The Art of Not Breathing(29)

I wish I had just kissed him instead of talking. I never learn to keep my mouth shut. I give him the lighter from my pocket. He says thank you. Then he opens up.

“I didn’t choose to leave. My dad didn’t want me around. He thought I was trouble, and he wanted to work or hang out with his mates, not look after me.”

I nod this time so I don’t risk saying anything stupid. Tay keeps talking.

“I was always in trouble, little things like skipping school, getting into fights, breaking stuff around the house. Stealing. The police picked me up a couple of times—it was never serious, but you see, my dad’s a cop and I was destroying his reputation. He didn’t want to deal with me, so he ignored me. And then one day, he snapped and said he’d had enough. I came home from school and he had my bags packed. He drove me straight to the bus station and sent me off to my mum’s. I didn’t even get to say goodbye to anyone. The bastard.”

“That’s shit,” I say. “So you were with your mum all this time?”

“Yeah, she lives in Dornie.”

“Where?”

“West coast. It’s pretty remote.”

Tay seems small and vulnerable now, and I’m responsible for making him feel sad. I put my hand on his leg to show that I care, and he shocks me by taking my hand and squeezing it.

“I’ve stolen stuff too,” I say.

He grins. “I knew you were badass. What kind of stuff?”

Hardly badass. I blush when I think about the packet of condoms I stole. “Makeup, mostly,” I confess. “Hair spray, razors. Noodles.”

Tay lets go of my hand and slaps his thigh when I mention the noodles.

“What? What’s so funny? What do you steal?”

He laughs harder.

“I don’t do it now, but bikes were my thing.” He can barely get the words out.

I try to ignore his hysteria. “What kind of bikes? Like, bicycles? Didn’t you have your own?”

“When I was eleven, I stole a moped—the idiot left the keys in the ignition and I thought I’d just take it for a ride and bring it back. But then . . .” He carries on laughing and it’s contagious.

“I crashed it,” he finally finishes. “Broke my arm. That’s why my shoulder dislocates sometimes. My dad had to pay for a new bike.”

“Oh my God. So that’s why he sent you away?” I ask, half shocked about the moped, half impressed.

Tay wipes his eyes and clears his throat. “Actually, no. A year after my broken arm, I stole another bike. A bicycle this time. And that was the final straw, apparently.”

He looks sad now and doesn’t say anything else.

“So what made you come back?” I ask. I seem to be on a roll with the questions.

“My uncle invited me back. He said he was setting up this dive school and would train me to be an instructor in return for a bit of help with the club. Diving was my thing in Dornie. Nothing else to do. My mum was happy to pass me back to my dad again. She’s given him instructions to make sure I don’t stay out all night. He even searches me and confiscates anything I shouldn’t have. It’s not cool having a cop as a dad. I thought that it would be good to come back, to hang out with Danny and Mick again, but this place is still a shithole. And Mick’s hardly ever free to go diving.”

“And Danny?”

“He thinks he’s the boss—always telling me what to do, who to speak to.”

“Ignore him. He doesn’t own you,” I say.

Tay smokes silently. “No, he doesn’t,” he finally says.

“What’s wrong with this place, then? I think it’s okay.”

“The people. You know—small place, small minds.”

“Oh, thanks.” I suppose I’m one of those people.

“Apart from you, of course.” He turns to face me. “Noodle girl.”

And then he’s kissing me and I kiss him back. He tastes like cigarettes and weed and strawberry lip balm, and his lips are soft and smooth. Our mouths work together, and there’s no crashing of teeth like with the last boy I kissed. I’m living in the moment, I think to myself. And then Eddie pops up and tugs on the inside of my rib cage, and he wants to play chase. Not now, Eddie. But he pulls me away.

“You okay?” Tay whispers.

“Yes,” I whisper back, trying to lean in again.

“Your eyes,” he murmurs. “They’re so green.”

“Yes.”

“It’s late.” Suddenly he turns away.

He gets up to go.

“Wait,” I call. “Did I do something wrong?”

He shakes his head and lingers at the entrance.

“No, of course not,” he says, his voice all gravelly. “I just don’t want to make my dad mad.”

Then he disappears. My lips tingle, like he’s still there, and when I close my eyes, the tingles go right to my toes.

When I crawl out of the boathouse an hour later, I see Danny down on the harbor wall, staring out to sea. Giddy from the kiss and the smoke, I decide to confront him. Before I’m even halfway along the wall, he turns around.

“I thought I told you to stay away.”

His hair looks shiny in the moonlight and rustles gently in the breeze. One of us is swaying slightly. I think it might be him.