Page 123 of Undefined Terms

‘And you did. You walked into that bar and you found them and they found you back. You don’t get to have that and throw it back because it was simpler before it existed.’

The brother voice. The one that doesn’t give room for the other person’s bullshit because it’s seen too much of its own.

‘I’m scared,’ I say. The words come out flat. Site voice.

‘Yeah.’ True. ‘Because Celyn’s real. Celyn doesn’t fit the boxes, and the Lewisham Ron never had to change shape for anyone. He sat and let the world come to him.’

‘That’s not fair.’

‘Totally not fair. Life’s not fair. Mum’s not fair. Dad’s definitely not fair. And Celyn’s not going to be fair either, because Celyn’s a person, not a script. Celyn’s going to scare you and make you use words you don’t have, and you’ll have to build them as you go.’

‘And the kicking comes anyway, Ron. I took mine outside Canal Street last winter, two lads, forty seconds, and I’d told no one but Laurence. They didn’t check whether I was hiding or not, Ron. Either way you end up on the floor. The only choice is whether there’s someone holding a tea towel to your face after, or whether you do that bit on your own too.’

The two cans emptying.

‘Is this where you tell me what to do?’

Ewan leans back, the look, the actual smile.

‘No,’ he says. ‘This is where I tell you that you already know what you need to do. You’ve always known. The question is whether you’re brave enough to do it.’

‘That’s fair.’

I can’t. The words aren’t in the place where I can reach them.

‘The Manchester Ron is better,’ Ewan says. ‘You know that? The one up here. The one who laughs. The London one doesn’t laugh. Not like that, not with the whole face.’

‘I laugh.’

‘You don’t. You do the thing. The pub thing. The Robbie thing. The thing where the sound comes out but it’s not the laugh. I know because I have the same two laughs and I know which one’s real because I spent eighteen years doing the wrong one.’

Can, metal, cold going warm.

‘Do you want to be with Celyn.’

‘Yes.’

‘It’s the only question.’ Ewan’s voice. The one that cuts the room down to the size of the sentence. ‘Yes or no. Do you want to be with Celyn. Do you want to.’

The bar I walked past Thursday night, the window, the corner table, the green nails on the handle, the wet hair, the spine straight.

It’s you.

‘Yes.’

No pause, the body answering.

Ewan looks at me, nods, one nod, small.

Three seconds. That’s all it took him. I’ve been turning this over for weeks and he cuts it in three seconds. Same as the maths.

‘Then stop being a coward,’ he says. ‘And go tell them that.’

He picks up the can. Drinks, telly, something, filling.

I sit next to my brother on the sofa and the word sits in me like a footing that’s finally set.

Yes.