Page 62 of The Truth About You and Me
‘I don’t know, C?’
‘No. Try again.’
I repeat the action, concentrating on the shape. ‘Z?’
‘Good. Again.’
My tongue is getting sore, the sugar is all gone and my tongue feels numb. He removes the strawberry lace and passes me a pen. ‘Circle all the z’s that you can find.’ I look down to the symbols, the words that are vibrating on the page. I sit down, clutch the pen and run my finger along the symbols. And then the weirdest thing happens. Itastethem. The z’s. I can taste the strawberry, feel the sugar on my tongue.
And if I can taste letters then is it too far a stretch that Maggie believes she can?—
‘Nine out of fifteen. Excellent! Fancy a stroll?’
I don’t have time to answer before he shrugs on his oversized mac that makes him look like he’s wearing his older brother’s hand-me-downs.
Levin leads me out to the back of his building. The space is small, but the sun is shining on the patch of green lawn. On it is a long blue blanket curved into a shape, like a river.
‘I want you to concentrate on the blue shape, and while you do’ – he pulls out a small white paper bag and shakes it at me – ‘suck on this.’
I frown but take out a boiled sweet and put it in my mouth: lemon sherbet. The smell and taste immediately bring Maggie into mind. God, I miss her.
‘Are you trying to give me a tooth cavity then tell me no pain no gain?’
‘No.’ He frowns, sucks on his own sweet. ‘I want you to walk the letter, taste the lemon and tell me what letter you think this is.’
I dig my hands in my pockets and begin walking, following the shape. I repeat the journey five times from north to south, south to north.
‘And? Tell me, what letter?’
‘M.’
‘No. Not even close. Try again.’
I sigh but give it another go. He gives me another sweet, tells me to concentrate on the cooling temperature, the colour of the leaves, the sound of my feet hitting the ground, the feel of the fabric beneath my boot. But all I see and think about is her.
‘Still M,’ I say. His busy eyebrows furrow. His arms fold and I can see he’s trying to work out why I can’t find the right letter.
‘I think… I think it’s the lemon. It, well’ – I look to the sky, to the white clouds sliding past – ‘it reminds me of someone.’ The sherbet fizzes on my tongue and suddenly I’m back in Flicks, Maggie tucking her hair behind her ear, and flashing a grin at me.
‘Oh?’ he says, eyes sparking with excitement. ‘Who?’
‘A woman,’ I say in a breath. ‘She smells like lemons.’
‘Righto. Your girlfriend?’
‘Um, no. She never was, not really.’ His face softens before he asks me her name.
‘Ah that explains it!’ He claps his hands, rubs them together and goes about manoeuvring the blue river. ‘Try again.’
I do and I know in my stomach, that it’s M. That the letter M tastes like lemon, and fresh air, blue skies, and it feels like happiness.
‘M,’ I say with a smile.
‘M.’ He grins.
We make our way back upstairs, another sheet placed in front of me, and this time, when he asks me to circle every ‘m’. I get most of them correct.
I crick my neck from side to side as he files the sheet away.
