‘I’m sorry, Oona,’ I say. ‘I hope you know, if things are hard, if you need someone outside your family, that I’m here. It doesn’t always have to be like this. We’re friends. We’re still friends now. It doesn’t have to go any further.’
‘I wish I was a normal girl like you.’ She sniffs. ‘I thought it would be easier when we moved, but things are hard no matter where you are.’
‘But I’m not normal,’ I say. ‘There are so many things that I’m not telling people. About who I want, about what I can do – Mamó …’
And suddenly, it all comes out of me in waves, the offer that she made, the things we’ve seen. The warnings to be wary in the village. The thing with Lon. All of it, all at once. Oona hasn’t said anything in a while, I realise. She’s holding my hand, stroking the inside of my palm with her thumb.
‘I’m sorry,’ I finish. ‘You needed to talk about your stuff, and here I am burdening you with mine.’
‘It’s OK,’ Oona says. She looks at me. I fall into her eyes. The pull of them. I blink away. ‘I want to tell you something. You have a thing – this talent – but you are not alone. Most of the people here in Ballyfrann have things like that – their own strange way of being in the world.’
Her face is very serious. Grave, I think. That’s the French word for it. Like a grave. Our hands are still touching, and our heads are close – an inch apart.
‘My way is that I need the water. Properly I need it. It’s like the only time I’m fully calm is when I’m in there. It’s part of me …’ She looks at me. Her silver-fish eyes dance. ‘I love it, but without it I would die, and that’s a hard thing to explain to people. That difference. That is why we moved here. For understanding, space. My father has his people and my mother has the water – she’s like me. The same as what I am.’
I don’t know what to say. What do you say to something that unusual, that honest?
‘What are you?’ I ask.
‘A lesbian,’ she says, and we crack up. She curls in beside me, and looks up at my face. ‘I know that’s not what you meant. But it is similar, I think. I have so many parts of my identity that people do not like, that can be dangerous: how I look, who I love, and this, also. I will try … My father is … a little like the Collinses. Sometimes, he becomes an angry thing. It was hard for him, when he met my mother. They had to struggle – both their families did not approve. And then … real life is not like in a story. There is more to it. After you have won, you have to live and love and keep on loving. That’s where he fell down, I think, a bit.’
‘And your mother?’
‘She is … she needs the water, more than even me. Being away from it too long can really hurt her.’
‘Wow,’ I say. It’s not the most eloquent of responses. But what do you say when confronted by a thing like this?
‘I know. Even for me, it is not easy. I would like to be more typical.’
‘Me too,’ I say.
‘It’s true.’ She smiles. ‘Being in the world is a lot, Madeline. All of this is …’ She sighs and flops onto her back and lies staring at the ceiling. I stare at her.
‘Remember when we swam?’
I nod.
‘It all seemed very clear that night. I felt that, without words, you understood me. That it didn’t need to be in words …’ She trails off, and then turns her head towards mine. Her hair is sticking up. It’s really cute.
‘… I really wished that you would kiss me then.’ Her voice is low, her gaze is very soft.
I catch my breath. ‘In the lake, you looked like coming home feels,’ I say, and lean my head to kiss her. Knowing that I’m only second best. Her hand reaches out to stroke my waist and lingers there. She doesn’t touch me like she couldn’t love me. I’m wrong to hope, but still. I want to hope so badly.
‘Is everyone here something else as well?’ I ask.
‘Pretty much,’ Oona says. ‘The families who are here for a long time, they all have their …’
‘Secrets?’
‘It is not so much a secret, as a thing that is only for the people that you trust. A part of you that very few would understand.’
‘And how do you find out, what people are?’ I ask.
‘The best way is to wait for them to say it,’ Oona tells me. ‘And it will take some time, but, Madeline, they will. They like you here. Something about you fits in to this place, I think.’ I snort, but she waves her hands. ‘No, no, it’s true, I think – I mean, when we first met, I thought you might have something … I mean, the way I felt about you. There was an affinity there, a recognition … maybe you felt it too?’
I nod. I cannot think what else to say. Her head is on my shoulder and I feel her hair soaking through my top towards my skin. The smell of her.
Her hands scratch fabric, searching for the words.
‘… But I get the sense that I could really hurt you, Madeline. And I don’t want to do that.’
‘I’ll be fine,’ I say. I’m used to hurting. My smile is stretching painfully on my face. I don’t know what to do. This is new, so new and already it is dying.
‘Maybe we could kiss again sometime?’ I say to Oona. ‘Not in a love way. In a friendly way. Until there’s something else for me or you?’
‘Would that be safe?’ she asks, and I see the little crescents at the base of her fingernails as her hands smooth out imperceptible creases.
I nod, and tell a lie that serves us both. ‘I think it would be.’
Her smile a happy half-moon, wide and soft. I walk her through the forest to her home. The woods are deep and dark and intricate and magical and something. There is a certainty within me now. I know a little more of who I am. Of what I can do. We live in a big world, where things can change and doors once closed can open.
Her stomach and her heart. I was bitter. Now I’m bittersweet.
I wish.
I wish.
37
Gentian
I slink up the driveway through the courtyard and into the kitchen. The sky is navy blue. You wouldn’t call it morning yet, but the promise of one is there. The sun is coming. Things might improve. I mean, I have managed to alienate my entire family, but on the plus side I could have a whole friends-with-benefits situation going on with Oona if I play my cards right and don’t, like, accidentally get a tattoo of her name on my face or anything. And I know a little more about her now as well, and the village too. I think of Layla, Charley and them all. What secrets are they keeping? And will I ever know them well enough to get an answer?
I take my boots off at the kitchen door. They’re covered in dew and leaves and mountain muck.
Mam flies at me. I’m grasped towards her in a painful hug. Her hands claw tight. Her eyes are wild and worried. ‘Where were you?’ Half whisper, half a scream. ‘Is Catlin with you?’
‘I went out for a walk.’ My voice is thin. I want to pull away, want to read her face. What does it mean?
‘You were supposed to be at home in bed,’ she snaps, white-faced and staring. ‘I went in to check on you and your bed was empty. Both your beds were empty. Oh, my heart.’
Button is under the table, batting at a little ball of dust. His eyes are big and shining in the shadow. His fur all ruffled, sticking out in different directions. I watch him with the eye that isn’t smashed against Mam’s breast. She smells of sweat and perfume. I push against her, squirming my way out.
‘Wait,’ I say. ‘Mam – where’s Catlin?’