She shook her head again and looked at all of me, eyes big and pained and beautiful, then lowered her gaze to the floor. ‘I just don’t think that’s a good idea. But I’m here for the time being, so …’

‘Well, OK. That’s fine. What do you want to do? We can just sit, or … They’re cleaning up but I bet there’s probably some pizza left, so maybe we could …’

‘Honestly, I’m kinda bummed I didn’t get to …’ And then her right hand travelled upwards, moved a little too swiftly along my bicep and then further up, towards my collarbone, round my neck, then behind, and then her left hand followed and arrived beside the other. They linked together behind me.

I froze and melted, froze and melted until my atoms drifted and split and died.

This was happening. This was happening here and now.

‘Is this OK?’ she asked.

‘Yes,’ I muttered, intending the word to sound decisive, but it ended up being hardly more than a breath. What do you do? What do you do, now, when you’re me? ‘But you said you didn’t come for the dancing?’ Images of Bea and I tucked away in the forest materialized in my head; trees hid just about as much as bleachers did, I thought. I wanted to check behind me to see if someone was watching, but I didn’t want to scare her away. My arms dangled uselessly at my sides, my hands closed and opened; I was unsure of where they should be or why they were even there at all. It occurred to me then how many parts a human body has – how are we ever expected to coordinate everything at the same time? And how every part can feel, a billion little nerve endings … ‘Are you sure we should be …’

I didn’t finish the thought. Neither did June, who led in the rhythmic foot-stepping, looking at me with such a heavy seriousness, such a terrible melancholy that I sort of felt like crying. ‘I don’t really know.’

I laid my hands gently on her waist and held her to me.

Sweat from her neck and chest mingled with sweat from my palms and chest, and I decided I would never shower again, that I would vial up whatever Frankenstein concoction of my and June’s liquids was being created and wear it as a necklace or a perfume or a crown.

Multiply it. Bathe in it.

From now on, when the death crept in, this memory was where I would live.

I wanted so badly for her hands to stay on me. I wanted to glue her to me. Actually, no. I was glad she could remove them whenever she wanted; she wanted to be here. She initiated. She pulled the strings. I was happy relinquishing control.