Page 41 of Strap In

Evie finds them in the queue for the food, now clad in a frilly blue sundress the colour of the sky above, and tugs on the belt loop of Ava’s trousers.

‘Hey, Peanut!’ Ava strokes the child’s hair, styled in elaborate Dutch braids.

Evie doesn’t say anything, looking up at the crowd of unfamiliar grown-ups, though they greet the child warmly. She gestures until Ava bends down to listen, and pushes Ava’s curls aside to whisper in her ear.

‘Of course you can sit with me for dinner,’ Ava says. ‘What kind of birthday would it be if I didn’t get to hang out with the world’s best niece?’

But Evie pulls her close again, and Jean hides a smile.

‘I don’t think Jean will mind at all.’

‘I definitely don’t – not after you showed me the bunnies. In fact, I’d be delighted.’

Still the child doesn’t look convinced.

‘Can I tell you a secret, Evelyn?’ She nods, and Jean crouches down to look her in the eye. ‘I get nervous meeting new people too. Especially in crowds.’

The child looks at her through wary eyes, as if expecting a trick. Whispers: ‘Don’t believe you.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because you’re a grown-up. And you don’t look nervous.’

‘Ah, but that’s the secret part: if you act like you’re confident for long enough, your brain forgets that you’re pretending.’ Jean’s smile grows rueful. ‘The bigger you get, the more you’ll realise that adults fake it until we make it.’

‘But Mummy says make believe is for kids.’

‘This is a different kind of pretending.’ They continue the conversation all through the meandering queue for the food table.

And Jean’s heart fills with the sweetest ache as the girl takes her hand, though she knows better than to express even a flicker of amazement.

Ava’s watching, though, with the most tender smile.

The barbecue is delicious, meat grilled to perfection. Evie sits wedged between Jean and Ava at the picnic table, chattering happily. And while this night is an anomaly, an accident brought about by extraordinary circumstances, it’s also the happiest that Jean can remember being.

On her way out of the bathroom, Jean bumps into Aaliyah in the corridor.

She tilts her head towards a door, and Jean follows her into what can only be Alasdair’s home office, closing the door behind them.

The room is lit only by streetlight pouring in from the bay windows, and on the other side of the house the party music and chatter dulls to a low murmur.

There are books on every possible surface, stacked double on Alasdair’s groaning shelves; a desk with a laptop, a World’s Best Dad mug filled with pens and highlighters, assorted titles open face down on the table.

Aaliyah’s back is to Jean as she straightens the piles on her father’s desk, slotting bookmarks to save each place and stacking the tomes. ‘I don’t know what kind of magic you’ve worked on Evie. But when I tucked her in, you were all she talked about. Well, you and the cake.’

‘Oh.’ Jean looks down at the hand Evie had taken automatically, as if there wasn’t a single reason in the world she shouldn’t trust this particular grown-up. ‘She’s a sweet girl.’

Aaliyah turns at last, lips quirked. ‘Not usually. Most people can’t get more than two words out of her.’

‘I find that hard to believe. My sister always said I was terrible with kids.’

‘I don’t think so. You talk to her with respect, and you listen like you’re taking her seriously.

I’ve tried to raise her to know her own worth, but little girls don’t get enough of that, especially the brown ones.

’ Aaliyah shakes her head, as if dispelling unwanted thoughts.

‘Anyway, my daughter would be delighted to see more of you, if you ever fancied stopping round for dinner. Or coming along with Ava when she visits.’

A beat. From this distance, Jean can just make out a catchy refrain from the Hamilton soundtrack – without her sister there to contest song choice, Ava is making the most of her freedom.

‘I think it would make my sister happy too.’

Jean swallows. ‘Aaliyah, I don’t know what exactly Ava has told you about our… situation, but—’

Aaliyah cuts her off with a laugh. And though the register is familiar, it’s entirely devoid of her sister’s warmth.

‘She didn’t have to tell me anything. All our lives we’ve always known precisely what the other was thinking.

Plus, it’s written all over her face. Every single time she looks at you. ’

Fondness, yes, but not what Aaliyah is suggesting. ‘We’re not actuall—’

‘No, I’m talking now. And you’re listening.

’ Aaliyah steps closer, her face in shadow.

Her scent’s unlike Ava’s too, a sophisticated floral number from Yves Saint Laurent.

