed is good.’ She bounces lightly, making a show of it. ‘Ten out of ten to management, this place is obviously kept in good nick.’
Ash raises her eyebrows. ‘Feedback on the night: bed was comfy,’ she says.
She sounds disappointed. CJ needs to give her more. But where can CJ even start? If she tries to explain she’ll burst into tears. She can feel them, now, forcing their way up her throat, and it’s all exactly like she said to Ash last night when she was stood outside her door and begging to be let in: if this is all just for one night, that’s OK for CJ. She’d rather have one night with Ash in her last few weeks here than never do this, never be with her this way. The cake she made is finite, of course. They can enjoy it together. Maybe it happens once or twice more, even, they could bake together, or however the fuck the metaphor can be laboured over any more. The point is: in the cold light of day, CJ can’t kid herself that a taste is enough. She can’t say goodbye to Ash. She just can’t. Last night just proved that CJ is head over goddamn heels for this woman, and yeah, OK, she might be gay. Does it matter? Gay for Ash or gay for every woman, all CJ can focus on is that she’s losing Ash before she’s ever properly had her. She’s leaving! It all feels, to CJ, like ever such a big mess. And Ashis here wearing it all so lightly, so easily. Easier to be the one leaving than the one left, CJ supposes.
‘You’re not OK, are you?’ Ash says, and CJ looks away, focuses on the white of the bed linen just beyond Ash’s arm, bites down on her lip, tells herself,don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.
‘Oh my god,’ Ash says, suddenly climbing out of bed and pulling open a drawer with force. As she fishes through various laces and silks – throwing them up and down, mad, angry,furious, she says, ‘I don’t know why I expected you to be any different. Honestly. Shame on me, right?’
CJ wants to open her mouth, wants to speak, but she cannot, and she hates herself for it.
‘After everything, CJ, after all you know about me, all we’ve been through these past two months, how close we’ve got …’ Ash pulls on a thong, finds a bra. ‘Jesus, I mean, after everything I know about you, what I’ve learned …’
She finds a T-shirt, some linen shorts, angrily pulls back her hair into a ponytail.
‘I know you play your cards close to your chest. Iknowyou don’t do commitment. It’s all you’ve fucking talked about, how detached you are, how self-sufficient. I’m an idiot for thinking you’d come to need me, somehow, that you’d actually let me into your heart.’ She stops, like an idea has only just come to her. ‘Shit. I really am my own worst enemy, aren’t I? Turns out, it doesn’t matter if it’s a man or a woman, I’m still needy, still project feelings that aren’t really there, still expect too much. You’ve never once said you have feelings for me.’ She issues a little laugh, high and mean. ‘Ha! It’s true! I invented that! OK. So.’ She sits down on one of thesmall armchairs, pulls on some trainer socks and then her shoes. ‘Fair play. I hold up my hands, I take responsibility. I didn’t know what I thought, what I felt, until we were actually having sex. If that’s what you can even call it. I can’t actually believe that you’ve never been with a woman before, because you made me …’ Ash trails off, closes her eyes and shakes her head and goes to finish the sentence before changing her mind. She storms into the bathroom and CJ dares to sit up in bed as Ash clatters and clangs. ‘I just want, one day, for once in my life, to be chosen.’
She’s reappeared at the bathroom door. She looks directly at CJ, and it crushes CJ to note the sadness in her eyes, the dejectedness. CJ wants to say, ‘Me! I choose you!’ She cannot, though. It’s dangerous, opens a can of worms that CJ won’t be able to protect herself from. Words stick in her throat. Ash wants to be chosen, but CJ wants to be told it’s safe to choose, that she won’t be left, abandoned, like her mother abandoned her. How can somebody do that? Leave their child? What did CJ do that means she deserved to be left?
‘I don’t blame you,’ Ash decides. ‘You’ve always told me who you are.’
