Page 16 of Love and Other Paradoxes

Three weeks slid away like sand through his fingers. Too soon, he was at the kitchen table on their last evening, and his

dad was raising a glass to Esi. “Thank you for coming to the ends of the earth.”

“It’s been lovely to have you,” said his mum. With a conspiratorial smile at his dad, she added, “It’s great to see Joe so

happy.”

“Mum,” he protested.

She beamed at him, watery-eyed. He recognised that look: it meant she was tipsy enough to sincerely express her feelings.

“We’re just so proud of you. And, Esi, you should be proud too. Getting into Cambridge, staying the course—it’s a huge achievement.”

It was the cover story they’d decided on. He hadn’t questioned whether it was a good idea until he saw the way she was looking

at his mum, with fragile intensity. “Thanks. I...” Her voice wobbled. “Sorry. I have to—” She got up, her face a mask of

tears.

He followed her out to the hall, where she was pulling on her borrowed boots. “Where are you going?”

Her voice was choked. “I need to be alone.” She walked out, closing the door behind her.

He went back to the kitchen. “She’s fine,” he said, rubbing his face. “She just needs some time.”

His mum and dad looked at each other. He knew what they were thinking: that this was some kind of lovers’ tiff. The thought made him irrationally angry.

“It’s starting to rain,” his mum said, looking anxiously out of the window. “Did she take a waterproof?”

“No.” He tried to ignore her reproachful look. “Mum, she’ll be fine. She’s from London, she’s not soluble.”

His mum steered him to the door and put a spare raincoat in his arms. “Find her,” she said, and pushed him outside.

He pulled up his hood against the smirr of rain and headed down the street. He was too late to follow her, but there weren’t

many places she could have gone. His feet led him, as they always did, down to the sea.

He found her on a bench beside the harbour, looking out into the rolling grey dark. Her hoodie was soaked, clinging in wet

patches to her skin. Wordlessly, he handed her the spare waterproof. She pulled off the hoodie and slid her shivering arms

into the sleeves.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I know you wanted to be alone, but Mum was about to disown me if I didn’t come and check on you.”

Her face crumpled. “It’s just hard. Seeing you with them, both of them. How much they love you. How proud they are of you.

It’s like you’ve got everything I lost.”

“Your dad’s proud of you. And your mum would be too, if she could see you.”

A sob shook her. “No, she wouldn’t. She’d be so disappointed in me. She was so smart, so successful, and I—I’m nothing. I’m

going nowhere.”

He finally understood: the real reason why she was so afraid of her mum seeing her, why she wanted to intervene without leaving a mark. “What are you talking about? You’re literally trying to change the world. That’s more impressive than anything I’ve ever done.” He leaned towards her. “Not to mention, you’ve also managed to do the impossible and impress my parents.”

Her voice wobbled. “Only because they think I go to Cambridge.”

“That’s got nothing to do with it. Trust me, they’ve complained about plenty of my uni friends. But they love you.” His heart

thudded strangely as he went on, “They’d want me to marry you tomorrow, if it wasn’t obvious that you’re way out of my league.”

She huffed out a laugh. “I’m not out of your league. You’re out of my league. You’re”—she cast him a sideways glance—“surprisingly

hot, and you’re funny, and you’re kind, and you’re destined to be with a gorgeous famous actor.” She shrugged violently. “I’m

just—broken.”

He tried not to focus on the surprisingly hot , which was making him feel all kinds of things, and stuck to what was important. “Has anyone ever said that to you?” he asked

gently. “That you’re broken?”

“Not to me.” She took in a great sniff of the sea air. “But I heard my dad talking to one of my aunties, not long after it happened.

He said...” She swallowed. “He said when he looked at me, he couldn’t see his little girl anymore. It was—it was like he’d

lost her.”

He reached for her. He couldn’t help it: he wrapped his arm around her shaking body, as if he could hold her together. “Esi,

no. He was worried about you. He wasn’t saying—he didn’t mean—”

She shook him off, eyes flashing. “What do you know about it? You weren’t there! You were an old man in a mansion somewhere.

And when I go back, that’s all you’ll be again.”

He shifted along the bench. He felt the distance between them, inches and decades and the incommensurable gap between one soul and another. “How’s it going to work?” he said quietly. “When you go back.”

“I told you, I don’t know—”

“How do you hope it’s going to work?”

“I guess...” She stared ahead at the dark ocean. “I’ll go to the wormhole. I’ll step through. And—I won’t be me anymore.