‘My sister can be very… gallant. For a lesbian feminist in the twenty-first century, she has these old-fashioned ideals about chivalry. Ava is ridiculously kind and generous, and she would do anything for the people she… the people she cares about.’

Aaliyah pauses here, and Jean nods. She absolutely recognises Ava from the portrait her sister paints.

‘Most women Ava’s dated have taken advantage of that, in one way or another.

Which has led to her getting hurt. That’s why Ava decided not to get…

entangled with anyone while she’s setting up the CJC.

It’s too important for her to risk getting distracted, or so she said.

’ Aaliyah tilts her head, as if looking at Jean for the first time.

‘But then my sister met you. And all that resolve went out the window.’

‘I wasn’t looking for anything beyond the transitory when I met Ava,’ Jean offers. ‘And while we’ve reached a more lasting… arrangement, we’re friends more than anything else.’

Even without a light source to illuminate her features, Jean can tell she’s not impressed.

Aaliyah folds her arms. ‘If you want to be with Ava properly, great. You two would have my full support. But don’t leave her hanging in some in-between place.

Don’t mess with her feelings just because she puts yours first. Don’t treat my sister like she exists just to add spice to an otherwise straight life.

’ Aaliyah’s voice drops to an angry hiss.

‘And don’t you dare let her fall for you if you’ve got no intention of loving her back. Are we clear?’

Jean can only nod. The truth of it fixes her in place like venom.

Aaliyah passes her by, and a moment later the door falls shut behind her.

As soon as she’s alone, Jean slumps into the leather office chair, cool against the backs of her knees.

There she sits, as if by staying perfectly still she need not move into a future shaped by Aaliyah’s words.

Until her phone beeps, startling Jean out of her reverie.

She’d set it to silent after calling Peter, forgetting that she’d altered the parameters of Do Not Disturb to allow Rhona’s messages through anytime, day or night.

Sure enough, Rhona Baird lights up the screen.

They haven’t spoken since Jean fled yesterday and, while she’s clearly getting on with Amari, it’s entirely possible the junior associate feels abandoned.

So, Jean takes a deep breath. And another. And opens the message.

Hi Ms Howard,

I hope you don’t mind me getting in touch. I just wanted to thank you

again for taking me along yesterday. Mr Decker said that you were taking

annual leave – and while I’m sure you’ve got better places to be, I

wanted to remind you that the offer of my parents’ beach house by

Cramond still stands. They’re heading for the States to visit my

brother, so it’ll be free all summer. You’re welcome any time, and you

can bring a friend too – there’s a guest room. I’ll text you the code

for the key safe.

Either way, have a good break.

With the greatest of respect,

Rhona

The screen blurs. Jean drops the phone on the desk and covers her face.

She’d assumed that Amari’s politeness continued in part because Rhona had refrained from bad-mouthing her, suspecting unerring professionalism to be the prime motive.

But the sincerity in Rhona’s message goes beyond anything Jean had allowed herself to hope for.

The door creaks open, and Jean scrubs the back of her hand across both cheeks. But not fast enough to keep Ava from seeing her tears.

‘Hey.’ She kneels before Jean, peering up at her through concerned eyes. ‘Laila said she saw you and Aaliyah go in here together – did she say something to upset you?’

Jean shakes her head. ‘No, no. Nothing like that. She wanted to thank me for how I was with Evie.’

Ava’s mouth twists. ‘Then why are you sat here crying in the dark? If you tell me what else Aaliyah said, we can go now, and I’ll talk to her later.’

She’d do it, too; risk the other half of her heart to make things right for Jean. Aaliyah’s words echo in her ears, ringing with truth. Don’t mess with her feelings just because she puts yours first.

‘It wasn’t Aaliyah, and it’s not sad crying.’ Jean passes Ava her phone. ‘Look at this.’

‘Oh. Jean, that’s so lovely.’ Ava’s teeth are pearlescent in the phone’s pale glow. ‘She really cares about you. And I’m glad about that – but we can go if you need to, if it’s too much.’

‘Don’t be silly.’ Jean rises, pulling Ava to her feet, reverting to being the one who has to look up. She leans against Ava, revelling in her height, her solidity. ‘This is your party. And you should get to experience every single bit of it.’

‘Well… if you’re sure?’

Jean nods her encouragement.

‘There is one thing I’d like to do.’

‘What’s that?’ The Harris family seems healthy enough that she doubts Ava’s going to ask if they can fuck in her father’s office, but the possibility makes Jean wary.

