He’s fine. He’s just had his breakfast. No rush. Stay as long as you need to stay. Come back when you’re ready.
She replies with three love-heart emojis in a row, and then, with a heavy heart she opens Zach’s messages:
This is bullshit.
You don’t have time for me, but you have time for her?
Noah is crying for you.
Call yourself a mum?
You don’t get to do this!
Fuck’s sake, fucking get fucking home, I’m serious.
What the fuck are you playing at?
Fuck you, Tallulah, fuck you …
In between are brief voice recordings of Noah crying. Behind the sound of her son’s tears are the sounds of Zach soothing him in whispers,It’s OK, little man, it’s OK. Mum’s with someone she cares about more than you, but don’t you worry, little man, Dad’s here for you and Dad loves you, don’t you ever forget that …
She glances up at the sound of a creaking floorboard outside the bathroom and quickly locks her phone.
‘Lula?’
‘Yeah.’
‘You OK?’
‘I’m good. Just on the toilet.’
‘Thought I heard a baby crying.’
‘Weird,’ Tallulah says quietly.
There’s a beat of silence and she hears the floorboard creaking again. Then Scarlett says, ‘Yeah. Weird.’
They eat their breakfast together, just as Tallulah had imagined they would. Bare legs, oversized T-shirts, smudged eyeliner, thick breath. The sky outside is dirty grey, full of snow about to fall. The big glass box at the back of the house feels chilly. Scarlett throws her a fake fur throw when she sees her shivering.
This is where Scarlett had kissed her the night before. Right here. Tallulah puts a hand out to touch the square of leather she’d been sitting on when Scarlett had slid towards her last night, put a hand to her face and said, ‘Don’t you know how beautiful you are?’
She remembers the shiver of energy that had passed through her as she realised what was happening.
‘I’m not …’ she’d said quietly, the words almost a gasp.
‘Not what?’
She didn’t reply because she couldn’t. She didn’t know what she was. All she knew was that when she was with Scarlett she felt as though she could be anyone she wanted to be.
Now Scarlett smiles at her indulgently. ‘God,’ she says. ‘You are such a cutie.’
Tallulah smiles and says, ‘You’re so weird.’ Then she drops her smile and says, ‘Have you ever … I mean, are you, like, gay?’
‘Labels,’ says Scarlett, faux-theatrically. ‘Boring, idiotic labels.’
‘Well, then, am I the first girl …?’
‘Yes. You are the first girl. Oh,’ she says, suddenly, putting her hand to her cheek, ‘apart from all the other girls.’