Page 39 of Love at First Sight

I shake my head.

‘In the southern hemisphere,’ he tells me, and I’m so surprised that he knows the termsouthern hemispherethat I squeal and lurch forward to put him in what we used to call ‘cuddle jail’ when he was little.

‘How do you know that?’ I say, holding him tight. ‘How do you knowsouthern hemisphere?! You’re so smart!’

Henry laughs and pushes me off him.

‘Can I have sweetcorn on my pizza?’ he says, once again changing the subject. It makes me smile. He might not want to tell me he hears my compliments, but I’m going to keep giving them anyway.

After sharing a stuffed crust and watchingThe BFG, we brush our teeth, pee, turn on the stars that shine onto his bedroom ceiling, and I lie beside Henry in his bed as he reads meThe Koala Who Could. He gets halfway through and then yawns, before asking me to take over. By the time I’m done he’s already half asleep, clutching the Mickey Mouse toy he got at Disneyland last summer. I lie there looking at the stars, counting his breaths, until his sleep is deep and dreamless and heavy, and I can head downstairs.

I always forget about this part of staying over at Ali’s, the part where Henry is in bed and I become acutely aware that I am in somebody else’s house. Obviously it’s gorgeous, but in my own place I know where to sit, which mug I like, the best way to organise the lighting so I can see my book but also feel cosy and relaxed. I get a glass of water and pull back the blinds to let in the cooler evening air. I decide to sit outside, flopping down in the oversized armchair that had to be craned in over the back garden wall when it was delivered, which at the time seemed like another world to me. Getting furniturecranedin? I’ve only ever had Dad help me carry stuff from the charity shop or self-assemble stuff from Ikea.

Urgh. Dad. The big chat that needs to happen hasn’t yet,and I suppose it’s fair play that I haven’t heard from him because it should be me who reaches out. He’ll be waiting for me to calm down and do just that. It’s just … God, it still stings, that he sided with her, like a new precedent has been set. Which puts me exactly on my own, and that’s terrifying.

I pick up my phone. No texts, no missed calls. Idly I scroll through a bit of social media, then the news. I flick through to my email, simply for something to do, and certainly not because I expect anything of note. But there is. There’s an email from a Hackney council address, and the subject is:CONGRATULATIONS!

I gasp, skimming the email but taking nothing in, and then force myself to read it again and again until it registers: I’ve got the funding. I am being given ten thousand pounds to launch Stray Kids.

Oh my god!

Unthinkingly, I find Cal’s text, the one where he sent me the photo of my flyer with his face in it, the text I should have deleted when it came through but didn’t. I never saved his number, but I kept the message – I was too scared to read into why that was, so I didn’t. I click the top icon and then ‘call’. Cal picks up on the third ring.

‘Hello?’ he says, voice deep and steady.

‘I got the funding,’ I say, and there’s a pause as he mentally confirms that it’s me. But then, ‘I knew you would! Jessie! That’s fantastic!’

‘Ten grand,’ I say, my heart beating like it’s trying to fight its way out of my chest. ‘I feel so …’

‘So what?’ he asks.

‘I don’t know! I’m shaking! And my mind is running away with me with, like, all the things I can do, when I can get this done by, how it willfeel.’

He laughs. ‘That’s great,’ he says. ‘That’s so, so, great. Congratulations.’

There’s a lull. In between my initial excitement and Cal’s answer, something settles. I rang him. Out of everyone, I rang Cal. And he picked up. Suddenly, I am mortified.

‘How are you celebrating?’ he asks, after a pause.

‘I’m with Henry,’ I say. ‘So, this glass of water alone in the garden will have to do.’

‘I could …’ he says, and I know how I want him to finish the sentence, and I am terrified that’s what he will actually say. I hold my breath. ‘Come over? Drink a glass of water with you?’

Obviously that cannot happen. Cal cannot come to Ali’s house whilst she is away, her son sleeping upstairs.

‘That’s okay,’ I say, and I can almost hear his disappointment in the way he breathes. Then, even though I shouldn’t, I ask: ‘Can you talk a bit longer though?’ I immediately doubt myself. ‘Or do you have places to be?’

‘I can talk,’ he says, softly. ‘I’d like that.’

‘Okay.’

I can hear the light breeze moving through Ali’s artfully dishevelled garden, the small urban jungle quivering overhead. The light is low, the sun barely peeking over the tops of the houses, but she’s defiant in her glory, determined in her honeyed hues. I take a sip of water and curl my feet up under me.

‘So, no big plans tonight then?’ I finally say. I hear him smile.

‘Not tonight, no,’ he replies. ‘And even if I did …’

‘What?’

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