Honey(33)
“I’m listening.”
Dipping her hand into the back pocket of Blake’s wheelchair, Yrsa takes out the cigarettes. “I’ve been thinking of doing something potentially stupid.”
“How stupid?” Blake drops ash.
“Like, could be really stupid.”
“What’s it about? And if you say a boy I don’t want to hear about it.”
“It’s not like that.” Yrsa finds the lighter.
“Then do it. Whatever it is. Just do it.”
The end of Yrsa’s cigarette burns red.
“You can’t smoke in here.” A small skittish man appears from behind a palm.
Yrsa looks at Blake who looks at Yrsa.
“I mean obviously you can’t smoke in here.”
His outrage makes Yrsa want to laugh.
“Don’t worry, don’t worry, we’ll take it outside.” Blake waves a hand and Yrsa gets up to unhitch the chair’s safety latch.
Without rush Yrsa wheels her out. They pause a moment by the pond to look at the fish. This gets a further tut from the small man. Blake raises her middle finger and Yrsa lets out her laugh.
Outside, in the gardens, the rain has eased off. Both women pause to exhale smoke and Yrsa looks to the sky.
“Rue used to love Easter,” Blake says.
“What do you think she’s doing now?”
“Who knows.”
“Shall we go get a coffee?” Yrsa stamps out her cigarette.
“Sure.”
They make their way to the café under a canopy of beech trees. And, just before they arrive, Yrsa stops. “Look at those,” she says, slipping some morphine from Blake’s bag. “The daffodils, aren’t they gorgeous?”
And they are.
A chorus of yellow heads singing in spring.
IX
15h
@sam_mack
—————
Video: a gym with a view over a city. He’s doing a biceps curl, grunting.
Caption: she won’t want you if YOU don’t want you.
—————
Lying in bed Yrsa has watched the Instagram story again, and again. There’s a towel over his shoulder showing a logo. She’s zoomed in, screenshotted it, Google Image searched: L’oscar, Covent Garden. London.
After weeks of watching.
It’s happening. He’s here.
* * *
She’s on a train: Cambridge to King’s Cross. Fields whip past window as the evening sets in; rain in the air.
Opening Instagram she clicks onto his friend’s profile—@therealmen—who is always trigger-happy with location tags.
1h @therealmen
—————
Video: the camera pans on drinks and young women. It’s a penthouse and the sun is about to set. Big Ben is across the water.
No caption.
—————
1h
@therealmen
—————
Video: a girl is sitting on Mack’s knee, they’re talking and laughing. The audio captures him saying: “You wouldn’t be saying that if I was your boyfriend.”
@sofía_martinez is tagged.
Caption: a woman who knows.
—————
She searches @sofía_martinez. She has 942k followers, white blonde hair, and is never fully dressed. It looks like she won Miss World for Brazil. Yrsa wishes she had her legs.
“The next station is King’s Cross St Pancras where this train terminates.”
* * *
Pigeons are flapping in the eaves of the station. She’s got a takeaway hot chocolate from Pret and is sitting on a bench beside a woman reading Wuthering Heights.
3m
@sam_mack
—————
Photo: sushi platters.
No caption.
Location tag: Sticks’n’Sushi, Shoreditch.
—————
Yrsa has outfit options in her bag, she heads into the King’s Cross toilets to change. Next, she buys a paper tube ticket and gets on the Piccadilly line.
* * *
17m
@sam_mack
—————
Video: in an Uber. Women, indiscriminate chatter, and fast-moving buildings.
No caption.
—————
Shit. She’s outside Liverpool Street station on her way to Sticks’n’Sushi. She refreshes @sam_mack’s feed, @therealmen’s, @sofía_martinez’s. Nothing.
She’s pacing outside the tube, a guard asks her if she’s lost.
It’s not until 11:52 p.m. when 1m
@therealmen
—————
Photo: ice buckets and alcohol.
No caption.
—————
1m @therealmen
—————
Photo: @sofía_martinez waving a champagne glass on the deck of a boat. Tower Bridge lit up behind her.
No caption.
—————