Page 45 of Love and Other Paradoxes

He shrugged. “Clothes?”

Life came back to her expression. “Come on. Let’s see what we have to work with.” She took his arm and marched him across the landing.

“Didn’t we already do the makeover scene?” he protested.

“A makeover isn’t a onetime thing, Joseph Greene. It’s an ongoing process of becoming.”

“Aye, right.” In his childhood bedroom, he saw every embarrassing detail through her eyes: the single bed with the cuddly Nessie tucked in; the skeletal rabbit head on hisDonnie Darkoposter; the pictures of his baby cousin sticking her fingers in his mouth.

Thankfully, Esi was focused on the contents of his wardrobe. “No. No. Oh myGod, no. What? No. Wait.” A screech as she pulled every hanger but one to the front.“Yes.”

His kilt outfit, complete with Prince Charlie jacket and waistcoat. It had been hanging there undisturbed since his cousin’s wedding two years ago.

She ran her hand over the blue-and-green squares. “Is that your family tartan?”

“Kind of. Clans are supposed to go down the male line, but my dad doesn’t have one, being English and all. That’s my mum’s.”

“Matriarchy. I like it.” She pulled it from the wardrobe, almost dropping it when she discovered how heavy it was. She hefted it and hung it on the wardrobe door. “You’re wearing this to the party.”

“No!”

“Come on. Kilts are ving.”

“Ving?”

She rolled her eyes. “You need me to spell it out for you? The Scottish thing is a major selling point! There are a billion romance books about the sexy laird, or whatever.” She coughed, looking self-conscious. “I mean, not like I’ve read any of them. Just—you know. I’m informed.”

Joe, who was experiencing some confusing sensations, tried to focus on what she was asking. “Fine. I’ll wear my kilt. On one condition.” He cleared his throat. “You come with me.”

“Come with you?” She looked dubious. “I’m not going to stand next to you whispering lines in your ear.”

“No, nothing like that. Just—I’d feel better if you were there.”

It was simple when he said it, but her reaction—a look of soft surprise—made him feel suddenly vulnerable. “What about her?” she said. “Do you think she’ll be there?”

It took him a moment to realise who she meant. He remembered the photograph, her mum and Diana arm in arm. “You still think Diana was lying about not recognising her?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. But if there’s a chance she was...” There it was again: the fear, like a ghost behind her eyes.

“Look. If we go, and she’s there, we’ll learn something. But I don’t want you to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

Esi nodded. She looked back at the kilt, an uncertain smile on her face. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

They had a DVD night, huddled on the old sofa with a blanket and Jeely Piece, who had decided Esi’s lap was his rightful place. They started with her mum’s favourite film, which was a romantic comedy about a woman from modern-day New York falling in love with a time traveller.

“Mum was into period romance,” Esi explained as the Duke of Albany fell screaming through a time portal. “Guys in breeches andyes, my ladyand all that. Me, I always went for more contemporary stuff.”

He looked sideways at her, radiant in the dark. “You realise what you call contemporary is now science fiction?”

“Stop it,” she complained. “You’re making me time-sick.”

He tried his best to follow the plot, but the warmth of Esi against his side was pleasantly distracting, and the film’s time-travel mechanics were confusing at best. “Wait, so... he’s going to be the inventor of the lift?”

“Elevator,” she corrected in a decent American accent.

“The elevator. And—because he’s travelled into the future, elevators in New York are just—randomly malfunctioning?”

“Don’t look at me. I don’t know how real time travel works. Why would I know how fake time travel works?”

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