Page 73 of Love and Other Paradoxes

She smiled. “You’re going soon?”

“Wednesday.”

“Say hi to your mum and dad for me. And Jeely Piece.”

“Jeely Piece is about to get the shock of his life. One of the time travellers left me a kitten. Her name’s Bear. I’m taking her home with me.”

“Your cat names are not improving.”

“That one’s actually Rob’s fault.”

She nodded, as if that made sense.

He settled back against the windowsill, a ray of sunshine lighting up the space between them. It felt so good to be with her here and now, all their angry words behind them. In an instant, he knew what he needed to say. No flowery words, no grand declarations, just the truth. “I missed you.”

She looked up at him sharply. Then she smiled. “Yeah. I missed you too.”

“I’ll be back at the end of April.” He shrugged. “Come and see me sometime.”

She swallowed a laugh. “What, waltz up to your college in full view of your future fans and their tour guide?”

“There’s a back gate. Text me when you’re there. I can get Rob to come and let you in. Vera’ll be none the wiser.”

“Okay.” She closed her eyes, turning her face to the sun. The breeze rippled the river, set her hair dancing. It kindled something inside him, fragile as a new leaf. It felt like hope.

He arrived back in Cambridge on a spring day in late April, wisteria blooming on college walls in purple profusion, the sky streaked blue and white with scudding clouds. He checked his pigeonhole: two white roses, three scribbled notes of devotion. He threw them away without reading them. He hadn’t earned them yet, and in any case, the details weren’t important. It only mattered that they were there, a promise of better to come.

The only non-time-travel-related correspondence was a flyer for the college May Ball, which was happening on the twenty-third of June. The day Esi would be leaving. He dropped it in the recycling. It wasn’t like he could afford a ticket anyway.

He climbed the staircase to his rooms and unlocked the door. The window of the living room was open, the curtains flapping in the breeze. He was alone with the blank page of his final term at Cambridge. He closed his eyes, reeling with the terror of how to fill it.

Through the silence rose a sound: a light, deliberate tread, faraway at first, then climbing closer. Outside his door, the footstepsstopped. He heard a breath, shallow and urgent, then a soft sound, like someone placing their hand against the wood.

He turned, wondering why his heart was pounding, why his neck was prickling with superstitious dread. He walked to the door and pulled it open.

Standing there, her fist raised to knock, was Diana.

Chapter Twenty-Six

His first reaction was panic. She wasn’t meant to be here. He had dismissed her, first to an unwritten past, then to an unstable future. And yet here she was, on his doorstep, taking her fate into her own hands.

“Joseph.” He had caught her before she had time to compose herself. The vulnerability on her face made her look like a stranger.

“Diana.” He stepped back, as if he hadn’t already stepped back from her in every way he could. “What are you doing here?”

She laughed breathlessly. “What else was I supposed to do? I would have called first, but...”

But he had blocked her number. To him, it had been a gesture, part of his grand symbolic walking-back of everything. Now, he thought about how it must have been for her: cut off with no explanation, left to imagine a reason why. He had told himself she wouldn’t care, that he meant nothing to her. But the look in her eyes told him that had been a self-protecting lie.

She moved past him, brushing his arm. Her scent caught him, and time collapsed, sending him back into every moment they had shared. He was in her bed, kissing her neck, her fingers tangled in his hair; he was under a streetlight, reciting another man’spoem, transfixed by her cool green eyes. He was in the darkened wing of the theatre, taking her hands, pushing her away.

She turned to face him. “I’m not quite sure how to do this. I’ve never actually been rejected before. God knows Crisp likes to leave me hanging, but he’s never strictly said no to me.”

She was comparing him to Crispin. He felt ill. “Diana. Look. It’s not y—”

“Please don’t demean me with clichés. Whatever is between us, I think it deserves more thanit’s not you, it’s me.” Her gaze dropped. “Besides, I rather suspect itisme.”

Shame crushed him. “Don’t say that—”

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