“That really sucks. I’m sorry.”
This was the second time someone had been kind to Libby in forty-eight hours, and she did not want to burst into tears again. “I probably wouldn’t have got into art school anyway; I wasn’t very good.”
“You looked pretty talented, from what I saw.”
“What, at drawing penis hair?”
Dylan laughed, an enchanting sound that made Libby smile.
“Your sketch was really good, though,” he said. “The way you’d drawn my eyes, it’s like you’d captured exactly what I was thinking.”
“Was it ‘I wish this stupid woman would stop drawing me’?”
“Nah. I was angry with my dad, and you’d caught that somehow. That’s not something everyone can do when they draw; it’s a talent.”
“You’re just being kind,” Libby said, staring down at her flip-flops.
“No, I’m being serious, Libby.”
The way he said her name sent a small shiver across Libby’s skin.
“So, Hector said you did medicine at uni?” Dylan said.
“Yeah. My dad’s a doctor and he always wanted one of his kids to follow him into the profession. My sister set her sights on law at a young age—she likes an argument—so it was medicine for me, whether I liked it or not. Unfortunately for everyone, I absolutely hated it and dropped out.”
“That must have been full-on for you.”
“It was. And my family are apparently still flipping out about it ten years later.” And about my broken relationship and failed life, Libby thought with a shudder.
“You know, this is none of my business, but I think you need to stop caring so much what your family think,” Dylan said.
Libby turned to him. “What do you mean?”
“Well, several times now you’ve mentioned them being disappointed in you. But you’re a grown woman; why do you give a shit?”
“That’s easy for you to say, Mr.Anarchist Punk.”
“I’m not an anarchist. But I don’t care what other people think about my life choices, anddefinitelynot what my dad thinks.”
“Maybe I wouldn’t care so much if they weren’t right,” Libby said with a sigh. “I mean, I haven’t exactly made a success of my life, have I? I dropped out of uni and fell in love with a man who’s got bored of me, and I’m currently unemployed and soon to be homeless. This is hardly the life I planned for myself.”
“Who says your life isn’t a success? All that ‘get a proper job, settle down, have two-point-four kids’ stuff is bollocks anyway. The second I worked out I didn’t want any of that, my life became so much easier.”
“Lucky you.” Libby knew she sounded bitter, but Dylan clearly didn’t live in the real world.
“I know things must feel a bit crappy for you right now. But maybe it will all turn out for the best in the long run? Maybe you’ll end up going to art school, after all, and becoming a world-famous artist who draws people with cocks on their heads.”
Libby laughed out loud at this and elbowed Dylan in the ribs.
“Ouch,” he said, but when she looked at him, he was laughing too. For a moment they held each other’s gaze.
“What’s so funny?” Esme said, coming over to join them.
“Nothing.” Dylan stood up and rubbed his side. “Shall we get you home, miss?”
Esme took Libby’s hand and the three of them began to make their way back toward the bus stop through the sea of yellow posters.
“You really did a great job with these,” Libby said to Esme as she saw how many people were stopping to look at them.