the bed.
He laughs, You canât hide from me now; I know you inside out. His eyes are blue and I get that funny feelin again.
Pass me my jacket, will you? Julian says, and points. Itâs crumpled in the corner where heâs flung it. I feel him watchin me when I go over to get it. I try to imagine what heâs seein but I canât. Heâs lookin at me fae an angle Iâve never even saw mysel. Nobody has. Except when I was a wean. I hold the cold jacket in front of me when I go back to the bed. It smells of Julian. The metal buttons make wee burny-cold spots down my belly. I hold it out to Julian and he takes it from me and pulls me down beside him at the same time.
Are we gonny go to the demo? Close up, his eyes have got wee violety flecks and a few gold ones, and the really really blue bits are round the edges.
Do you want to? Heâs took his tobacco out his pocket and heâs smoothin out a Rizla.
My daâll kill me if donât.
He laughs and takes a big pinch of tobacco out the pouch and sprinkles it slow and even along the paper. Some wee brown strands fall onto the duvet and he picks them up and rubs them off his fingers into the green packet.
Sure, weâll go. I promised Iâd get you there, didnât I? His hands are the only bit of him thatâs no dead white; theyâve gotsome sun on the backs and gold hairs, and the fingers are stained with nicotine.
Aye, but ⦠when? Itâll be all over if we donât go now.
He starts to roll the fag, foldin the thin paper over careful, then workin it between his fingers till itâs closed over the tobacco.
Soon⦠when Iâve had a smoke. He lifts the cigarette to his mouth and licks the edge of the Rizla, sticks it down. He fishes out a clear turquoise lighter and flicks the flame under the roll-up, narrows his eyes and takes a long draw. He clocks me watchin him.
Would you like a drag? He holds out the roll-up like itâs one a they spliffs.
No, youâre alright. I donât smoke.
What a good little girl you are. He takes his fag back and takes a deep draw. Whyâs he sayin that? After what weâve just been doin? Nobody in our house smokes â no even Danny. My daâs dead against it. Says he watched my granda cough hissel to death at the age of fifty-two.
The stain on the duvet is dried now. Itâs turned more a sorta browny-pink. The colour of Laetitiaâs lipstick nearly.
What we gonny do about that? I says.
Nothing.
Nothin?
Not a thing.
But â
Clare, this is a hotel; there are people to do the washing. Thatâs what we pay for. He sounds annoyed.
OK⦠Are you mad at me?
Of course not.
Itâs just⦠you sound mad.
He sighs out a big cloud of smoke. Well, Iâm not. Come on. He nips the end of his roll-up and tosses it in the bin. Thenhe jumps out the bed. His prickâs smooth and kinda long and a bit red. But no hard. No wee and wrinkled either. I wonder if itâs on the way up or down. He goes into the bathroom and I hear him peein. When he comes out, it looks smaller again. Iâve no saw it lookin the same way twice.
Right, letâs go, he says. And he starts pickin up his clothes off the floor.
Itâs funny how you can be dead close to somebody, then itâs like you donât even know them.
Itâs no completely dark when we come out the B&B, but itâs gettin there. Thereâs still a few light silvery streaks in the sky.
How will we know where to go? I says. Julianâs holdin my hand and his fingers are cold. Heâs got the collar of his combat jacket up.
Weâll find it. Trust me. He starts walkin in the same direction as lâAccademia. It feels like a week at least fae we came along here before. The big door of the galleryâs shut now and the windows are black. Julian is walkin faster and Iâm kinda half runnin to keep up. He doesny look at the place. Funny to think of the
David
in there,
He laughs, You canât hide from me now; I know you inside out. His eyes are blue and I get that funny feelin again.
Pass me my jacket, will you? Julian says, and points. Itâs crumpled in the corner where heâs flung it. I feel him watchin me when I go over to get it. I try to imagine what heâs seein but I canât. Heâs lookin at me fae an angle Iâve never even saw mysel. Nobody has. Except when I was a wean. I hold the cold jacket in front of me when I go back to the bed. It smells of Julian. The metal buttons make wee burny-cold spots down my belly. I hold it out to Julian and he takes it from me and pulls me down beside him at the same time.
Are we gonny go to the demo? Close up, his eyes have got wee violety flecks and a few gold ones, and the really really blue bits are round the edges.
Do you want to? Heâs took his tobacco out his pocket and heâs smoothin out a Rizla.
My daâll kill me if donât.
He laughs and takes a big pinch of tobacco out the pouch and sprinkles it slow and even along the paper. Some wee brown strands fall onto the duvet and he picks them up and rubs them off his fingers into the green packet.
Sure, weâll go. I promised Iâd get you there, didnât I? His hands are the only bit of him thatâs no dead white; theyâve gotsome sun on the backs and gold hairs, and the fingers are stained with nicotine.
Aye, but ⦠when? Itâll be all over if we donât go now.
He starts to roll the fag, foldin the thin paper over careful, then workin it between his fingers till itâs closed over the tobacco.
Soon⦠when Iâve had a smoke. He lifts the cigarette to his mouth and licks the edge of the Rizla, sticks it down. He fishes out a clear turquoise lighter and flicks the flame under the roll-up, narrows his eyes and takes a long draw. He clocks me watchin him.
Would you like a drag? He holds out the roll-up like itâs one a they spliffs.
No, youâre alright. I donât smoke.
What a good little girl you are. He takes his fag back and takes a deep draw. Whyâs he sayin that? After what weâve just been doin? Nobody in our house smokes â no even Danny. My daâs dead against it. Says he watched my granda cough hissel to death at the age of fifty-two.
The stain on the duvet is dried now. Itâs turned more a sorta browny-pink. The colour of Laetitiaâs lipstick nearly.
What we gonny do about that? I says.
Nothing.
Nothin?
Not a thing.
But â
Clare, this is a hotel; there are people to do the washing. Thatâs what we pay for. He sounds annoyed.
OK⦠Are you mad at me?
Of course not.
Itâs just⦠you sound mad.
He sighs out a big cloud of smoke. Well, Iâm not. Come on. He nips the end of his roll-up and tosses it in the bin. Thenhe jumps out the bed. His prickâs smooth and kinda long and a bit red. But no hard. No wee and wrinkled either. I wonder if itâs on the way up or down. He goes into the bathroom and I hear him peein. When he comes out, it looks smaller again. Iâve no saw it lookin the same way twice.
Right, letâs go, he says. And he starts pickin up his clothes off the floor.
Itâs funny how you can be dead close to somebody, then itâs like you donât even know them.
Itâs no completely dark when we come out the B&B, but itâs gettin there. Thereâs still a few light silvery streaks in the sky.
How will we know where to go? I says. Julianâs holdin my hand and his fingers are cold. Heâs got the collar of his combat jacket up.
Weâll find it. Trust me. He starts walkin in the same direction as lâAccademia. It feels like a week at least fae we came along here before. The big door of the galleryâs shut now and the windows are black. Julian is walkin faster and Iâm kinda half runnin to keep up. He doesny look at the place. Funny to think of the
David
in there,
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