Page 52 of Love and Other Paradoxes

He winced. “Can I not just say I had a spasm?”

“No. You cannot just say you had a spasm.” Was that reluctant fondness he could see in her eyes? “Pouring wine all down her boyfriend is a dramatic gesture. It says,I want you, and I don’t give a fuck who knows it, or what the consequences are.” Hearing those words from her mouth sent his thoughts onto another track entirely. After a moment, she seemed to become aware of it. She looked away. “What I mean is, if you can sell it to her like that, then it might change how she feels about you.”

He tried to focus. “So what do I do first? Text her asking if we can talk?”

“No. Pretend nothing happened. Text her saying you want to meet up and rehearse. She’ll say yes, because it’ll drive her crazy wondering what’s going through your head. Then, when you meet, she’s going to bring it up. She’ll ask why you did it. That’s your cue. Passion blah blah blah, jealousy blah blah blah, you can’t think straight when it comes to her.”

“‘Passion blah blah blah,’” he intoned, hand on his heart. “Sure it’s not you who’s the poet?”

Her face lit with a smile that she immediately repressed. “One day my genius will be recognised.”

It felt so good, so normal, to be laughing with her again. A glimmer of hope lit in his chest. Maybe he hadn’t irreparably broken everything.

“Okay.” He composed a quick text, showed it to Esi, who nodded her approval, and sent it. He felt immediately lighter. “Right. Now that’s done, let’s sort out the next steps for finding your mum. There’s all the societies we haven’t tried yet—”

“No.”

He took in her closed expression, her clenched fists. “You don’t think the rest of them are worth a shot?”

“I do. But I can check them out on my own.” More quietly, she added, “It’s not a good idea for me to be around you.”

Ringing filled his ears. She did hate him, and the worst thing about it was, he couldn’t blame her. Mechanically, he got up. “Okay. I understand. I—I’ll just go.”

“I’d better go too. Before my fascist manager fires me.”

The other barista was talking to the manager, her body angled to block the view of Joe and Esi’s table. He remembered her name. Shola. “Say yes.”

Esi blinked in confusion. “What?”

He gestured. “To Shola. About moving in with her.”

“I told you, I can’t—”

“Affect the world. I know. But I know the real reason. You don’t want to let anyone close to you, because you’ve got this idea of yourself as something temporary. Just waiting to be replaced.” The pain was crystallising into a terrible clarity. “But you deserve a home, and friends, and a life. You do. Even if you don’t believe it.”

She gazed at him, something complicated in her eyes: warmth, regret, and a flash of anger. “I’m not here to stay, Joseph Greene.”

The weight of his full name fell between them like an impassable barrier. “I know,” he said, and left.

When he got back to college, Rob was in the living room, whistling as he smeared the rim of an envelope with jam. “Contact poison,” he explained.

“Did I ask?” Joe eyed the growing pile of envelopes beside him. “Are all of those for Darcy?”

“For anyone, potentially. The Lent Game doesn’t start for another twelve days. I’m just building up my arsenal.” He looked up. “You all right, Greeney? You look like you just got shot in the feelings.”

“Yeah. I—uh—things are rough right now.”

“With Diana? Sorry to hear that, mate. Look on the bright side, though. Emotional agony makes for great poetry.”

“Sure,” Joe said emptily, as his phone buzzed. He wasn’t sure why he was surprised to see a message from Diana. Her reply had been inevitable: just like him, she didn’t really have a choice.

Absolutely. My place, next Friday. Usual time.

He could almost hear her saying it, in her cool, detached tone that gave nothing away.

Rob gave him a questioning look. “Was that her?”

“Yeah. Yeah, she’s—she wants to meet up.”

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