Page 29 of Love and Other Paradoxes

His heart plummeted. “Me?”

“No. The ghost of Lord Byron, who is standing directly behind you.” He actually turned to look before he realised she was joking. “Of course, you. How else am I going to understand your poetic intent?”

But I don’t know my poetic intent.He focused on the more immediate problem. “I’m not an actor.”

“No. You’re a poet. And if you’re serious about being a poet, you need to learn how to perform your own work.” She sat down in an armchair, making aget on with itgesture.

There was no way out. He cleared his throat, focused on a neutral patch of carpet, and started reading. He tried to feel the words as he spoke them, but her attention was a searchlight, burning everything else away. When he reached the wordmouth, he felt a blush rise up his throat. By the time he got to the wordtongue, the blush had consumed his entire face. He cursed his past self for choosing this poem, when he could have picked a nice, safe one about beauty and moonlight. He stumbled through the last stanza, tripping over the words in his eagerness for it to be over.

When he dared to look at Diana, she was covering her eyes. “Can I ask you something?”

Joe, whose brain was at this point one long scream, nodded.

“Did you actually write that poem?”

He froze. The last time she had asked him, he had avoided a direct lie. But if he kept dodging the question, she was bound to get suspicious. “Yes?”

She clapped her hands like a gunshot. “Then act like it!” She came to stand next to him. “This is you right now.” She hunchedin on herself, arms hanging like noodles at her sides, and mumbled nonsense syllables into the floor.

He stared at her, appalled. “Fuck.”

“Indeed.” She straightened up, grace flowing back into her body. “We need to sort out your posture first. Shoulders back.” She jerked him upright like a malfunctioning puppet. “You have nice arms. Shame not to show them off. And when you speak, project. Your voice needs to come from down here.” She touched his lower belly with a light caress that made the blood rush from his head. “And try not to look soembarrassed, for God’s sake. You’re a grown man, and you’re acting like a preteen boy who accidentally read a romance novel.” She settled back into the armchair. “Now,” she said, with a flourish. “Try again.”

He had been imagining this moment since the message from Love Poems for Tomorrow had landed in his inbox. He had pictured himself bathed in golden light, watching his muse perform and falling desperately in love with her. Instead, he felt like his soul was being fed into a blender. He tried again. This time, he managed to keep his head up, but he was focusing so hard on what his shoulders were doing that he forgot how to say words. “...longaf—long afterit all went dark,” he finished, sweaty and exhausted.

“Better,” said Diana, rising from her armchair. “But given where you started, that’s not saying much.” She circled him, fascinated. “It’s extraordinary. I’ve never seen anyone so uncomfortable in their own skin that they’re actively trying to crawl out of it.”

He felt horribly seen, like a corpse cut open on a table. He wondered uneasily if this was love, and if so, how he could make it stop.

“Anyway. Progress,” she said brightly. “Let’s do this again next week.”

She was already turning away; he hadn’t expected to be dismissed so fast. He fumbled in his pocket for the picture he had carefully ripped out ofMeant to Be. “I wanted to ask. Do you know this girl?” She turned, eyebrow raised, and glanced at the picture. “Her name’s Efua Eshun,” he added.

Her eyes showed no recognition. “Doesn’t ring a bell.”

“She has her arm around you,” he pointed out.

“A lot of people put their arms around me, Joseph. I can’t always keep track.” She tapped herself in the photograph. “I remember that dress, though. Very 2003. This picture’s from first year.” Her eyes met his. “I’m sure you met plenty of people in first year you couldn’t place now.”

“Do you at least know which college she’s at?”

“One of the hill colleges, maybe?” She headed for the mirror. “Now, if amateur detective hour is over, I have a show to prepare for.”

He left her room feeling like a steak that had just been tenderised. Still trembling, he took out his phone and texted Esi.

Showed Diana the picture of your mum. She says she doesn’t recognise her.

what

I mean it’s one thing if she said they’re not friends any more

but not recognising her? isn’t that weird?

It hadn’t seemed weird at the time. But then, Esi hadn’t met Diana. She hadn’t heard the airy unconcern in her voice when shetalked about anything that wasn’t her art. He decided to stick to the facts.

She thinks she’s at one of the hill colleges. That narrows it down to three.

good detective work, Joseph Greene

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