Page 40 of We Used To Be Magic

‘Uh – yeah. You don’t have any siblings, right?’

‘No. I wish I did, though.’

‘Right. I think you mentioned that moving around so much was lonely,’ I venture.

Audrey nods, then seems to falter for a moment.

‘I don’t actually get as lonely as I probably should.’ She says haltingly. ‘Maybe it’s subjective – everyone has a threshold and mine is higher than most.’

‘I’m guessing there’re other downsides, though.’

‘Oh, sure. Like – most people take a childhood home for granted. I know it’s a really privileged thing to complain about, but …’

‘No, I get it,’ I tell her. ‘Home for me was a brownstone in Greenwich Village. Dad sold it after I left for school – no one told me until I was heading back to New York for Christmas.’

‘No.’ She gasps, looking horrified. ‘You didn’t even get to say goodbye?’

‘Well – no, but I didn’t mean to hijack your story.’

‘That’sawful. What happened to all your stuff?’

‘Oh, I have a room at my Dad’s apartment. Or had, maybe – I don’t know if it’s still there. It’s not really the same, though.’

‘Exactly.’ She sighs. ‘My parents are soonat me about coming home and I just want to say,what home?Because it’s always just the latest house, which – that makes me sound like a total brat, actually. Sorry.’

‘Yes, you’re clearly very spoilt,’ I say wryly. She looks at me sideways, half-smiling.

‘I guess it’s not all bad,’ she says. ‘It’s prepared me for all this, in a way. This lifestyle.’

‘Living out of a case, you mean?’

‘Uh-huh. I always think I’d do well in an apocalyptic scenario. Fitting my worldly possessions into a trolley and all that.’

‘LikeThe Road.You’ve seen that one?’

‘Read it.’

‘Oh, she’s an intellectual.’

‘Mm-hm. I can write my own name, too. Count to ten and everything.’

I laugh, but there’s a note of panic in it that I hope she doesn’t detect. It’s weirdly thrilling when she teases me, but it also makes me worry that she sees more of me than she’s letting on. I honestly don’t know what I’d prefer – for her to think I’m thisgreat guy or to know that I’m flimsy and pretentious but be here anyway.

‘I used to read a lot,’ she adds, meeting my eye. ‘Mainly because I spent so much time in libraries. With all the schools they were the one constant, you know?’

‘Sure, yeah. I used to hide out in the art rooms, so – similar.’

‘Oh, you do art?’

‘Uh, no. I take pictures – I did, at least,’ I say, slightly distracted by the sudden proximity of my hand to hers. She’s shifted to sit with her arms braced behind her, fingers splayed across the blanket, inches from mine.

‘That’s so cool. What’s your stuff like?’

‘Uh – I like … colour,’ I manage. ‘Black and white doesn’t really do it for me. And portraits. I take portraits. I’m into people like Nan Goldin … Saul Leiter and Joel Meyerowitz, although I guess they’re really better known for their street photography.’

God, I sound like such a prick.Wrap it up, Ezra.

‘Anyway,’ I say abruptly. ‘If you need new headshots, I offer mates’ rates.’

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