Page 16 of The Way We Fell

“My condolences,” I say drily. “Imagine sharing a bedroom wall with her for a decade or more.”

“I did, in uni. Hardly a decade, but it was long enough.” This conversation, the back-and-forth, is so easy with her. Our food and drinks arrive, and she thanks the waitress with a bright, easy smile before tucking into her chicken club sandwich hungrily. I take a large bite of my roast beef sub.

“Then, you know,” I say, barely swallowing before speaking.

“I know,” Katy says, and then we speak together. It’s like we’re in each other’s minds, saying the same thing at the same time.

“She can’t carry a tune in a bucket.” I almost want to hook my pinkie with hers and yelljinx, a throwback to being seven years old and having no concept of the world’s horrors. Katy throws her head back, laughter bubbling freely as her eyes scrunch closed. Something about the sound makes something pull in my chest. Something I don’t quite recognise, but that feels cautiously hopeful. Something that has my lips curling in a smile that feels more real than any I’ve shared for a long time.

“She still begged for piano lessons, though.” I offer up more information after the moment of levity passes. “She tried—I’ll give her that, she fucking tried—for years.”

“I never could figure out piano, either,” Katy says. “Mum used to play. We had an upright, growing up. You’d think with one literally in my living room, and my mum as a teacher, I might have learned.”

“Let me guess. Two left hands?” I wipe at my mouth with a napkin, having polished off my sub in record time. I hadn’t realised just how hungry I was, how hungry my stress and anger make me. I glance down at Katy’s plate to see a quarter of her sandwich in her hand, and another half still sitting on her plate.

“Right, actually,” she says, scrunching her nose in a grin. It’s not just the conversation that comes easily with Katy. It’s everything else, too. The laughter. The smiles. I don’t think I’ve smiled this much in years.

“What about you, Keller? What would you learn?” Katy takes another bite of her sandwich, giving herself a moment to think.

“I’m crap at languages. I’d love to speak another one, but I’m no good at it. Let’s see… mind reading, maybe?”

“Mind reading,” I repeat incredulously. “Really? You’d want to read minds.”

“Yeah. Don’t you think it’d be fun to know what people are thinking?”

“Absolutely the fuck not,” I bite back immediately. “Katy, the average man thinks about sex every few seconds. I don’t need to know those thoughts. And the next most common thought is food, and I don’t need to hear Old Jim-Bob’s yearning for a cheeseburger, either.”

Katy throws her head back and laughs. She does it so easily, so freely. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I’ll learn how to crochet instead.”

“I’ve always wanted to whistle though,” I say. Even the old Jay wasn’t this forthcoming with conversation, at least, not with a virtual stranger. But then, Katy’s never felt like a stranger to me. I don’t know what this is—the Katy Keller effect—but it’ssomething, and I realise with a start that the anger and resentment from earlier has all but melted away. “You know, when you put your fingers in your mouth and whistle? That kind? Spent a whole week deployed on a training mission once trying to learn. Maybe instead of playing guitar, I’ll learn that.”

“Oh, like a catcall?” Katy grins. “I’ll teach you sometime.”

God, this woman is full of surprises. She’s pretty incredible, actually. Rarely have I found myself so drawn to someone so quickly after meeting them. I find myself holding her eyes just a fraction too long, and then she pushes the tray of miniature pint glasses closer, selecting a pale one for herself. I choose the darkest one and we tap them together lightly. As we sip the beer and swap glasses, whatever spell that had us caught is broken.

Chapter seven

Katy

“Comewithus,”Amiesays. It’s not really a request, more of a demand. She’s ironing her work uniform in her kitchen, and I’m braiding Maisy’s hair as she shovels spoonfuls of Cheerios into her mouth. Friday mornings at the Caine house are often hectic. It’s the one day a week Amie’s mum works without fail, so when Amie is getting ready for work too, it can be a little chaotic. I often come over just to help her get ready to leave, if I’m not already at work myself.

Amie’s not working today, though, merely preparing for a flight on Sunday. Today is just a rare Friday off work, and I’ve planned a girls’ day with my best friend and my goddaughter. I can’t wait to spend the entire day with my favourite people.

“Where you goin’, Mama?” Maisy asks, mouth full of cereal and milk dribbling down her chin. I reach forward to pick up a damp washcloth from the table, cleaning her face with one hand as I hold onto the half-finished braid with the other.

“We’re all going! We’re going to a place called Mexico, Maisy Mouse.” Amie sets the iron down and begins to fold a dress. “Do you remember how Daddy and I told you about it? We’re gonna fly all the way there and have a little holiday.”

It’s notreallya holiday for Amie. She has to work on both flights, only getting to relax on the layover between the outbound and return sectors, such is the glamorous life of cabin crew. But with a long layover over her birthday, and whilst Cam is home, she’s turning it into a little family trip. I can’t say I blame her.

“We go on a plane!” Maisy exclaims excitedly. She spoons another small pile of cereal into her mouth.

“I have to work. Besides, I’ll just be a third wheel. If you already have Cam and Maisy with you, why do you need me to come? Other than to give you a babysitter so you can sit on his fa—”

“Katy,” Amie growls. Her eyes flick from me to her daughter. “Can you not?”

I smirk, tying off one braid and moving to the other side of Maisy’s head.

“I know for a fact that you’ve barely taken any leave for over a year. And you definitely haven’t been further than Eastbourne since before Maisy was born. Cash it in, sis. Besides,” she continues. “Iwantyou there. You deserve a break. You’ve always wanted to go to Mexico, and I have seventy-two whole hours there—over my birthday, no less. I want to spend some of that with my best friend. Cocktails by the pool, sometacos y tequila… I miss you, Katy-cat.”

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