Page 95 of One Summer

‘Why would anyone order vanilla when there are a hundred other flavours on the menu?’ I say. ‘Anyway, you are not eating anything because you’re just going to throw it up. You should drink coffee.’

‘Coffee is caffeinated, brown poison. Why is everyone so obsessed with the caffeinated, brown poison?’

I’ve noticed this about him. He never drinks coffee. He’s pretty much the opposite of Scotty, and Max.

‘Be brave. Take it like medicine,’ I say.

‘Tea is my drink, and after seven o’clock, cocoa.’

‘Both also brown,’ I point out. ‘And caffeinated.’

‘There’s no caffeine in hot chocolate,’ he says, slurring again.

‘There’s caffeine in the cocoa bean, so if your evening cocoa is made from cocoa powder, there’s caffeine in it.’

I’ve gone back into ‘correcting mode’, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

‘I’m googling it.’

He goes quiet as he reads the first results.

‘Damn, you’re right.’

I preen. ‘Told you so.’

‘Tea has antioxidants,’ he says.

He’s holding up his index finger, but he looks confused, as if he’s forgotten why he’s doing that.

I pull out my wallet to see if I have enough cash left to buy him a double espresso, but he’s out of his chair and weaving towards the counter, asking for a triple scoop of vanilla with blue sprinkles. He catches his trainer on the corner of a tall stool and stumbles. I see him lunge for the counter but his hand misses and he knocks over a Loor leaflet display, the papers fanning out all over the floor tiles.

Throughout all of this, Caleb is smiling, but the counter staff – a teenage boy and a woman in her twenties – look like they want to drown him in a vat of Chunky Monkey.

Halloon emerges from a back room, takes one glance at us, and says, ‘Lundy Island, your man needs to leave.’

‘Oh, come on, it’s some leaflets,’ I say. ‘I’ll pick them up. And he isn’t my man,’ I say. ‘He’s my neighbour.’

‘Yeah, she’s another man’s tortoise. And it’s LINDY, not Lundy,’ Caleb says pedantically, but what with his slurring, both words sound exactly the same.

‘Go before he chunders,’ Halloon says, handing me a paper cup of water.

We sit outside on a wooden bench as the drizzle comes down and Caleb turns to me and looks into my eyes.

‘So… do you wanna do this thing?’ he says.

‘What? Eat ice cream?’

He’s staring at me, waiting for an answer.

‘Yes, if we can find somewhere that won’t chuck you out.’

‘Not that,’ he murmurs, getting quiet all of a sudden, getting serious.

‘What are you saying? I don’t understand you, Caleb.’

He runs his fingers through his hair and makes a dramatic ‘aaargh’ noise.

‘Jesus, I’m sorry,’ he says.

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