Page 24 of Undefined Terms

A fact, present tense.

I put my jacket on.

The hands pick up the jacket and the feet go to the door and the legs walk down the stairs and the body turns right towards the bar. The head can catch up whenever it likes.

The bar’s warm, the music’s low. The corner table has a person at it. Laptop, mug, the fingers on the keys.

I walk in.

CHAPTER FIVE

Three days waiting. Three days of not.

Celyn looks up.

Different tonight. Black jeans, tight at the ankle. A dark t-shirt, short sleeves, the arms bare, the muscle there the carrying-plates-for-six-hours kind, lean and visible in the bar light. One day of stubble, light, a shadow more than a texture. Eyeliner, a thin line, exact. Enough to make the grey darker, wider. That thing. First.

The nails are blue. Bright blue, the kind on the signs at the site, the safety-information blue. Chipped at the edges, three days old, maybe four. The colour’s still loud.

And the smell, from a metre away, the fruity one, sweet, warm. Doesn’t go with the stubble. Doesn’t go with the arms. Goes with Celyn.

‘Three days,’ Celyn says.

‘Yeah.’

‘I scared you.’

‘No.’

Yes.

Celyn closes the laptop. Slides it into the bag. Picks up the mug, puts it down, looks at me.

‘Sit down, Ronan.’

I sit.

We don’t talk about it. I listen. Celyn talks about the cat, the ginger one from the photo, a neighbourhood stray that’s adopted the windowsill and judges everyone who passes.

‘He’s got a face like a building inspector.’

‘You don’t know what a building inspector looks like.’

‘I imagine they look disapproving. From a height.’

I laugh, and it surprises me. Three days without laughing.

Celyn talks about a customer at the restaurant who sent back a risotto four times. ‘Fourth time she said it was too risotto-ish. I said that’s because it’s a risotto.’ The Welsh vowels stretch, the timing perfect. Celyn’s funny without trying, just is.

I drink my pint, order a second. Celyn drinks tea. The nails wrap around the mug, the chipped edges catch the light, the fingers move, and I’m watching. I know I’m watching, and three days haven’t changed anything. Three days have made it worse.

‘You’re doing the thing,’ Celyn says.

‘What thing.’

‘The looking thing. You do it when you think I can’t see.’

‘I don’t.’