Honey(30)
“What?”
“Felix, you don’t think he matched with Skye to—”
“No. How would he know we were friends?”
“He might have seen—”
Skye returns with the jumper. “Maybe you should go swimming to warm up.” She gestures ahead where rowers are whooping, piling into the water. They’re whirling their vests above their heads. Pushing one another in.
“Does this mean the race is over?” Ida pulls the jumper over her head and her pigtails through the jumper.
“I think there are some after-parties.” Skye sits back down. “A house party.”
“Who has a house to have a party in?” Ida asks.
“Some of the St. Cats people.”
“Guys, guys, guys.” Yasmin is back, now with even more men on her arm. “These guys won.” She’s talking about the three rowers trailing her. They’re all slightly wet with willow branches wrapped around their heads.
“Why are you wearing trees?” Skye asks, standing.
“They’re our crowns.” A ginger boy gives a small bow.
Yrsa can’t be bothered to stand up to meet the new people.
“I’ve got to go pee,” Ida says to her.
“Okay.”
“Will you still be here?”
“Yep.”
Yasmin is trying to take the crown off one of the rowers. Skye starts offering them beers. Yrsa clocks that one of the rowers is exceptionally tall, and broad. But she doesn’t want any more boy trouble today. She keeps her legs crossed, watching a dog across the water that’s run off its lead.
“Hey.”
Yrsa senses someone trying to get her attention but ignores it.
“Do you mind if I grab a beer?” It’s the tall rower crouching beside her.
“Sure.”
He cracks open the can, still crouching. His thighs are massive.
“I feel like I recognize you?” He’s squinting at Yrsa.
“Don’t think so.” She keeps her eyes ahead.
“You’re a swimmer. I’ve seen you at the pool.” He laughs, loudly, American. “Yeah, you’re fast.”
She looks at him, surprised not to have seen him. “Maybe you have the wrong pool.”
“No, Parkside.” His smile reveals a row of L.A.-perfect teeth. “We should—” He looks over her head like he’s looking for someone. “I’m Kyle.” He takes her hand. Shakes it. “My friends are calling me. But we should get a drink sometime, after swimming.”
He touches her arm, and it gets her.
“I don’t date Americans.”
He laughs. “You should give me your phone.”
“Why?”
“How else am I gonna put my number in it?”
VIII
Yrsa knew that Hugh was dead from the sound he made. It was like, she imagines, if you were to throw a large bag of flour from a window, only to realize that there was glass in the flour. Only to hear it smash.
The problem isn’t the sound, how it’s played on her mind. The problem is that it’s stopped.
* * *
Easter has come. She has no teaching. She has no lectures. She has time. Time and days to read, research, do her work. Cambridge is quieter, the gardens coming out in color.
* * *
Her Bumble matches reach two hundred.
* * *
She’s been playing a game.
The game goes like this. See a man. Ask yourself: If you were going to kill him, how would you do it? Ask yourself: What are the problems with this plan?
It’s a great game as you can play it anywhere. At the bus stop, in the line for self-checkout, through your bedroom window.
Him there, with the receding hairline and ugly jumper, how would you do it?
Him there, walking the beagle.
She’s tried playing it with girls too, but it’s not as fun.
* * *
“Why are we feeding the birds?”
“Because I want to feed the birds.”
“Since when do you want to feed the birds?”
“Since today.” Blake huffs, throwing another piece of Hovis across the grass.
“You’re meant to break the bread up.”
“I’ll feed the birds how I want to feed the birds.”
Yrsa rolls the bread between her fingers. The sun is setting on the park.
“You’re bored,” Blake declares, pulling her scarf tighter.
“Of course I’m bored.”
“Then go do something.”
“What?”
Blake throws another whole piece of bread. “Anything.”
* * *
It’s not the doing. It’s the being caught.
There are around 942,562 CCTV cameras in London.
The panopticon works because the prisoners don’t know if they’re being watched. Control via surveillance. Control via the unknown. But of course, people get watched in different ways.
Walk into a store. She will be followed.
She will not be followed. Bodies are not the same thing.