I sat on my hands.

I thought about maybe kissing her shoulder. How would that be for a move? It would be the work of two seconds – a lean-to, a planting of the lips, a withdrawal. And a shy little glance to follow.

‘I should maybe think about going,’ she said.

I really needed to make the move.

‘Don’t yet,’ I said.

The pool of silence that was the city beneath us was broken but infrequently – a scratch of car noise from a cab rank, the tiny bark of a dog from high in the estates somewhere, very distant, the sound of the traffic lights turning on the corner of Washington Street and Grand Parade. Across the way the church and its steeple, the grey of old devotion, the greened brass of its dome.

I turned towards her and I looked at her directly and her eyes braved me to make the move.

‘So any plans for Saturday?’ I said.

I read again the disappointment in her – she was urging me on but onwards I could not make ground.

‘Depends,’ she said.

Her shoulder dipped a fraction again. Now was the moment. I sat on my hands and looked out across the rooftops and saw nothing, registered nothing but the hard quickening beat of my heart.

‘So … how’s it you know Cecille again?’ I said.

She sighed and explained the connection – it was through the university, they had shared a place on French’s Quay as first years.

‘And-how-do-you-know-Cecille?’

She said it in an exaggeratedly bored tone – an automated drone, the words running into each other; a mockery.

The flat high on Washington Street was Cecille’s – Cecille had in her bedroom loudly been fucking some boy for most of the night; Cecille had no trouble ever making the moves.

‘Cecille’s had a good night anyway,’ I said.

‘Yeah,’ she said.

Maybe I should just ask, I thought. Can I kiss you? How would that sound?

A gull descended to the lip of the church’s roof. Across the breadth of the street, the mad stare of its eye was vivid and comical and a taunt to me.

I allowed my left hand to emerge from beneath my buttock and I let it travel the space between us, along the cool stone of the ledge, and I placed my fingers lightly on hers.

No response.

I listened for a change in her breathing but nothing. She was still even and steady and I turned to look at her and blithely still she looked out and across the rooftops. She did not incline her head towards me. And she did not speak at all.

I drew back my fingers but only by an inch or two.

I looked to see if she would withdraw her hand to a safer distance but she did not.

She breathed evenly.

Hard rasps of jungle panic ripped at my chest inside.

I thought – what’s the worst that can happen here? The worst that can happen is I lurch and she recoils. So much worse not to try.