Page 66 of I Love You, I Love You, I Love You

Be cool, be cool, be cool.

But my word, is it hard to act cool when you’re fizzing?

I find myself saying, ‘Hey … erm … so … we’ve … my mum … we’ve got this new steam room fitted; it’s kind of weird.’

‘Weird’ is safe. A neutral word to use when you don’t want to say if something is good or bad. It invites an opinion without giving anything away; it means I’m interested, I’m curious but also allows wiggle room if the other person gets freaked out. It would definitely not be unusual to describe somebody you extremely fancy as ‘extremely weird’.

I add, ‘Do you wanna try it?’ Wanna? Jesus Christ, calm down, girl.

‘K. Definitely … ’ he says.

Well, then, don’t give him a reason not to, Ella; get going, love.

The steam function takes a while to heat up. So, I get it on immediately. I prop up a bottle of Herbal Essence; it’s empty but it’s for display purposes only. I hope Lowe will know the brand for girls on TV with their bouncy floral hair. These little signposts are important. I flush my brother’s straw-coloured wee he left in the toilet, remove any traces of coiled pubes and hide my stepdad’s psoriasis shampoo. Nothing that would put Lowe off.

He heads outside for another cigarette and now I have about three minutes to transform. I run to my room. Oh FUCK! I haven’t planned this. I didn’t even know I’d be seeing him today! I was gearing up to say goodbye, not strip down to a bikini and confess my undying love! I bought the bikini especially for Egypt – and thanks to Egypt’s climate, I am the shade of an all-butter croissant – but I can’t find it now. I’m hurling my clothes around; I can’t think straight. I find the top part of my bikini, but not the bottoms – oh FUCK it. I am just going to wear my underwear – that’ll have to do, and then just as I’m about to give up, I see my bikini bottoms, hanging out of my still unpacked suitcase. There is a God. And she is a woman.

I look at myself in the mirror. The bikini is orange and dotty and I got it in a size bigger so it didn’t dig into my curves, didn’t press in around the fanny area to make a chubby fanny pouch – which I practise accepting and celebrating daily – didn’t spread and stretch my fanny hairs taut or bulge the fillets of back fat so they suddenly go from a bit of harmless cute chub to something you’d happily pick up in a supermarket and fry up with butter and garlic to feed a family of four. ‘You are BEAUTIFUL,’ I say, trying so hard to mean it. I’m not there yet but I’m hoping that one day I will be. I’m a late bloomer. I’m only just getting the hang of this ‘love yourself’ stuff, you see. They don’t teach it at school.

But better late than never.

This is my first bikini. He is my first love.

Here goes nothing …

Chapter 27

We stand half naked in the shower.

We are meant to wait for it to fill up with steam before stepping inside but I don’t want it to be over before it’s already begun. Don’t want him to change his mind, to acknowledge that this is extremely … possibly … definitely … a bad idea.

One that will, as Mum would say, ‘end in tears’.

The tears being mine. Obviously.

It’s a new function, the plumber worked on Mum, a shower and a steam room in one; everyone’s getting them these days.

And it’s all leading to THIS moment.

This is close to the edge for us. I’ve never seen Lowe this naked. Sweat glitters, soft focus, moisture, the bathroom light. I want to touch him but I can’t because my hands might shake. He is wearing boxer shorts that are jersey soft fabric in a muted grey. Probably from some multipack. I’m not sure what I was expecting but I’m glad, good, nothing too intimidating. Nothing that screams he’s some experienced person at spontaneous shower-steams with girls. Or expecting anything.

But at the same time, I also want him to have made an effort: I’m seeing Ella tonight; I should wear some nice boxers.

I think of Heather, a pang of guilt, but my nipples, this close to Lowe, go stiff.

OK, body. Thanks for totally giving the game away.

I don’t want to look in his direction; I don’t want to know what the roomy boxers are doing. If he’s interested, I will get nervous and feel sick; if he’s not, I’ll take it personally. I don’t know if I’m ready to look at him like that. But what if he doesn’t look at me at all? I want him to respect me and be the most courteous anybody’s ever been in their life. But I also want him to want me – to push me up against the tiled wall and kiss me like people kiss when they’ve spent months resisting and they have no choice but to inhale and exhale, both, through their dragon flaring nostrils.

Ella, calm the fuck down.

We’re just two best friends who happen to be a boy and girl who get half naked and have steams together. We’re just letting off steam.

WHERE THE FUCK IS THE STEAM?

‘It’s not broken, is it?’ He looks into the steam-making contraption as if he might try and fix it himself.

‘No, it’s new. It can’t be.’

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