Evening

The sun has made me sleepy. My skin is tight and hot and I know sunburn will show itself tomorrow. A small part of my brain also knows I should apply cold towels and after-sun but the larger part; the part that has already consumed more alcohol than it should, cannot face moving. The grass tickles my bare arms. There’s a lump under my lower back that I noticed two glasses back but never quite got around to dealing with.

‘Anna?’

I frown. I thought everyone had left. There had been the toasts and speeches and extravagant declarations of friendship. Then, with the setting sun, the piling of bodies into cars; the exuberant kisses and backslaps; plans to go camping next month and everyone insisting everybody else take their food home. I was supposed to be the only one left in the garden to finish the champagne slowly by myself and watch the setting sun.

‘Anna?’

I open one eye. A figure like a shadow against the pink-and-yellow sky is standing above me. I want to speak but my lips have turned to liquid. I open the other eye and laugh.

‘What?’

I cannot control the laughter bubbling up in my chest like the champagne bubbles I swallowed minutes ago. It spills out of my lips and mingles with the last chorus of the birds in the cooling air. It cracks my chest in two with violent mirth.

‘Stop it.’

I can’t. I want to tell her this but my lips still won’t co-operate so I close my eyes and let the laughter wash itself from my body until I’m left limp and drained on the grass with the lump still digging into my spine. I feel a pressure on my hand and realise that she had sat beside me and taken it in hers. It’s been so long since anyone held my hand that it feels alien. I stare down at our entwined fingers on the grass. Mine calloused and sinewy, hers pale and firm, bands glinting on the fourth finger. Pretty.

Yes, she smiles, relieved that I have spoken. I think she’s waiting for something else but I have nothing. I stare at the pink-and-grey sky and wait for her to speak instead. The ground seems to be shifting slightly, like a boat on the water. I don’t know if she feels it too. I hope she does. A flock of sparrows or starlings crosses the sky in a perfect V. I wonder if the sky is shifting too. I hope not. I wait. She waits. The silence is beautiful and endle-

‘Anna, it’s cold.’

Her hand is still in mine. Or mine is in hers. I don’t know whose had is being held. I don’t remember how handholding works. Were there rules? I notice that the stones in her ring are not dark as I thought, only reflecting the pink-and-navy sky. Diamonds.

Yes. She squeezes my hand. I didn’t realise I had spoken aloud. That’s twice I’ve talked about her rings now. I try to frown because I don’t want her to think that I care but my face seems to be liquid too and all I manage is to close my eyes again. There’s a bitter taste in my mouth that I don’t think is to do with the alcohol. She goes on holding my hand. I think that that’s the right way around. I think that she is holding mine. I think I should ask but I don’t because perhaps she has forgotten her fingers are wrapped around mine, and if I stay very still maybe she’ll go on forgetting. I want her to go on.

‘Anna.’

I wish she would whisper. Her voice is soft but the words cut through the chilling air like the diamonds on her finger.

‘Anna. Come inside.’

Five syllables. That’s all. And the tide of memories sweeps over my liquid body and tears me apart. She said those words a hundred times, and now she’s saying them to me again and holding my hand as I lie in the garden and, I suddenly realise, gently wiping the tears away from my cheeks. There’s the same gentleness but for a different Anna. Now she wears her rings and I do not exist as I once did in her world. Nor should she in mine nor does she in mine but here, like this, with those words in her mouth and the darkening sky above us, she does. And I hate her for it. I hate her but I want her to go on holding my hand so I stay as still as I can. I don’t even open my eyes as the tears dry on my cheeks in the cold air. She lets the silence continue this time. Her hand is like a statue’s in mine. I don’t even hear her breathe. All I can hear is the irregular thumping of my traitor heart: I want you - I want you - I want you - I want you - I want you - I want you - I want-

‘Please, Anna, let’s go inside. It’s cold and you’re tired.’

Twelve syllables this time. Maybe if I never speak again she will finally begin to. My teeth are beginning to chatter despite the sunburn. She sighs. I don’t have to open my eyes to taste her impatience. She shifts her weight and the hand holding mine pulls away. Now I am holding her hand. Clutching might be a better word. I open my eyes. The sky is dark now. The only light is that which spills from the kitchen window far behind us. In the darkness my senses are heightened. The warmth of her hand; the looseness of her fingers; her smell. She smells different now. Floral. It’s cloying. I wonder when she changed.

‘Anna.’

She is impatient. This is more familiar. This is the tone that signals the end. She will leave soon. I stare up at the black and blue sky and watch the silhouettes of branches swaying against the blackness. The lump is back, digging into my spine. I shift, uncomfortable now. She’s looking at me again. I feel her gaze on my liquid limbs and this time I meet it. Neither of us speak. We are staring at each other in the half-light and I can’t breathe or think so I just look at her and look her until I think my heart might break from aching. Her eyes are the same hazel ovals. Someone said eyes are windows to the soul but hers aren’t. Or if they are, there are shutters down or curtains drawn and I have no way of knowing what thoughts are forming behind the glass. Her face gives nothing away. This is a new trick. I wonder if she acquired it with the perfume. Still we do not speak. The world begins to tilt again. Her face moves closer to mine. Closer than it has been in a long time. I cannot move. I am trapped; held motionless in the darkness, our hands still touching. I am melting and burning and still all at once. My turncoat heart will not be silent I want you - I want you - I want you - I want you - I want you - I want you - I want you - I

‘I miss you.’

I cannot tell which of us has spoken. I cannot tell what is up or down, only that I am trembling in the dark beneath her cool stare and my hand is shaking in hers. No, mine is shaking around hers, because I am the one holding on. I am always the one holding on.

‘Anna, I have to go.’

I am always the one holding on.

‘Anna’

I am always holding on.

‘Anna, please.’

Always holding on.

‘I have to go.’

I let go. My hand drops onto the grass and I feel the dew beginning to settle. I close my eyes again so I will not have to watch her walk away, towards the warmth and light of the kitchen. It doesn’t help. Behind closed lids I still see her body, silhouetted against the light, as she walks away. I feel her footsteps gently reverberating in the grass. I don’t need my eyes to know the diamonds on the ring will sparkle where they meet the artificial light from the house. I don’t need eyes to hear her car start in the driveway, revving up to slowly fade away. I don’t need eyes to feel the dew settling on my clothes, slowly seeping towards my skin. I don’t want to open them ever again. But I do. Because my treacherous heart keeps beating. So I open them. I drag myself to my feet. And I walk inside to the rhythm of its thumping. I want you - I want you - I want you - I want you - I want you - I want you - I want you - I want you - I want you - I want you - I want you - I want you