Page 134 of Undefined Terms

The world’s still here, just changed shape.

And I’m still here, inside it, because I told it where I stood.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Same pub, same table. Same five pints of whatever’s on, Estrella tonight, the Stella’s off. Gaz is already talking about the Stockport match. Jay’s on his phone. Thomas’s got a bag of dry roasted he’s not sharing. Dean is doing the crossword in the Standard that someone left on the bar. Dave’s not here yet, Dave’s never here before quarter past.

I drink, the Estrella’s shit. Too cold, too fizzy, tastes like someone described lager to a machine and the machine had a go.

The sentence is half out already. I said it at the site the week after Celyn came back, Gaz and Dave, over the crossword. The same shape that lived in my pocket once for ‘Mum, I’m seeing someone,’ before I said it on a Thursday. This time it’s the whole table.

I’m with someone, their name’s Celyn, they use ‘they.’

I’ve said it to Gaz and Dave already, the once. Not to Jay, not to Thomas, not with all of them round one table at the same time. The words are ready. The mouth, with everyone watching, is not.

Gaz is on about a penalty. Jay’s on about VAR. Thomas’s eating crisps with his mouth open. Dean fills in a word. The noise of the pub, the fruit machine, the telly, someone laughing too loud by the bar. Friday noise. The noise that used to be the only noise and now there’s another one, the one in my head. Tell them. Since I woke up and showered and went to site and poured and levelled and checked and came here.

Five blokes. The five I spend more time with than anyone except Celyn. They know how I take my tea and which sandwich I eat and how I check the formwork with my hands before my eyes. The site Ron.

Dave arrives, pint already in hand, got it at the bar. Sits, drinks, nods at everyone, the Dave nod. The one that means: I’m here, don’t make a fuss.

Six, six blokes now. The sentence in my pocket getting heavier.

I drink, half the pint’s gone. My knee’s bouncing under the table. Gaz clocks it.

‘You alright?’

‘Yeah. Just checking.’

‘Cold out there. Fucking February.’

It’s not the cold, it’s the sentence. The one that came out easier than I thought and harder than I thought and the sentence is out there now.

‘I’m with someone.’

Gaz stops mid-sip. Jay looks up from the phone. Thomas chews. Dean doesn’t look up from the crossword. Dave drinks.

‘Their name’s Celyn. They use “they.”’

The pub. The laugh by the bar. The Estrella, everything still going. The sentence sitting in the middle of the table like a round nobody’s claiming.

Gaz puts his glass down. Looks at me, the look that knew. Saw me at the bar with painted nails and a jawline and didn’t ask and now I’ve made it his business and he’s here.

‘I know,’ Gaz says.

That’s it, the shrug in them.

And then he picks up the glass and drinks and the conversation about the penalty resumes like I said nothing.

Jay puts the phone in his pocket. Slowly, takes a drink, doesn’t look at me, doesn’t look away, looks at the table. The space between his pint and the ashtray nobody uses because you can’t smoke inside.

Silence, from Jay, Jay always has words. The match, the weekend, the bird he’s texting. Jay’s silence is a new shape.

He drinks, puts the glass down. The condensation ring on the table. He draws a line through it with his finger.

Thomas folds the crisp bag. Once, twice, the foil crinkling.

‘Right,’ Thomas says.