Or, not this me. I’ll be the new me. The one I was meant to be.”

He took in her face, familiar to him after these weeks of spending every moment together: the curve of her cheekbone, her

generous mouth, her curious eyes that lit up when an idea struck her. He couldn’t imagine another Esi. She was so specific,

so herself, that any alternative version of her dissolved into nonexistence. What part of her would change? Her wide-eyed

enthusiasm? Her flashes of sarcasm, like sparks flying out from a low fire? Her quiet moments, when she seemed to go somewhere

else, arriving back with a self-conscious shiver and a smile? To him, in that moment, the loss of any of those seemed like

a tragedy.

“Someone’s going to step out of that river,” he said, remembering her dad’s story.

She gave him a strange, heartfelt look. “But it won’t be me.”

“So, if you’re right, then once you go back—you won’t remember any of this. Your time in Cambridge. Me. This conversation.

It’ll be like none of it ever happened.”

“I guess not.” She looked at him sideways: a low, lingering glance, as if she was trying to memorise him.

He felt a wave building inside him, powerful as the sea, deep with unknown currents. He let it carry him to his feet. “Come

on. If we don’t get back soon, Mum’s going to call the coastguard.”

They slopped in, shedding their dripping waterproofs in the hall. Up in his room, he peeled off his wet jeans and boxers and groped in the drawer for his pyjamas.

The door of his room opened. Before he could cover himself, he heard Esi scream. “Oh my God! Sorry!”

He pulled on his pyjamas, swearing. She was gone, and the door was firmly closed. He laughed in delayed, breathless panic,

waited until he had stopped shaking, and went to knock on her door.

“Come in,” she said in a high, strange voice.

She was sitting on the bed, wearing Kirsty’s skeleton pyjamas and a faded peach silk headwrap. Her face was glowing, and she

was having trouble meeting his eyes.

He cleared his throat. “Sorry about that. I’m decent now. What—uh, what did you want?”

She looked down, fiddling with the blanket. “I wanted to say thank you. You didn’t have to invite me here. I don’t know if

it was a good idea to come. Maybe it wasn’t. But—I had fun.” A wild laugh burst out. “Also, now I’ve seen Joseph Greene naked.”

He puffed out his chest. “And nothing will ever be the same.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that.” She smiled wickedly. “Like you said. What happens in Scotland stays in Scotland, right?”

He didn’t get a lot of sleep that night. He lay in bed, acutely aware of her just across the landing, thinking about the few

steps between her room and his.

He rolled over, groaning into his pillow. It was never going to happen. With an effort, he turned his thoughts to Diana. He

imagined her in London, frozen in place at the door of her house, as if her life were on pause until he arrived. When he finally

fell asleep, he dreamt of Esi writing her name on his hand, over and over, in endless spiky lines.

The next evening, they stood outside the door of a snow-white town house in Chelsea. Joe was trying to look casual, which was difficult when wearing full Highland dress. Esi was radiant in a white gown she had found in a St Andrews charity shop that looked distractingly like a nightie.

“You look really ving,” he said gallantly.

She looked like she was going to explode. “Please don’t ever try and use that word again.”

He grinned, enjoying her discomfort. “This party’s going to be deev. Can’t wait to get rashed.”

She tugged at the hem of her dress, eyeing the grand houses that lined the street. “This is a bad idea. I’m not supposed to

be here. On multiple levels.”

He turned to her. “Hey. If you want to go. Anytime. You know what to say.”

She met his eyes. “Threshold,” she said, as the door was opened by a tall, pale man with fashionably shaggy hair.

He stared at each of them in turn. “I have no idea who you are, which means you’re Diana’s problem. DI!” he bellowed over

his shoulder. “Your Scottish stripper’s here!”

“Um—we brought—” Esi held out the wine.

He looked at the label with barely concealed disdain. “Oh, you shouldn’t have.” He took the bottle and turned smartly away,

shoes clicking on the marble floor.

Joe hardly had time to process that he had just met Crispin when Diana swept into the doorway dressed in blue, looking like

the goddess of twilight. He had forgotten the presence she had, a palpable aura that seemed to pull everything in the world

towards her. Now, faced with her, he was literally breathless.

Esi was staring at him in alarm. Say something.

“Uh. Hi,” he said suavely. “I—Joseph Greene? The, uh—the poetry—”

Diana shot Esi a look, as if to say, What are we going to do with him? “Yes, I know who you are, Joseph.” She took in his outfit with unmistakable appreciation. Her attention shifted to Esi; her

face flickered, a moment of confusion, then she held out her hand. “Diana. Lovely to meet you.”