So, it’s a relief when Ava says, uncharacteristically shy: ‘I want to dance. With you. If that’s okay.’

‘I don’t dance.’ Jean breaks away, using her pocket mirror to check for any obvious signs of crying, but keeping the make-up minimal had worked out in her favour on that score. ‘Though let’s go back, and you can.’

Ava obliges, leading the way from Alasdair’s office, though she doesn’t relent. ‘Sure you do. Everyone dances.’

‘But I’m terrible. I have two left feet.’ The music grows louder as they pass through the kitchen, where a cousin canoodles with her girlfriend.

‘So? Nobody’s watching.’ They step out onto the terrace, gazing at the crowd of people united by two things: a fondness for Funky Town and the Harris twins. ‘They’re all just going for it.’

‘If I start dancing, I’m going to prove every possible stereotype about rhythm and the Caucasian race.’

Laughter cracks Ava’s serious expression, but still she doesn’t relent.

‘So does my dad, but he’s still having the time of his life.

’ It’s true – though his relationship with the beat is tenuous, Alasdair Harris throws himself into the music with wholehearted glee.

‘You know what your problem is? You think way too much. Dancing isn’t about what you should do, or what other people think.

It’s about just feeling it. Forgetting everything else and savouring the moment. ’

‘I’m good at precisely none of those things.’

Ava just laughs. She links her fingers with Jean’s, swaying their hands back and forth in time with the movement of her hips. ‘See? This isn’t so bad. The world’s not ending.’

‘No. It isn’t. But there are plenty of pretty girls who want to dance with you.’ Jean tilts her head infinitesimally. ‘I think Zara’s been waiting half the night for you to ask her.’

‘She’s going to be waiting a whole lot longer.

I like Zara, but I don’t give a fuck about dancing with her or anyone else, except for you.

And I’m the birthday girl – or one of them.

For the next hour and forty-two minutes, it’s illegal for you to say no to me.

’ Ava sighs. ‘Never mind. You can always say no. We don’t need to do anything if you’re totally hating this. ’

Even when she’s trying to get her own way, Ava remains incapable of pressuring Jean.

In every aspect of their relationship, active consent has remained an absolute.

Standing there in the garden, breathing in barbecue smoke and rosemary, it occurs to her that this is why Ava has proven so adept at scaling her walls – with her, Jean’s safe enough not to need them.

‘I never said I hated it. I’m just completely out of my comfort zone.

’ The tune ends, replaced by sultry seventies rock courtesy of Alasdair Harris.

Jean hops down onto the grass, pulling Ava towards the throng of bodies.

‘But that’s been true since the very first moment I met you. And it hasn’t been a bad thing.’

‘No?’ At the edge of the crowd Ava spins her, Jean’s dress flaring round her knees.

‘No.’ Jean reaches up to drape her arms around Ava’s shoulders, stepping closer. They sway together, kind of silly and kind of not, Ava keeping her more or less in time. And Jean gives herself over to the buzz of the good wine, better music, perfect company.

A thought occurs to her, ensconced safely in Ava’s arms. And it’s still there hours later, when they’re wedged together in Ava’s childhood bed, the ceiling spinning gently.

‘Ava?’

‘Hrrrr.’

‘Ava.’ Jean shakes a bare shoulder, almost toppling her from the single mattress.

On instinct Ava reaches for the wooden bedframe, righting herself. And the shock of it is enough to sober her, at least a little. ‘S’up?’

‘I’m going to Edinburgh.’

It takes a moment for the words to fully register but, when they do, Ava beams at her. ‘Yeah?’

‘Yes.’

‘That’s amazing.’ Ava kisses Jean’s throat. ‘I’m happy for you.’

‘Thank you.’ Jean clears her throat, peering up at the swimming glow-in-the-dark stars. ‘But I was hoping you’d do more than be happy. I was hoping you’d come too.’

Ava stills beside her, not even daring to breathe.

‘Will you?’ Jean’s voice is small in the dark – perhaps she has misjudged. Perhaps the filthy weekend was only ever meant to be a joke, an impossibi—

‘Of course.’ Ava burrows into Jean’s side, head pillowed against her breast. ‘I’d go anywhere with you, Jean Howard.’

Jean strokes Ava’s hair until her breathing evens. Keeps going until the sky begins to lighten and at last her own heart settles.