“You know what you need to do,” Danny says.
“Fuck off,” Tay replies, and then jumps down the steps two at a time. I slither back into the boathouse and pretend that I’ve been there the whole time.
Tay is agitated when he comes inside, swearing under his breath and kicking things about. After he discovers all the beers are gone, he slams my cupboard door so hard that the whole thing topples over.
“I can go and get more beers if you want,” I offer.
He sits down heavily and leans back against the wall.
“It’s fine.”
I light us cigarettes and pass one to him. Even when he’s angry, he smokes delicately.
There’s a nasty yellow bruise on the bridge of his nose. He sees me looking and turns away, so I don’t say anything, but I’m guessing what I heard wasn’t Tay’s first fight with Danny. “I can’t do the rings,” I say after a while.
Tay puts his arm around me and tells me he thinks the sideways smoke looks better anyway. I can’t help but look at the bruise— there’s a small cut, too, that’s scabbed over.
“Must have whacked myself in the face while I was asleep,” he says.
I frown at him.
“Who were you talking to just now? Danny?”
“No one.”
“Tay, I could hear you. Why did you tell him to fuck off?”
“He’s just being a twat. He says I need to help more with the diving club. He thinks I shouldn’t be spending all my time with you.”
“So? I thought you didn’t have to listen to him.”
Tay brings his knees up and then stretches out again, like he can’t get comfortable.
“He says you’re too vulnerable.”
And then I know that Danny has told Tay about Eddie. I shouldn’t have provoked him by waving all the time, and there’s a chance he saw me having a teary moment in the water the other day.
“He’s told you about my twin, hasn’t he?”
Tay is silent for a minute and just smokes. At first I panic and think that Danny was right, Tay doesn’t even care. Then I wonder if he just didn’t hear me.
“Tay?”
He turns to me and reaches out to stroke my hair. Then he puts his cigarette down and touches my forehead with his. Finally, he pulls back and picks up his cigarette again.
“I know about Eddie,” he says. “And I’m sorry. Why didn’t you talk to me about him?”
He doesn’t give me the pity head tilt. Instead, what I read in his face is disappointment that I didn’t tell him myself. And something else. Admiration, perhaps.
“I can’t pretend to know how you feel,” he continues. “But just so you know, you can talk about it, if you want. Or not, if you don’t want to.”
I’m so relieved he’s not running away that I kiss him, on the lips, and I have to rein myself back in before I literally eat him. And he is just as hungry for me. And then, when I’ve kissed away all my fear and I feel Eddie getting embarrassed for me, I tell Tay everything: about the day Eddie disappeared, the police search, the flashbacks I’ve been having. Tay holds me against him as I talk. I can’t see his face, but I can tell he’s listening because he breathes lightly and twirls my hair. I’ve never told my story to anyone before. Everyone I meet either already knows or doesn’t need to know. I tell him about how my family is falling apart, about Dillon not eating, and about his nightmares.
“He wakes in the night shouting, ‘You let him go!’ And it’s completely my fault.”
Tay squeezes my hand.
“It’s not your fault, El.”
I sit up and look at him. His eyes are watery, but he quickly wipes them dry.
I’m ready to tell someone my biggest secret.
“It was my fault,” I say. “I was supposed to hold Eddie’s hand the whole time we were in the water. I shouldn’t have let go but I did. He’s never said it to me, but I know Dillon blames me. My dad does too.”
“Don’t blame yourself.” Tay almost shakes me. “It’s not your fault. You were only small. The water out there is so unpredictable. If you get caught in a rip tide or a strong current, it’s impossible to hold on to anything. Trust me—I know.”
He passes me a cigarette and says he wants to hear more about Eddie. We sit and smoke while I tell him Eddie stories. Tay laughs at the story about the dog and Eddie hanging on to the lead.
“What was wrong with him?” Tay asks, when I take a break from telling stories.
I flinch slightly at the question before remembering that it’s a normal thing to ask.
“A few things. We don’t know, really, or at least Mum never told us. The doctors kept changing their minds, but it was probably to do with being starved of oxygen when he was born.”
“I’m sorry,” Tay says. “He sounds like a cool kid.”