Page 56 of Undefined Terms

I wipe it on my jeans and work it onto the ring. The metal clicks once when it settles. Smaller sound than it should be.

Celyn’s at the table with the laptop. Scarf, purple, knitted, too long for indoors, hoodie underneath, jeans. Nothing on the eyes, nothing on the mouth, the hair pushed back with a clip that’s got a tiny bird on it. The fingers going at the keys in that pattern I know now: fast, stop, fast, stop, delete.

I put the key on the table next to the laptop. Don’t say anything. Start filling the kettle.

‘What’s this.’

‘Key.’

‘I have the key. It’s under the mat.’

‘Not anymore.’

The typing stops. Celyn looks at the table. Then at me.

‘Ronan.’

‘It needed a keyring.’

‘The spare key needed a keyring.’

‘Yeah.’

‘For its little outings.’

‘For you.’

The kettle runs loud. Too loud for the size of the kitchen. I turn it off before it’s full because I’m standing there holding the tap like an idiot. Celyn doesn’t touch it.

‘That’s the spare,’ Celyn says.

‘Was.’

‘Was.’

‘Yeah.’

‘And now?’

I lean back against the counter. Look at the chipped mug by the sink, the blue one beside it, two spoons drying on the draining board. Celyn’s scarf on my chair like it knows the place better than I do.

‘Now it’s yours.’

Celyn goes still in the way that means every part of them has heard it.

‘Officially?’

‘If you want to be a dick about it.’

Celyn laughs once. Small. Not enough air in it.

‘No,’ Celyn says. ‘I want to be a dick about it exactly the right amount.’

Then they pick it up. Not fast. Finger and thumb first, like it might be hot. The brass tag turns in the grey morning light. No name. No label. Just enough weight to make it a thing you own and not a bit of metal shoved under a damp mat for emergencies.

‘You didn’t put my name on it.’

‘Didn’t know if you’d want that.’