Adult CJ is in love, but the six-year-old inside of her is paralysed and wants saving, not to do the saving. She is mute. Ash closes a duffel bag, the one CJ suddenly realises she’s just been putting half her clothes into, pulls it onto her shoulder and surveys the room with finality. ‘For what it’s worth,’ she continues, ‘last night was really special to me. I don’t think I’ve ever had sex with somebody like that in my life. So. Thank you. I’m going to Porto early. Because.Because I’m done with all this. Just …’ She waves a hand. ‘You understand.’
Ash heads for the door. CJ knows this is her last chance, that if she lets Ash go without explaining herself, without finding the words to say how she feels, even though she’s terrified, on the verge of sobbing, of breaking down, Ash will change. Harden. They won’t ever go back to how things were. CJ knows that. And still she watches as Ash turns the doorknob, steps outside, and then closes the door behind her.
32
Ash
‘I take responsibility,’ Ash says to Willow, gin and tonic in hand, fat drips of condensation licking at her fingertips. She’s here, she’s made it, she’s in Porto with her best friend. She’s spent three days in an Airbnb of her own, walking and eating and being blissfully alone, and now Willow is here they’ve checked into the Torel Avantgarde together and a full debrief of CJ’s fuckery has commenced. ‘I do. When somebody tells you who they are, believe them, that’s the saying, right? I willingly ignored what I knew. Like I always do.’
‘Oh, babe,’ Willow says, signalling to their waiter they’ll take another round.
They’re on the terrace, sun glistening off the infinity pool, view of the Douro River spread ahead of them, a slice of serenity – emotional turmoil notwithstanding. They’ve been reunited for ninety minutes, and Willow is now up to date on everything. It felt too big to get into on the phone, this all required face-to-face analysis.
‘I don’t want to sound like somebody’s mum when WillYoung came out as gay, but from everything you said about her – how it went from this intense hate to an even more intense friendship – I did half think, in the back of my mind, that maybe it was more than just friendship. Like, if she was a man I would have said something, you know? That you obviously had feelings for her. I guess because she’s a woman I felt like it wasn’t my place.’
‘Weird, how it flips everything, isn’t it?’ Ash sighs. ‘But honestly, it wasn’t even a big deal for me. You know, with stuff I’ve done before, the orgies and whatnot. I guess I’ve wondered what Mum and Dad would say if I came home with a girlfriend, but I feel so removed from them right now – in a good way – that who cares, you know? CJ is just … CJ.’
‘The orgies and whatnot, of course,’ Willow smiles. Willow has always supported any expression of sexual exploration Ash has tried, but she’s pretty vanilla herself. Happy to be pedestrian, she says.
Ash rolls her eyes playfully. ‘You know what I mean. I’ve never thought of myself as queer, but whatever, you know? I like people. Gender doesn’t matter. Or,’ she takes a beat, thinks this through. ‘Maybe it does matter? I definitely fancied her because she’s kind of androgynous. Not androgynous, but … masc? Is that the lingo?’
‘Honey, you’re asking the wrong girl,’ laughs Willow. ‘I’ve had sex with one man, in my whole life. I don’t know anything about anything about anything.’
Ash looks at her friend, reminds herself that they’re here, after all, because Willow needed to get away. ‘Listen to me, going on about my sapphic holiday fling when your life ispotentially in tatters. I’m sorry. How areyoudoing? How is your heart?’
The waiter comes over and delivers their second round of drinks, kind enough to leave a small bowl of crisps behind too. The women dive in: gin and crisps on a city hotel rooftop? What could be better.
‘My heart cannot be heard over the voices in my head,’ Willow admits. ‘I just rationalise everything: can’t leave because of this, can’t stay because of that.’
Ash cocks her head. ‘Might there be an element of gathering your courage?’ she asks, softly.
Willow looks out at the view. ‘Probably,’ she says. ‘But it feels so … final, to say I’m here to find my brave. Here to get strong enough to end it. I’ve just known him forever, you know? I don’t even know who I am without him …’
