Page 4 of People Change

‘Why? Everyone is here for you,’ she says. She understands why she might not want to return, but not Kian, whose party it is.

‘It’s a bit much in there.’ He walks over to the desk, opens the drawer and retrieves a bottle of whisky. He smiles. ‘You fancy it?’

The corners of her lips move downwards. ‘Probably not.’

‘See, you might have clung to the accent, but you’ve lost your Northern roots,’ he jokes, raising one eyebrow.

‘I’m trying not to drink,’ she says, before pressing her palms against the wall.

‘Oh,’ he says, no doubt feeling like a dick and that maybe she’s an alcoholic. Or that she’s practising her religion – their religion. He is not, and she is not. She is on new antidepressants that do not mix well with alcohol.

‘I’m just … I’m trying to be good,’ she says, not wanting to go into it.

He puts the bottle back in the drawer.

‘Well, sit with me for a bit then?’ he says. His hazel eyes are wide and hopeful, and she thinks she will disappoint him, but what comes out of her mouth is, ‘Alright then.’

Later they are seated on the floor, their backs against the only wall that is clear of furniture. His shoulder is touching hers and she is acutely aware of it there. Fiona Apple is playing on his record player. They selectedTidalfrom his stack, and ‘Criminal’ plays now. Her voice is warm, the instrumentals both fuzzy and deliberate. They talk about music and Kian speaks about his favourite artists – so many that Shirin jokes they cannot all be his favourite, that you cannot have that many favourites or else the word is redundant; you must just like them, she says. He disagrees and is almost bashful as he tries to defend his point. He reminds her of a puppy in his enthusiasm now; it is an endearing, familiar quality.

And yet. Being next to Kian brings back long-buried memories. She is pushing them down, biting the inside of her mouth, to focus on that acute pain instead. It almost works, though it is like putting your hand over a leaking tap: smallforgotten moments are at risk of escaping like trickling water, and there is only so long she can hold it for.

‘Why do you have vinyl anyway?’ she asks. Her voice is light and she surprises herself by how good a façade she can put on around people; how what she is thinking is often so different from what comes out of her mouth.

‘Why not? It sounds better, doesn’t it?’

‘It’s different,’ she muses. ‘Feels like more of an experience.’

He smiles at her. ‘Exactly.’ He leans over her to turn the volume up. They shut their eyes and sway slightly to the chorus, to the rises in Fiona Apple’s singing. Shirin opens her eyes and watches Kian. His eyes are still shut, and he has a flicker of a smile on his lips. His head is bent back, and she thinks he is a man now; the years have made him at ease with himself, though there are glimmers of who he was when she knew him. She tries to erase such thoughts from her mind at the same time the song finishes. His eyes open and she looks away quickly. He turns the volume down.

‘How long has it been since we last saw each other?’ he asks.

Somewhere in the recesses of her brain she knew this would come up, that it was between them, hanging in the air, cramping the space in the summerhouse.

‘I don’t know,’ she lies. ‘It was just before we went into college, so I guess ten years, maybe?’

She is reminded of the days wearing polyester trousers that chafed, stiff white polo shirts and shiny black sweatshirts. Of being seated boy, girl, boy, girl in every class and of all the boys in her year being knobheads, calling her various names,all nasty with little consequence. Ten years have passed. So much time – and yet she feels herself being pulled back there so viscerally.

‘Wow,’ he says, and then turns to smile at her. It is a sad smile. ‘What have you been doing with yourself then? You got out, like you always wanted to.’

Her throat is dry, but she gulps anyway. ‘I work in publishing now.’

His expression changes at this; the slight sadness in his eyes is taken away and they are bright again, happy for her. He congratulates her on getting her dream job, on living the life she always said she wanted. ‘Not that I ever doubted you would. You were always determined.’

‘I’m assuming you did study Art at A-level then, in the end?’

He nods. ‘I did it at uni too.’

‘Did you? I don’t know how you wangled that with your parents, but I’m very glad you did. I was being serious when I said you’re very talented, Kian. Obviously.’

‘I wouldn’t have had the confidence to do it if it wasn’t for you, you know.’ His voice is quiet and his words make her feel very warm.

They are skirting around the obvious – around everything that is unsaid between them – and she is not sure what is worse: this feeling of being on edge in case it comes up, or just getting it over with. Both are unappealing. She is looking at the desk drawer, where the whisky is, wondering if she should have accepted his offer. This conversation would be easier if she had. She imagines pouring a shot into the bottle’s cap, bringing it to her lips,the icy liquid spilling onto her dress, ever so slightly. She can taste it, sharp, warm, searing, burning her throat, warming her belly.

Memories of them being called in by their head teacher, of their parents getting involved, of cold words exchanged in the heat of the moment. Everything, and then nothing.

He leans his head back against the wall, his profile appealing, the slight bump on the arch of his nose familiar to her. His complexion is darker than hers, likely because his family are from a different part of Iran than hers.

‘It’s weird how we were the only non-white people in our year,’ he says. ‘I’ve been thinking about that more lately, how messed up that was. For us, anyway.’ He shakes his head. He is giving her an opening. But it is okay for him, she thinks, he has had something to drink, whereas she is sober. And she talks about her race enough at work; she is part of too many organisations – labelled ‘BAME’ or ‘POC’ or ‘under-represented’, everything other than Iranian – and she doesn’t want to do it now, not even with Kian. Especially not with Kian. She also doesn’t want to leave. She wants to stay right here next to him.