There is a cottage with smooth white walls and warm terracotta tiles; the scent of fresh bread and the tang of tomatoes; a deep blue sky dotted with cotton wool and patchwork fields for miles beyond.
Erica is there with some friends. They all wear the same carefree, pleased-with-themselves expression like a uniform.
‘Your turn,’ a girl with pink hair says to Erica.
Erica places her hands over her face and I try to see through her fingers to gauge her expression and what might be happening. Music thumps and candles flicker. An empty wine bottle tips over by Erica’s feet and rolls away down the cobbles to the pool where it lands with a gentle splash.
‘Truth or dare,’ Pink Hair continues.
‘She always picks truth. She has to do a dare,’ a man says. The voice is familiar, from another time.
‘Fine,’ Erica says, peeling her hands away to reveal her blushing face. ‘Dare.’ She juts her chin out determinedly.
I look around, moving towards the group. I smell cigarette smoke and red wine and the salty fragrance of warm bodies. I see Mike; I hear his voice again.
‘One kiss,’ he says. ‘For old time’s sake.’
Erica drops her jaw, outraged. The group cackle like teenagers, clinking their bottles. The breeze picks up and ruffles Erica’s hair as Mike steps towards her and cups his hands around her face, kissing her theatrically and ending by throwing her back in a dramatic embrace. They emerge, eyes shining, laughing, and as the group moves on with its drunken dares and demands for truths, I see Mike take Erica’s hand in his.
When most of the bottles have been cleared, the candles blown out, and the terrace is dark, Mike and Erica sit alone at the table.
‘I’m glad you came to join us here,’ Erica says to him. ‘It’s gorgeous, isn’t it? And we’ve not all been together for ages.’
‘I know. It’s cool being back with you all. Joel’s so lucky to have this house.’
‘We’re lucky he’s letting us stay here rent-free too.’
‘So he should. Share the wealth and all that,’ Mike laughs, lighting a cigarette and offering it to Erica. She shakes her head, pulling her red cardigan around her.
‘Cold?’ he asks.
‘A bit.’
‘You don’t miss British weather, then?’ Mike asks before taking a swig of beer.
‘I do, actually. I don’t mind the cold.’
He hates it, I think absently, as though I’m watching a film I’ve already seen. He’d rather have summer.
‘Ah, I hate it,’ Mike says. ‘Give me summer any day.’
Erica smiles. ‘I quite like candles and blankets. And I love cups of tea. I miss English tea and—’
‘Don’t tell me you’re going to quit on this big adventure for a cup of PG Tips?’ Mike interrupts and laughs, flicking a glowing ember from his cigarette onto the terrace.
‘No. Not yet.’
I sigh, then place my hand over my mouth. I’ll never get used to the fact that I am invisible and silent here, no matter what I do.
‘So they’re the things you miss the most?’ Mike is asking Erica, the tip of his cigarette glowing red in the pale darkness.
She shrugs. ‘I suppose so. They’re home, aren’t they? The little things.’
Are they? They probably were at one time. I can’t remember the last time Daniel and I lit a candle in the lounge and cuddled under our favourite grey blanket. I don’t drink tea these days because it makes me nauseous, like everything else.
Mike is nodding. ‘Yeah, yeah, totally,’ he’s saying, even though I know he thinks candles are unnecessary and tea is only for old ladies.
‘I do miss my family too, obviously.’
‘But not as much as candles,’ Mike says with a grin.
‘Oh no. Nowhere near as much.’ Erica takes a swig of her beer then looks at Mike. ‘Actually, you’re like my dad. I think he—’
Mike interrupts with a hooting laugh. ‘Cheers. Just what I want the girls to tell me.’
Erica laughs too, more loudly than I ever do. ‘No, I don’t mean it in a bad way. You don’t look like him.’
‘Well, that’s a relief.’ Mike puffs out his chest. ‘How are we the same then?’
I watch as Erica cocks her head to the side and smiles as she thinks about her dad – my dad. I haven’t seen him since I was a teenager. He emails every now and again, but I know so little about him. He doesn’t even know what has happened to Joshua because I haven’t been able to face telling him, and Nicholas hasn’t spoken to him in years either. Has not having my dad in my life, seeing his marriage to my mum fade and fall, changed me this much?
‘He has the travelling bug,’ Erica tells Mike. ‘He really loves the idea that I’m out here seeing the world, being adventurous. At first, when I was planning to travel more and more, he seemed to kind of get cold feet for me. But now I’m here, he’s so glad I’ve gone ahead with it. He loves getting pictures from me of all the things and places I’m seeing.’
‘So he’s a bit of a traveller too, then?’
Erica shakes her head. ‘No. He never got the chance. He was too bogged down, I think. He never said that, obviously, because it was us who tied him down. But I get the feeling that he wants me to live out some of the stuff he never got to do. And I suppose I feel like I owe it to him. And myself. I never want to be in that position, where you’re trapped somewhere you don’t want to be.’
I shiver, even though I’m warmer than I’ve been in weeks. Trapped. Just how I’ve felt every time someone places their hand on mine, stops me from leaving a room, or keeps me from coming here and seeing this.
Mike shakes his head. ‘Nah. I never want to be trapped either. Can’t stand to stay in the same place too long. We’re living the dream.’
They laugh, and clink their bottles together. Erica accepts Mike’s cigarette, and inhales lazily, puffing out delicate rings of smoke that drift away into nothing before giving it back to him. He moves closer to her again, takes a strand of her hair and twists it in his fingers, then whispers something to her that I can’t hear. It’ll be something flirtatious, something Erica probably won’t even remember tomorrow. I wonder what it is.
It seems impossible that once, I wasn’t able to move when I saw these other worlds, that I was stuck in one position. Now, I am able to move closer to Erica and Mike, so close that I can smell the perfume I always wear – deep red roses and sweet vanilla – and Mike’s smoky breath and sharp, citrus aftershave. I can see each strand of Erica’s hair shimmering in the moonlight, each curved eyelash, each pore.
And that’s when I do it. It’s instinctive. I tried to do it once before, on the worst day of my life, but I didn’t actually touch her. Now, as I reach out, I feel her skin beneath my fingers and there is a flash, a moment of pure, blinding light.
And then there is only one version of me. I face Mike, and he leans into me, oblivious to any change. He kisses me softly on my neck.
I am myself, in my own body. I feel the same. I also feel completely different: looser and freer and lighter, without any of the weight of sorrow that has been pulling at me for so long now. I know that I lost Joshua, but I can’t feel it. I close my eyes and feel the familiar touch of Mike’s lips which are rougher than Daniel’s.
Daniel.
I jerk backwards, and am thrust back into the wet November that I left behind.