In the future, Esi must have seen the face before her on screens and billboards, lit up larger than life. He’d wondered if

she would be starstruck. But she took Diana’s hand calmly, head high, almost in challenge. “Esi.”

He felt them quaking, the three of them, on some faultline. Then a dog rushed out of nowhere and shoved its nose under his

kilt.

Diana laughed. “Oh, I’m sorry. Chamberlain has a tendency to get—amorous.” She grabbed the dog by the collar and yanked him

backwards. “Come and find me later,” she called to Joe as she left. “We should talk.”

He straightened his kilt, his heart rate returning to normal. “Sorry. I think I blacked out. How did that go?”

“She liked the kilt.” Esi was watching Diana leave, a strange tension in her shoulders. “And if it doesn’t work out with her,

you’re in there with Chamberlain.”

He gave her a grim look. “I’m going to dedicate my book of dog poetry to you.”

“Aww. I’m touched.” Fragments of posh chatter echoed down the high-ceilinged hallway. “You should go after her.”

Her words said one thing, her body another. He had never seen her look so uncomfortable. His heart cramped. “Not until we’ve

done the tour. When else will you get a chance to see inside Diana Dartnell’s childhood home?”

“My lifelong dream.” She took his arm, her posture relaxing.

The house was huge. They passed through room after room, elegant and strangely impersonal. Most were empty: the party guests

had congregated in the kitchen, where the marble-topped island clinked with bottles. Through the French windows loomed the

dark outline of a garden.

“No sign of your mum,” he commented, scanning the crowd.

She let out a strangled laugh. “Yeah, even if Diana does know her, I don’t think she’d have made the guest list. I just overheard

someone saying their dad’s an earl.”

He sorted through the bottles. Half of them were liqueurs he’d never heard of. “Would a drink help?”

She shook her head. “I need to stay alert.”

“Yeah, think I’ll pass too. Remember the last time I talked to Diana when I was drunk?” He got what he wanted: a small, reluctant

smile. “Look. Here’s a plan. We’ll talk to some people. We’ll find someone who’s not completely fucking awful, and I’ll leave

you with them while I talk to Diana.”

She took a breath, steeling herself. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

Half an hour later, the two of them were huddled in a corner next to a table full of desserts. “Let’s just go,” he said around

a forkful of admittedly excellent pavlova. “I can catch up with her back in Cambridge.”

“No. We’re staying. This is your big night.” Esi put down her empty plate and picked up another. “But if I’d known this was

just going to be a roomful of people bragging about their skiing holidays, I would’ve let you come on your own.” She took

a bite. “Mmm. Try this one. It’s like—burnt oranges with honey.”

He leaned in to take her fork in his mouth. Their eyes met, and a thrill like lightning went through him.

“Fuck, that’s amazing,” he said, exaggerating to distract from the pounding of his heart. What was wrong with him? He was acting like a sixteen-year-old. “At least her desserts are good. Even if her friends are terrible.”

“Not all of them.” She pointed at a tall man with floppy hair. “Jonty was all right.”

“You’re just saying that because his dad’s an earl.”

She gave him a peculiar look. “A what?”

“An earl.”

She grinned. “Airrul,” she said happily.

“Sorry. Euuhl,” he corrected himself in his best attempt at her accent.

She grimaced. “You’re making me sound like the King!”

“The King ? You’re making me time-sick again. Also, the monarchy still exists in 2044?”

“One of many not-great things about when I’m from.” She stared into the crowd, shaking her head. “It’s like they’re all trying

to convince each other that they’re the most impressive person in the room. But no one’s listening, because they’re too busy

trying to do the same.”

He followed her gaze, worry sprouting in his chest. “Are these the people I’m going to have to hang out with once me and Diana

are together?”

She shrugged. “Maybe they’re Crispin’s friends. Some people are like that. They base their whole personality on whoever they’re

dating. Once she’s with you, she’ll get better taste.”

He tried to imagine Rob and his other friends in this glimmering palace, the chat about Klosters and the stock market replaced

by stupid in-jokes and Lord of the Rings references. He couldn’t make it fit.

He had meant to try again, let Esi take her chances with Jonty and go off in search of his destiny. But somehow it was easier to stay in the corner with her, laughing at the party and at each other while everyone around them got drunker and drunker. At one point, a man in a tailcoat stumbled directly into him, pulling back with exaggerated slowness until he registered the kilt. “Och aye the fucking noo !!” he yelled, before blundering away into the crowd.

