Page 36 of Love Unlocked

The popping of her cheeks seems to burst his darkened mood.

‘I should be concerned that you followed me here, but I’m not. Why am I not?’

‘Because I’m unarmed and undangerous, maybe slightly unhinged but you like me. I should be more concerned that you magicked yourself out of a different house. So who is she?’

He groans. ‘Let’s walk.’

‘Where?’

‘Anywhere.’

They fall into step.

‘She’s my ex-fiancée. I don’t think I’ve said that aloud before.’

‘The break-up is recent?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Did you have a love lock on the bridge?’ He looks at her, a comical expression, and she laughs. ‘I take it that’s a no.’

‘She broke up with me two weeks before Christmas.’

‘Ouch.’

They stop at the end of the road. She waits for his cue.

‘This way,’ he says, turning left.

‘Did she give you a reason or …’

She doesn’t want to mention the cyclist whose face his ex was eating at the front door, in case he doesn’t know.

He’s silent for a long time. She’s beginning to think he didn’t hear the question or doesn’t want to answer when he replies, ‘She left me for my best friend. Walter. He lived with us.’

The cyclist.

He stops walking and suddenly starts crying. Fingers to the bridge of his nose, he covers his face with the other hand. The sadness seems to have arrived suddenly, taking even him by surprise. He tries to talk to her, as if he can talk it away, pretend it’s not happening, but he can’t, his words won’t come out properly, and so he turns around, his back to her while he gasps and gathers himself. He doesn’t seem embarrassed, just inconvenienced. He’s comfortable with crying, used to it, this is a process.

Melody looks at the people passing by, who stare at him, then at her to see if she’s okay. She gives them the thumbs up. She pats Al awkwardly on the back, which is quite the reach up for her, saying unhelpful things like ‘There, there’ and making hushing sounds. Then she stops saying anything and lets him cry. Finally he lets out an angry yell that takes her by surprise, sets her heart pounding, like a sudden gunshot.

‘I’m so tired of crying,’ he says, rubbing his eyes roughly. ‘Is there not a sadness-to-crying ratio or something, the more you cry the less sad you should get? How do you make yourself stop crying?’

‘I’m not really a crier.’

‘Never?’

‘I can’t remember the last time I cried.’

‘Are you emotionally stunted or something?’

She laughs. ‘Some would say yes.’

‘So you don’t believe in love, or romance, and you don’t cry. Are you human?’

She hears the playful tone.

‘I consider myself a rational, stable person who doesn’t get carried away by unrealistic fanciful thoughts.’