Beneath The Skin Episode 35

They set off towards town, William moaning that it was too far to walk and couldn’t they get a taxi? “He’s been in a taxi twice,” Mouse said, “and now he thinks it’s the only way to travel.”

“Walking takes too long!” William whined. They played a game of spotting green cars, and Walt won, although Mouse was called in to rule whether metallics could be taken into account, because some of the metallic greens were closer to turquoise. “Do you even get turquoise cars?” said Walt.

“I think you do.” Mouse smiled to herself. “I remember my dad had an old Rover – it was a pale turquoise, like the sea.”

“Now you’re getting too poetic!” Walt grinned at her and she grinned back.

They crossed at the lights, turned onto George Street. It was dusk, and the place was illuminated by street lamps, mock Georgian lanterns in mock Georgian pubs, and cordons of fairy lights in beer gardens. Mouse pointed out the posh hotel where she’d had her 21st, and the pub where Galen had taken her for tea.

Walt raised an eyebrow and paused to look at the menu in the window. “Pricey.”

“I’m worth it.” Mouse shot him a look beneath her lashes. His face slid into a smile. They walked on, William in the middle, humming to himself and hopping over the cracks in the pavement. “Well, isn’t this cosy!”

A small figure came up behind them. Mouse’s pal Fee, in an oversized hat and scarlet lipstick. Mouse didn’t say much; she looked like she was blushing. Did Fee think they were an item? He suddenly felt that tiny tweak of possibility you get on a first date. Fee was meeting friends in the Café Royal. She was late, she said, and hurried away with the smug, knowing look of someone who doesn’t know much at all.

“Oh, great,” Mouse sighed, after she’d gone. “Now it will be all round the shop. My secret date!” Walt laughed at her expression. “It’ll ruin your chances with the old man!”

The Field of Light was set up in St Andrew’s Square. They couldn’ t see anything at first, just the tall dark column in the centre of the garden. There were too many folk milling about – Japanese tourists with camera phones and suited youths wandering round with Starbucks – but then the path cleared and they found themselves surrounded by swathes of swaying, coloured spheres.

He remembered being ankle-deep in snowdrops. He was barefoot, at a time when he had two feet and could feel the soft tickle of petals between his toes. There was something about petals against your skin, and the fragrance of dark green, growing things, that made his head spin.

He’d dropped to one knee and Jo had laughed and cried at the same time, tried to pull him up, but ended up pushing him down and they’d lain in a pool of damp whiteness and she’d said yes in a voice that he could still hear. The light had faded without them noticing. The trees sort of hung there, suspended between light and dark, and the snowdrops became luminous, like hundreds of eerie little nightlights.

“Wow!” Mouse was laughing as the colours rainbowed across her skin. The garden was blooming with alien seed pods, shifting like poppy heads in the breeze. William gripped the fence, suddenly silent. Walt rubbed his shoulder. “You like?”

“It’s awesome!” He turned around with a toothy smile, and then he was off, running through the crowded paths as if he could take in every sight and sound and colour in one go. “William!” Mouse called after him.

“He’s fine,” Walt said. “He knows where we are.” His hand was on her back. It had been an unconscious gesture. Had she noticed? If he jerked it away, she would notice. He kept it there. They strolled along the path, slowly, gazing at the scintillating lights. Walt’s hand grew warm. Mouse remained quiet. They came to a stop near the column.

“The artist was inspired by the heat and the light in the Red Desert, Australia,” she said.

“It looks like snowdrops to me. Lit from the inside.”

“Now who’s a poet?” She turned to him, having to look up because he was so close and much taller. He could see the spheres like tiny diamonds reflected in her eyes. Reluctantly he let his hand drop from her back.

“Why snowdrops?”

“I proposed to my girlfriend snowdrop wood, at dusk.”

She looked shocked, almost; he wasn’t in a who she thought he was. William came running back, counting out loud. She ignored him. “What was her name?” “Jo.”

“So you’re married?”

He gave a sharp huff of a laugh. broke it off. Wise girl.”

“Was that because down, embarrassed.

“No. I still had two good legs then. It was just my mind that was messed up. Sorry.” He patted William’s head. The kid was still bouncing. “I counted a hundred!”

“Well, keep going. Try the other side,” said Walt, deadpan. The boy took off.

Mouse had turned back to the lights. Her hair was like fire in the strange glow. “No one’s ever asked me to marry them, and I’ve got a kid.”

He’d been looking over the fence, suddenly seeing not the ethereal buds of light, but the dark underbelly, the displaced earth, the tangle of wires. He felt the earth tilt a little, the familiar hot soak of fear. His belly clenched. Don’t let it destroy you. Don’t.

Stiffly he dropped to one knee, his good knee, with one hand on the fence, and when she looked around there was space where he should have been.

“Walt? Walt!” She grabbed his shoulders. A camera flashed nearby. “Get up!” “Maura, will you do me the honour of...” “Walt!”

A knot of people had gathered. There was a cry of “go on yersel”, big man!” Three excited Japanese schoolgirls brandished their smartphones.

“...of becoming my...”

William had returned and stood rooted to the spot. Mouse was laughing, pulling at Walt’s jacket. “Get up, you moron!” “...wife! Will you marry me, Maura?” The crowd cheered. “Jesus, me knee! Help me up.”

She grabbed his arm and hauled, and the two of them half collapsed together, giggling. Walt ruffled her fiery hair. “I’m sorry. Couldn’t resist it.” He placed a soft kiss on her cheek. “That’s what happens when you don’t think too much.”

More tomorrow.

“She of...” She glanced

His hand was on her back. It had been an unconscious gesture. Had she noticed? If he jerked it away, she would notice

Beneath The Skin, by Sandra Ireland, is published by Polygon, £8.99. Her latest book, Sight Unseen, is out now.