Page 13 of Love and Other Paradoxes

He didn’t understand. “We will. We’ve got months. Your mum might be some kind of reclusive spy genius, but—this is Cambridge.

Like you said, it’s barely a city. She can’t hide from us forever.”

Esi was shaking her head. “But that’s the point. She shouldn’t be this hard to find. And it got me thinking. What if it means

you’re right?” She dipped her fingers into a pool of spilled water on the table. “What if I can’t save her?”

He tried to find a way to say it gently. “I guess—you go back home and you try to live with it.”

She made a soft noise. “You sound like my dad.” Her finger drew the water out into a looping line. “He told me not to come

here. He thought it was a mistake.”

“He didn’t think the past could be changed?”

“He didn’t want me to change it.” She swept the water into curlicues, branching out like leaves from a stem. “Course, he didn’t

just come out and say it. He had to tell me a story first. It’s a Jamaican thing—they love to speak in riddles.”

He watched a fond, frustrated smile spread across her face. “What was the story?”

“It was about a girl whose friend was drowning in a river. She jumped in to try and save her, but she ended up drowning herself.” She shook her head tightly. “I told him, I’m not going to drown. I’m saving her, then I’m coming back. ”

“And what did he say?”

She swept her palm across her drawing, smearing it into oblivion. “He said, Someone’s going to step out of that river, but it won’t be you .”

He understood. “He doesn’t want you changing yourself. Even if it means bringing your mum back.” Tears were filling her eyes.

He looked away, giving her a moment. “He sounds like a good dad.”

“Yeah. Yeah, he is.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her wipe her tears away. “I just miss him. His parties. His jokes.

His stupid stories. His cooking . You know he learned how to cook all the Ghanaian food Mum used to make? Jollof rice, fufu. Because he didn’t want us to

forget that side of where we come from.” Her voice was warm. “And my sisters—they’re fifteen and seventeen now. They think

they’re so grown-up, but they’re really not. They’re babies.” She stared across the bar. “I feel so bad about leaving them.

Even just for a while. But...” She shrugged, helpless. “I’m their big sister. I have to fix it.”

He didn’t know what to say. “Sorry,” she added with a sniff. “Just—sometimes, it gets to me, being here.” She tipped her head

up, as if to stop more tears falling. “The loud cars, and the smoke everywhere, and the antique phones, and the stupid indie

bands that all sound the same, and everything being—not what I’m used to.”

“You’re homesick,” he said gently. “It’s not surprising. The past is a foreign country, right? You’ve got the world’s worst

case of culture shock, and you’ve been trying to deal with it alone.”

She made a strangled noise. He saw another tear fall, even as she brushed it away. He could read her discomfort in every line of her body: she didn’t want to break down in front of him. He wanted desperately to make it better, but he didn’t know how. Then, an idea came to him, bright as a new poem. It was stupid, and it would be bad for his overdraft, but it would be worth it.

“Come with me.” He strode off, giving her time to collect herself before she followed. At the college gate, he checked up

and down the street for Vera, but the tour guide was nowhere to be seen.

Esi came up beside him. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.” He led her through the darkened streets to the run-down shopping precinct of Bradwells Court.

At their destination, she stopped, staring. “What the hell is Laser Quest?”

They donned their vests and guns and entered the arena. He turned to face her in the flickering darkness. “You said you miss

the future.” He gestured around at the cardboard neon dystopia. “Here it is.”

“I mean, yeah, it’s uncanny,” she said, in a kind of hysterical deadpan. “I could literally be in my house right now.”

“Including the body armour and laser guns?”

“Don’t laugh, Joseph Greene. I told you I played Assassins.” She raised her gun. “What I didn’t tell you is, I play to win.”

She darted away. He ran after her, his heart pounding. Joy flooded his veins as he crept along the wall, transformed from

a cardboard prop to a neon facade in a city of the future. He peered around the corner, looking for Esi. He would take it

easy on her, since it was her first time. He’d let her get in a couple of shots to boost her confidence, then—

A noise blared in his ear. He jumped, the sad bleeps of his virtual death echoing from his vest. “Hey!”

Esi, who had inexplicably ended up above him, waved and took aim again. He yelped and sprinted away to recover.

After that, he abandoned his chivalry and set his mind to taking her down. She should have been an easy target, in her patterned

dress that fluoresced under the lights, but somehow his shots never hit her, as if she were a mirage, not truly there. He

found himself with one life left, heart pounding, breath coming in hot gasps. He was staring ahead into the neon smoke, trying

to see what was coming, when something rushed at him from the side. Before he could react, his gun was dangling from his vest

and Esi’s was pressed up against his temple.

“ Bang ,” she whispered in his ear.

A shiver ran through his whole body. He had trouble keeping his voice level. “Laser guns don’t go bang .”

“No. They go like this.” She pressed the gun point-blank to his chest and fired. His digital blood spilled out in a gush of

bleeps. “Pleasure murdering you, Joseph Greene.”

“Pleasure to be murdered.” He followed her as she sashayed towards the exit, wondering why he still felt like he was fighting

for his life.

They tumbled laughing out into the cold. Esi struck a pose, blowing smoke from the barrel of an imaginary gun. “They call

me Poetkiller.”

“Poets are notoriously easy to kill. Byron died of a cold in Greece.” She laughed, her warm, chaotic laugh that set him off

like a firecracker. “Might as well call yourself Sheepkiller, or—or Lettucekiller.”

