The Art of Not Breathing(48)

Tay inspects the bloody tissue and frowns. “I have no idea. One minute I was talking to you, the next I was in a fight.”

I catch sight of our reflections. We look ridiculous, Tay all bloody, and me all hot and sweaty. I can’t help but laugh.

“What?” Tay asks. He folds the tissue in half and puts it back to his nose.

“Great night, huh?”

He takes my hand. “One of the best.”

The boathouse no longer smells of weed, just damp wood and moss. We sit in our usual corner on one of the blankets. The bleeding seems to have stopped, and Tay’s face is now caked in dried blood. I try not to wince every time I look at him. His eye socket is a deep purple and all swollen.

“Let’s get one thing straight here: I’m not on your side. You hit him, too. I’m only here with you because you kidnapped me.”

“Did I force you to come to the boathouse?”

“Why did my brother hit you?”

Tay doesn’t answer the question for a long time. He breathes deeply and picks at his face, his hand trembling. It must be the shock.

“Maybe he thought I was someone else?” he says. “Or he really doesn’t want you to have a boyfriend.”

“But I haven’t got a boyfriend, have I?” I reply. “I’m so confused, Tay. I don’t know what you want from me. You disappear and then just turn up again, and what? You want to pick up where we left off? Pretend that you didn’t leave?”

“No, it’s not like that, Elsie.”

He’s back to calling me Elsie. It feels so cold, so impersonal.

“I left because I had to. I’m messed up—I do bad things. I came back because I miss you.”

“You miss me? What do you miss, exactly? Having a quick grope every now and then?”

“That’s not fair. I missed being with you, Noodle Girl.”

He leans in and lifts my chin with his fingers. When I look into his eyes, I feel all floaty.

We kiss. It’s gentle at first, and then he pulls me onto his lap and neither of us can stop. Even when I accidentally bash his nose with mine and he yelps, we can’t stop. He holds me tightly and all my bad feelings disappear. We are just in the moment, with each other. Until he tries to undo my trousers.

“Stop,” I gasp, still kissing him.

He pulls away.

“Sorry. I got carried away. It’s okay if you’re not ready.”

“How do I know you’re not going to leave again?”

“I won’t leave,” Tay says desperately. “I can’t. Mick gave me my job back at the diving club. I don’t want to leave again.”

“I filled in for you, while you were away.”

“I know,” he says. “I wish I hadn’t gone. We’ll just have to come up with a plan. You’ll have to tell Dillon that I’ve left again. We’ll have to keep this a secret.”

“Forever?” I ask, horrified.

“Not forever. Just until we’ve worked it all out.”

“Worked what out? Why did Dillon react like that? And what’s the deal with you and Danny? Is there something you’re not telling me?”

“No, El. I swear. I’ll talk to them both, tell them I’m serious about you, that I won’t hurt you again. Just give me some time.”

Back to “El.” The way he says it makes my chest burn.

“Okay,” I say. “Just fix it, and fix it quickly.”





11



THE NEXT DAY, MUM FUSSES OVER DILLON. SHE BRINGS OUT the whole first-aid kit just for one tiny cut.

“Who did this to you?” she asks, rifling through the bandages. I scowl at Dillon.

“Just a misunderstanding,” he says. I silently thank him.

Mum slathers antibiotic cream all over Dillon’s face. I will her to say something about how skinny he is. Surely she must notice that his cheeks are hollow. She must feel how tiny he is when she holds his face. If she notices, then she can be the one to help him.

“Why don’t you lie down, Mum? You look tired,” Dillon says. He wants her away.

“I want to look after you,” she says. “I want to look after both of my babies. You’re growing up too fast.”

“Why don’t you both go and lie on the sofa and I’ll bring you some lunch?”

“Elsie, my darling girl. My sweet children, who want to look after me when their father has gone and deserted us. Look! Look how beautiful it is outside. How can I go to bed on a day like this?”

She grabs her handbag. “I’m just popping out to get us some ice creams.”

“Chocolate for me,” I call.

When she’s gone, I shove the first-aid kit out the way and sit on the table with my feet on Dillon’s lap so he can’t move.

“Does it hurt, poor Dilbil?” I ask nastily.

“You should see the other guy.”

I grab his face, and for a split second he looks frightened, but then he starts laughing. I let him go.

“I have seen the ‘other guy,’ and you’ve probably broken his nose.”

“Good,” Dillon says. “He deserved it.”

“Why? I don’t understand. Did you really mean to do that? For God’s sake, we were just talking.”