‘Hi.’ He laughs. ‘Are you psychic too?’
‘That would mean I know what’s going to happen in the future,’ she says, turning to look at him. ‘I wish I knew that.’ He’s wearing a blue long-sleeved cotton top, with buttons open at the top. A few dark hairs on his chest peep out. The sides of his head are shaved short and tight, but the rest of his black waves and curls are tied up in a high ponytail. She’s never seen a man with a ponytail before, but she likes it. He’s still masculine, like a warrior, and it shows off his features, his high cheekbones, his strong jaw that is always covered in stubble. She wants to run her hands over it as he does when he’s thinking, looking lost and intense.
‘What was that?’ he frowns.
‘What?’ she asks.
‘That noise.’
She wasn’t even aware she’d made one, but she’d been thinking of one. The sound of his fingers brushing his stubble, the motion he makes when he’s thinking. She likes that sound.
‘Would you really like to know what happens in the future?’ he asks, standing beside her, looking out to sea.
‘Sometimes I’m more interested in what happened in the past,’ she admits. ‘I think about conversations I’ve had, or have overheard, or even things that I haven’t. I think them through, imagine how they could have gone, would have gone.’
‘Like …?’
‘Like my mum and Tom. How they had this secret love affair, I imagine it – not, you know, all of it, but …’
‘I know what you mean,’ he says, eager for her to continue.
‘I think that was probably my flaw. Why I never left the mountain. I was so busy thinking about the past, I forgot to plan for my future.’
She feels his eyes searing into her and she looks away; she can’t take their heat.
‘What about you?’ she asks.
‘What about me? I’ve forgotten what we were talking about.’ He’s not joking. He’s nervous.
‘Future thinker or past thinker?’
‘Future,’ he says, certain. ‘Since I was a kid, I lived in my head. I wanted to be a rock star, I always thought about my future, being older, leaving school, conquering the world with my music.’
She laughs. ‘Was that your flaw?’
‘No.’ He looks at her again and her stomach flips. ‘I think we have the same one.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Not thinking about the present.’
As soon as he says it, everything feels so now. Like a spell has been cast between them, her body tingles from head to toe, feeling so alive yet faint. She has never felt this way around anyone before, in her rare experiences with people; even she knows this isn’t normal. It’s something special.
He looks away and breaks the spell. She tries to hide her disappointment.
‘Everybody loved you last night,’ he says, almost businesslike, matter-of-fact. She’s lost him again, to whatever goes on inside his head when he gets that intense distant look. ‘They think you’ve landed here from another planet. They’ve never seen such a gift.’
She smiles her thanks. ‘It is your mother who is gifted.’ She thinks of Marie, sitting at the harp, sitting so beautifully straight at the harp, and she hears the song before she realises she’s making the sound again.
‘Did you like being on stage?’ he asks her, captivated.
She can tell he has something on his mind. Like last night when he was angry with her because he found her with his brother. She has never met someone like him who seems to have so much going on in their head that isn’t spoken. It’s all in his eyes and his forehead. The thoughts seem to take shape and move around in his brow, knots of thoughts. She wishes they’d break free of his skin so she could see what they are for herself. She wants to place her hands on his forehead and say Stop. Smooth it down, give him peace. Better yet, touch her lips to his frown. He’s uncomfortable now, something has shifted in him so quickly, going from being relaxed to tense in a matter of a few seconds.
He rubs his jaw. She mimics the sound. She loves that sound. Suddenly the bubbling thoughts are gone and the beautiful straight teeth are grinning at her instead. That’s better.
‘That’s what that sound was you made earlier,’ he says, happy to have placed it, perhaps happy that it’s his sound.