If Nobody Speaks of Remarkable Things

She told me her mobile number, but she said it too fast and I had to listen to the whole message again before I could write it down.

I took my clothes off and got into the shower while I thought about calling her back.

It would be good to talk to her, maybe, but the idea made me nervous somehow.

I remembered the last time I tried to talk to her about it, and I thought that perhaps I just don’t know her well enough anymore.

I filled my hair with shampoo and watched the lather pouring down over me, I looked at my skin and I wondered if anything was different, my breasts heavier, my stomach rounder, my hips wider.

It was hard to tell.

I looked at my body and tried to picture myself as a heavily pregnant woman, I stood with my feet further apart, my hands against the back of my hips, my stomach pushed out.

I felt like a nine-year-old, playing dress-up.

I rinsed off the soap and got out of the shower, and I was just about to brush my teeth when I was sick in the basin.

There was another message on the answerphone, it was Michael, he said just seeing if you’re okay and I wondered if you were doing anything this afternoon and he told me his number.

When I open the door I say oh hello, and I look at him and we’re both embarrassed.

He’s holding a bunch of flowers, thick-stemmed white lilies with bright yellow centres and shiny green leaves.

I look at them, he looks at them, and water drips from the bottom of the wrapping onto his shoe.

Oh, I don’t know what to say I tell him, and I don’t.

He says oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean, they’re not, I mean it’s not anything, I just thought, erm, shall I, and his sentence trails off into a row of faint full stops.

I say, oh, they are nice though.

He says, I just thought, you know, you seemed upset, yesterday, I thought maybe they’d cheer you up, I’m sorry.

I say no, sorry, they’re nice, you just surprised me, that’s all, I wasn’t expecting, I just, look come in anyway, I’ll put them in something.

He comes in and stands by the door, and I put the flowers in a vase by the window, the stems curving upwards like the arch of a dancer’s back, the petals thick and glossy like morning eyes, the smell of them already beginning to fill the flat.

I make a pot of tea, and I pour it into thin white cups without saucers.

He says are you okay though, yesterday, was it hard?

I can’t decide how to answer him, I start to say something deflective, something like well it was okay I think they’ll come round, something that will slip from the question like shrugged shoulders from a shawl, but the words stick in my mouth.

I want to tell him something of what happened, the new understanding I was granted, but those words are locked in as well.

I say yes it was, it was hard but not like I expected.

He says what do you mean and I say I don’t know how to explain it I don’t think it would make any sense.

He says have a go, he smiles and says I’m not as stupid as I look you know and he lifts his palms up.

I say actually can we talk about something else now and he stops smiling and says sorry, sorry.

I say, the flowers, I do like them, thankyou.

He sits at the table, opposite me, and he looks at the flowers and he looks out of the window.

I say I was thinking about your brother this morning, and his head startles round to look at me, I say I was wondering what it’s like, being a twin.