He and Esi looked at each other. He wasn’t sure who started laughing first. He only knew that he couldn’t stop, that he was

leaning against her and gasping, tears in his eyes, an ache lodged deep beneath his ribs. He found himself just watching her,

in the soft light of the ridiculous chandelier: how her smile made her face come alive; how in this room full of brittle facades,

she felt like the one real thing.

She was shaking his shoulder, her face lit with alarm. He tuned in to what she was saying. “It’s nearly midnight! You need

to talk to her!”

“Shit.” He turned to look for Diana. There she was, in the midst of the crowd, flanked by a tall shadow. “I can’t.” He felt

almost relieved. “She’s with Crispin.”

“So we get him out of the way.” Esi leaned into him. “Here’s the plan. We get close to them. Then I shove you.”

“Shove me?”

“Shh. Trust me. I read a scene like this once in a romance novel.” She mimed with her dessert fork. “I shove you, you crash

into Crispin, his wine goes all over his fancy shirt, he has to go and get changed. Leaving you alone with Diana.”

He blinked at her. “That’s—actually a decent idea. Things are getting messy enough that it’s not going to look deliberate.”

“Right. Let’s do it.” She forged determinedly through the crowd. He followed her, thrumming with apprehension. She steered him into place, hands firm on his shoulders. “Ready?”

He stared into her eyes, unable to look away. No , he thought, no, I’m not ready , but her face was taut with dread, and he would have done anything to make it better. “Ready.”

She shoved him, surprisingly hard. He tripped, sprawled, and careened into Crispin, who whisked his glass out of the way at

the last moment.

“Christ,” said Crispin, giving him a dirty look. “Steady on.”

Joe gaped at Crispin, then at Diana, not understanding how the plan could have gone wrong. In his panic, he did the only thing

he could think of. Complete the plan. He grabbed Crispin’s glass and dashed the wine down his pristine white shirt.

Diana gasped. “Joseph, what on earth—”

Crispin stared down at the bloodred stain spreading across his torso. Then he looked up. For an instant, Joe was utterly certain

Crispin was going to hit him. He could already feel the blow, and worse, the humiliation, like he had felt at school, that

he was nothing and no one, and the universe would not step in to save him.

Instead, Crispin turned to Diana, two spots of high colour in his cheeks. “Look, Di. I don’t care if you want to slum it with

provincials. Just keep them away from me.”

“Slum it?” Her laugh was glacial. “What exactly are you implying?”

“I’m not implying anything. Like I said, I don’t care. I just wish you wouldn’t embarrass yourself like this.” He tugged at

his sodden shirt in disgust and stalked away. Diana shot a murderous look at Joe before flouncing after him.

Esi looked even angrier than Diana. “Threshold,” she said icily, and marched through the French windows into the garden.

He followed her out into a clear night, lit by London glare and an impossibly thin crescent moon. She whirled on him. “What was that?”

“I—I don’t know!” he stammered. “That man has the reflexes of a cat! What was I supposed to do?”

“Walk away? Make another plan? Now you’ve just made yourself look like a complete psycho!” She paced away and back, until

she was in his face again, her eyes bright with fury. “Do you even want Diana? Because you don’t act like it.”

He stared at her. In the cold and the adrenaline, it came on him like a rush: the truth he had been pushing away for weeks

now. I want you. “No,” he said, his voice unsteady. “I don’t.”

She was so close to him, barely a breath between them. Her gaze flicked down to his mouth. “Joe,” she said, half-alarmed and

half-wanting, and he barely noticed that she hadn’t used his full name. All that could fit into his head was how badly he

wanted to kiss her.

He pulled her close and she was warm, an ember burning in the cold garden. Her mouth was soft, her fingers hesitantly exploring

his neck, as if she were just beginning to believe he might be real. He crashed headlong into the moment, not thinking of

the future, thinking of nothing but her, the impossible sensation of her tongue sliding against his, the way she tasted like

tangerines and honey. They kissed like time was running out, because it was, closing the window in which this wasn’t-happening-couldn’t-happen-was-never-meant-to-happen,

narrowing to their hands and their mouths and the tiny, panicked sound she made as she pulled away.

They stared at each other. Esi was breathing hard, her eyes wide, her face stricken. Without a word, she turned and fled back

inside.