Page 68 of Strap In
‘Oh. Jean, that’s so lovely.’ Ava’s teeth are pearlescent in the phone’s pale glow. ‘She really cares about you. And I’m glad about that – but we can go if you need to, if it’s too much.’
‘Don’t be silly.’ Jean rises, pulling Ava to her feet, reverting to being the one who has to look up. She leans against Ava, revelling in her height, her solidity. ‘This is your party. And you should get to experience every single bit of it.’
‘Well… if you’re sure?’
Jean nods her encouragement.
‘There is one thing I’d like to do.’
‘What’s that?’ The Harris family seems healthy enough that she doubts Ava’s going to ask if they can fuck in her father’s office, but the possibility makes Jean wary.
So, it’s a relief when Ava says, uncharacteristically shy: ‘I want to dance. With you. If that’s okay.’
‘I don’t dance.’ Jean breaks away, using her pocket mirror to check for any obvious signs of crying, but keeping the make-up minimal had worked out in her favour on that score. ‘Though let’s go back, and you can.’
Ava obliges, leading the way from Alasdair’s office, though she doesn’t relent. ‘Sure you do. Everyone dances.’
‘But I’m terrible. I have two left feet.’ The music grows louder as they pass through the kitchen, where a cousin canoodles with her girlfriend.
‘So? Nobody’s watching.’ They step out onto the terrace, gazing at the crowd of people united by two things: a fondness forFunky Townand the Harris twins. ‘They’re all just going for it.’
‘If I start dancing, I’m going to prove every possible stereotype about rhythm and the Caucasian race.’
Laughter cracks Ava’s serious expression, but still she doesn’t relent. ‘So does my dad, but he’s still having the time of his life.’ It’s true – though his relationship with the beat is tenuous, Alasdair Harris throws himself into the music with wholehearted glee. ‘You know what your problem is? You think way too much. Dancing isn’t about what you should do, or what other people think. It’s about just feeling it. Forgetting everything else and savouring the moment.’
‘I’m good at precisely none of those things.’
Ava just laughs. She links her fingers with Jean’s, swaying their hands back and forth in time with the movement of her hips. ‘See? This isn’t so bad. The world’s not ending.’
‘No. It isn’t. But there are plenty of pretty girls who want to dance with you.’ Jean tilts her head infinitesimally. ‘I think Zara’s been waiting half the night for you to ask her.’
‘She’s going to be waiting a whole lot longer. I like Zara, but I don’t give a fuck about dancing with her or anyone else, except for you. And I’m the birthday girl – or one of them. For the next hour and forty-two minutes, it’s illegal for you to say no to me.’ Ava sighs. ‘Never mind. You can always say no. We don’t need to do anything if you’re totally hating this.’
Even when she’s trying to get her own way, Ava remains incapable of pressuring Jean. In every aspect of their relationship, active consent has remained an absolute. Standing there in the garden, breathing in barbecue smoke and rosemary, it occurs to her that this is why Ava has proven so adept at scaling her walls – with her, Jean’s safe enough not to need them.
‘I never said I hated it. I’m just completely out of my comfort zone.’ The tune ends, replaced by sultry seventies rock courtesy of Alasdair Harris. Jean hops down onto the grass, pulling Ava towards the throng of bodies. ‘But that’s been true since the very first moment I met you. And it hasn’t been a bad thing.’
‘No?’ At the edge of the crowd Ava spins her, Jean’s dress flaring round her knees.
‘No.’ Jean reaches up to drape her arms around Ava’s shoulders, stepping closer. They sway together, kind of silly and kind of not, Ava keeping her more or less in time. And Jean gives herself over to the buzz of the good wine, better music, perfect company.
A thought occurs to her, ensconced safely in Ava’s arms. And it’s still there hours later, when they’re wedged together in Ava’s childhood bed, the ceiling spinning gently.
‘Ava?’
‘Hrrrr.’
‘Ava.’ Jean shakes a bare shoulder, almost toppling her from the single mattress.
On instinct Ava reaches for the wooden bedframe, righting herself. And the shock of it is enough to sober her, at least a little. ‘S’up?’
‘I’m going to Edinburgh.’
It takes a moment for the words to fully register but, when they do, Ava beams at her. ‘Yeah?’
‘Yes.’
‘That’s amazing.’ Ava kisses Jean’s throat. ‘I’m happy for you.’
