Page 51 of Yearning Difficulties

‘If you like soppy stuff.’

‘Well, I do. And don’t do that!’

‘Don’t do what, Red?’

‘Diminish what he did. What he said.’

He made a dismissive huffing sound and turned his face away from me. He was still holding my hand, though. He began to rub slow circles against my palm with his thumb. ‘You know why he said all of that to you, don’t you?’

I scowled. ‘No, but you’re going to tell me.’

‘Because,’ he said, ‘he can’t say it to the person who needs to hear it.’

I believed that. ‘That’s sad.’

‘It is,’ Killian said jadedly. ‘Unrequited love. What can you do?’

I watched Anderson point to a particularly grumpy-looking fish and say something to Chris, which made the other boy bark out a deep and appreciative laugh.

‘You’re sure it’s unrequited?’ I asked sceptically.

‘Yes,’ he said softly. ‘It was easy to say all of that to you over the radio because it was like wearing a mask.’

He felt me looking at him and shrugged one shoulder.

‘I would imagine,’ he added.

It was strange. In one flash of the light, he looked completely indifferent. In another . . . I wasn’t so sure. I didn’t know why apathy scared me so much. Why I found it so confronting. I think the soft part of me was constantly being reassured and affirmed by art. Books, music, cinema. I would listen to a voice like Cherry’s, watch an old black and white film in Arthur’s movie house or buy a novel from Brooks Books and suddenly the world had other souls in it. I wasn’t so alone any more. I could read or watch or listen and the humanity in something would make me breathe a sigh of relief. Even if it was too close to the bone.

Maybe when people were apathetic, it made me feel like those beautiful things were in danger. Like they weren’t as untouchable as they always seemed to me. Or as universal.

Maybe that was a terrifying thought.

I turned my body to face him head-on. ‘It was romantic. It was perfect. I won’t hear otherwise.’

‘It was stupid. And unguarded. He felt bad that you were getting harassed over the air, and your useless producer was doing nothing.’

I didn’t bother to mask any of what I was feeling when I replied to him.

‘Killian, you’re being a dick. It wasn’t stupid. It was wonderful. I wish more people were like that.’

‘Okay, sure,’ Killian said, his voice suddenly full of fire. ‘So, let’s say he does like Anderson. They’ve become more than friends. And Chris tells him everything he said to you over the radio. Then what? Friendship ruined? Awkward, weird and uncomfortable vibe between them for the rest of the year? And then they never speak again!’

‘Kill, that’s so cynical.’

‘No, Red, that’s reality. Sometimes it’s best to keep your deep feelings to yourself. Maybe Chris can’t bear the thought of losing someone like that. Maybe the never knowing is so much more bearable than the bond severing.’

Suddenly, his words were reminding me of all the people who’d told me I was too sensitive and that my feelings were embarrassing. No one else is crying. No one else was crushed by the news this morning. Get a grip.

I felt my eyes start to tear and my voice grow sharp. I yanked my hand free.

‘Fuck every bit of that, Kill.’

His expression instantly transformed from indifference to surprise. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Here,’ I said, my hands and voice shaking, ‘this is what you can say at the feast on Friday when we break up. “Zella. You’re too much of a dreamer. I need someone who’s more of a realist.”’

I left. I didn’t know the place at all so I pushed through the small gathering of people and made my way to one of the rooms in the west of the house. I found a small study, the walls completely adorned with books.