Her eyes squeezed shut, her hand pressed to her throat. “Joseph Greene,” she gasped. “How do you keep on surprising me?”

He grinned. “Well, the bar was pretty low, given that you expected me to be the worst person in the universe.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Problem is, every time you impress me, the bar’s rising. Think you can keep up?”

He looked into her dancing eyes. He knew this feeling, his blood fizzing, the air between them pulsing with light. Are we flirting? She laughed, as if answering his unspoken question. Yes. And why not? They both knew it wasn’t going to happen. So if they tiptoed around the edges of it happening, where was the

harm?

Her attention flickered over his shoulder. Her face went slack.

“You okay? You look like you’ve seen...” A ghost. He knew, with a lurch of his gut, exactly who she had caught sight of in the crowd, even before she started running.

She ran with abandon, flailing and desperate as a child. Straining to look beyond her, he caught a glimpse of a slight girl

in a puffy coat, the edge of a familiar cheekbone, a fall of straightened dark hair. He followed Esi out onto St. Andrew’s

Street, crossing the road to a chorus of ringing bikes, up the slope behind the church that led into Lion Yard shopping centre.

He caught up with her in the crowd of early evening shoppers, turning fruitlessly in circles.

“ Fuck. She’s gone.” Her eyes, wide and unseeing, glanced off his and back into the crowd. “I lost her.”

A feeling coursed through him, leaving him trembling in its wake. He was disturbed to find it was relief. He was glad she

hadn’t found her mum yet, because once she found her, she would be one step closer to leaving, and he didn’t want her to go.

But he didn’t want to see her like this, dulled and broken, the pain of a second loss written all over her. The two impulses

warred inside him, tearing him gently to pieces.

“Hey.” He touched her shoulder. “It’s a good sign. We found her once, we can find her again.”

He had meant to cheer her up, but she met his eyes with blank desolation. “I should go.”

“Let me walk with you.”

She didn’t protest. She didn’t talk at all, not on the way out of town up St. Andrew’s Street, not as they crossed the flat

dark of Parker’s Piece under the overcast sky. The feeling of being watched crept up on him again. He turned, but there was

only a random drunk weaving along the path behind them.

Esi turned with him. “Who are you looking for?”

“Vera.”

She frowned, not understanding. “We’re fine. It’s way after five.”

“I don’t think she’s sticking to the terms and conditions anymore. I’ve seen her on her own, out of hours. Watching me.”

“Shit. She must be looking for me.” Her eyes met his in panic. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t think it was important! I thought she might just be a fan.” It sounded stupid now he said it. The woman spent every

day following him around: she must be utterly sick of him.

Esi searched the darkness, walking backwards past the Reality Checkpoint. She shook her head. “I’m going to have to be so

much more careful.” Another worry he’d added to her list. He thought with a pang of how much simpler her life would have been

if she’d never met him.

They went on up Mill Road, a backwards retread of their first walk together. As they neared the café, her steps slowed. In

the window, coffee bean fireworks exploded around more coffee beans that spelled out remember .

“Another Campbell classic.”

She didn’t smile. “Need to update it. Fifth of November was weeks ago.” She reached in her bag for a jangling ring of keys.

He looked at her uncertainly. “Do you need to update it right now?”

“Oh. Yeah.” She turned, standing awkwardly in the doorway. “So, this is where I sleep.”

He stared. “What?”

“It’s not so bad. There’s a bathroom in the back, and turns out, sacks of coffee beans are actually pretty comfortable—”

“No. This—this is not okay.”

She sighed. “Don’t make a big deal of it. You sound like Shola.”

“Shola?”

She gestured at the counter. “The girl I work with. She’s a master’s student at the uni. She found out I was sleeping here,

and she offered me a room in her house share.”

“So take it! Or—or come and stay with me and Rob! We have a sofa, and college never checks if we have guests—”

“Joseph Greene,” she interrupted him, a little warmth returning to her expression. “Much as I’d love to come live with you

and your friend who kills people, that’s not going to work. And I can’t live with Shola either. I’d get tangled up in her

life, and her housemates’ lives, and I can’t risk that. Remember, I’m trying not to leave a mark, except the one I want to

make.” She shrugged. “I don’t officially exist. Better if I’m a ghost.”

But you’re not a ghost. You’re real, and you’re alive, and you’re allowed to take up space. He sensed it was something she wasn’t ready to hear. He exhaled. “Look. I’m heading home next week to stay with my family

for Christmas. Far from Vera, far from your mum, far from Diana. Nothing that happens there will affect—well, anything, really.”

He shrugged. “Come with me.”

“Come with you ?” Her voice cracked. “Just—come with Joseph Greene to Scotland? Stay in Joseph Greene’s house, with Joseph Greene’s family?”

“Eat Joseph Greene’s Weetabix. Pet Joseph Greene’s cat. Whose name is Jeely Piece, by the way.” He tugged at his hair. “Can

we stop with the full name? It’s starting to make me feel like I’m already dead.”

“You are, remember? I killed you like five times.” She leaned against the door frame, looking at him with a strange mixture

of frustration and delight. “You’re an idiot.”

“I’m sorry—”

“Thank you. For today. And for the offer. I—I’ll think about it.” She leaned forward, sudden as a bird, and gave him a kiss

on the cheek.

He stood back, swaying. They looked at each other. He smiled, and she laughed.

“Do you want to—” he started, then his phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out. “Shit. It’s Diana.”