BooksBarbecue
Back Afterlove Save as PDF
Chapters (86)
  1. Title Page
  2. CONTENTS
  3. Love
  4. Before
  5. One
  6. ONE
  7. Two
  8. TWO
  9. Three
  10. THREE
  11. Four
  12. FOUR
  13. Five
  14. FIVE
  15. Six
  16. SIX
  17. Seven
  18. SEVEN
  19. Eight
  20. EIGHT
  21. Nine
  22. NINE
  23. Ten
  24. TEN
  25. Eleven
  26. ELEVEN
  27. After
  28. One
  29. ONE
  30. Two
  31. TWO
  32. Three
  33. THREE
  34. Four
  35. FOUR
  36. Five
  37. FIVE
  38. Six
  39. SIX
  40. Seven
  41. SEVEN
  42. Eight
  43. EIGHT
  44. Nine
  45. NINE
  46. Ten
  47. TEN
  48. Eleven
  49. ELEVEN
  50. Twelve
  51. TWELVE
  52. Thirteen
  53. THIRTEEN
  54. Fourteen
  55. FOURTEEN
  56. Fifteen
  57. FIFTEEN
  58. Sixteen
  59. SIXTEEN
  60. Seventeen
  61. SEVENTEEN
  62. Eighteen
  63. EIGHTEEN
  64. Nineteen
  65. NINETEEN
  66. Twenty
  67. TWENTY
  68. Twenty-One
  69. TWENTY-ONE
  70. Twenty-Two
  71. TWENTY-TWO
  72. Twenty-Three
  73. TWENTY-THREE
  74. Twenty-Four
  75. TWENTY-FOUR
  76. Twenty-Five
  77. TWENTY-FIVE
  78. Twenty-Six
  79. TWENTY-SIX
  80. Twenty-Seven
  81. TWENTY-SEVEN
  82. Twenty-Eight
  83. TWENTY-EIGHT
  84. Eleven Months Later
  85. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
  86. Copyright

I’m listening – I am – I even manage to respond a few times, but every time she leans in to whisper something to me or our hips knock together as we’re walking, I ask myself if this is it – is she going to kiss me? – but it isn’t.

Poppy knows exactly what she’s doing, of course. She’s doing it on purpose, leaning in then pulling away when I blink hopefully at her, laughing in that wild, bright way that she does. I try not to take the bait each time, but it’s impossible not to, because it’s her and it’s me and I really want to kiss her. I should be furious, I suppose, but it’s hard not to laugh as well when she’s laughing like that.

After half an hour of it, I give up, resigning myself to the fact that it will happen when it happens, and, in the meantime, I might as well have some fun of my own.

‘Yes, I am,’ I say while we’re wandering through the Lanes. She’s stopped to stroke a white sheepskin rug on a table outside a shop and looks up at me with a deep frown, her hands still sweeping back and forth.

‘You are what?’

‘Out.’

She blinks at me. ‘What?’

‘You asked me yesterday if I’m out and yes, I am.’

Her hands stop. ‘What? Like out out?’

I nod.

She blinks at me a few more times, then steps back from the rug. ‘Seriously?’

I nod again.

She slips her hands into the back pockets of her jeans and turns to face me, still frowning. ‘To who?’

‘Adara. Rosh. My mother.’

‘Your mother?’ My efforts to convince her yesterday that not all Guyanese parents are super-strict have clearly failed because she stares at me, her red lips parted. ‘Your mother knows you’re, you know?’

‘Gay? It’s OK, you can say it,’ I tell her with a wicked smirk.

She doesn’t smile back, just continues to stare at me, hands still in the back pockets of her jeans, and I see it then, a flicker of something across her brow that passes as quickly as it appears. I don’t think she’s enjoying being the one made to squirm this time. Or maybe it’s that she wasn’t expecting me to tell her, but I did. I’ve opened the door to her and now, like a vampire, she’s waiting for me to invite her in.

She presses her lips together for a second then asks, ‘What happened?’