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I consider his question for a moment.Tell me something true about you.
We’ve turned down another, busier street. This one is narrower, but the buildings are brighter, with lights pouring out from shop-front windows and smells mingling in the air: kebabs, burgers, pad thai. Lloyd walks past them all. I follow.
And I tell him: ‘I don’t believe in love.’
He makes a funny choking sound before stopping dead and turning to me in disbelief. ‘You don’t believe in love? What does that even mean?’
‘I think it’s … overrated. Commercialized. I think that relationships are something that you have to work at and put effort into, and I’m not saying that you can’t havefeelingsfor someone, but I think the whole “love conquers all” thing is just … fake.’
I know it is. Ithought, maybe, I was in love with my ex-boyfriend. We started dating after A levels. He was the first guy who’d ever really shown much interest in me, and when he said ‘I love you’ I said it back because I knew I should, and thought I probablydidlove him, I just didn’t know it yet. It was something I’d have to work on, like everything else in my life, I figured.
I didn’t love that spending weekends with him meant I missed a deadline for an assignment, or failed a midterm. I didn’t love that I was jeopardizing my entire future over a guy I didn’t picture that same future with. I couldn’t fathom a feeling where I would be willing to pack away pieces of myself to make space for somebody else.
So, no, I don’t believe in love.
‘Well. That’s …’ Lloyd scoffs to himself, blinking dazedly. ‘That’s one way to put it.’
I’m still holding onto his bicep, and use it as leverage to swing myself around in front of him, holding him at arm’s length.
‘Oh, what,’ I guess, ‘you’re a love-at-first-sight kind of guy?’
‘Maybe I am.’
‘I bet you fall for a new girl every week.’
He gives me a dry smile. ‘Lucky for me, there’s still a couple of days left this week for me to find her.’ Then Lloyd glances over my shoulder and starts walking again, gesturing for me to follow. ‘Almost there. Come on. I promised you cheesy chips, didn’t I?’
He did, and I soon find I’m not disappointed.
Lloyd has taken us to a small, cramped takeaway with blue-and-white chequered tile flooring. A queue wraps down the street. Thirty-ish minutes later, we’re each holding a polystyrene container of the most delicious chips I’ve ever smelled – Lloyd’s are stuck together with gooey, melted cheese, and mine are doused in gravy.
‘A proper Northerner, then,’ he remarks, watching me dig in with a little wooden fork the moment we’re out of the shop.
‘Did you think the accent was just for show?’ I take a mouthful of chips and groan; nothing has ever tasted so delicious. The fresh air has helped mitigate theafter-effects of the tequila, but the chips settle my stomach. I wave another chip at Lloyd, flicking drops of gravy onto the pavement. ‘Your turn. Tell me something true about you.’
He smiles to himself, the kind of smile like there are a thousand secrets on the tip of his tongue just waiting to be told. The kind of smile that’s only halfway there, just begging to be kissed at the corner of his lips.
‘Well, I believe in love, for starters. Not just the one great love that they boast about in movies and stuff. I think if the right people meet at the right time, under the right circumstances … I think you could fall in love with just about anyone.’
‘That’s sounds more like fate, if you ask me.’ This guy reallyisa romantic at heart – and, I think, I’d be silly to think of this connection we have as anything special, if that’s how he sees the world. There’s a lump in my throat and I swallow it down to say, ‘What about some other things about you? Fun, silly stuff.’
His grin this time is a lightning strike, flooring me in its brilliance. ‘I tried to teach myself to sew after the Andrew GarfieldSpider-Mancame out, because I thought it was cool that Spider-Man made his own costume. My mum used to make all the costumes for me and my brother for school concerts and stuff, so she showed me a bit.’
‘That’s adorable. Dorky, but adorable.’
‘Were you looking for something more tough-guy? Hate to disappoint you there, but I’m an established failure on that front. Like – I almost got a tattoo when I was eighteen. It was a group thing on a holiday with some mates. My brother went first, and then I chickened out and then everyone else got bored or backed out as well, so now he’s the only one stuck with this stupid little SpongeBob on his arse. It’s been almost two years but he still brings it up constantly.’
‘Your poor brother,’ I lament. ‘Oh, man. That iscruel. Were you supposed to get SpongeBob, too?’
‘Patrick. We all drew lots for which character we’d get.’
I laugh. ‘I can’t believe you let him do that and then bailed on him. You could’ve at least had the decency not to let him go through with it if you were going to back out.’
‘Hey! I hadeveryintention of getting Patrick on my left arse cheek until I saw that needle. It could’ve been worse. Will could’ve ended up with Plankton, or something. How about you – any siblings you bailed out of matching tattoos with?’
‘Two half-brothers, but no matching tattoos. They’re a lot younger than me. We get on great, though. Mostly.When they’re not leaving honey in my shoes or making me be goalie when they play football.’
‘Oh,no. Not the honey shoes.’
