25. Holly, Berlin

Acouple of hours later, we're naked, covered with a doona and lying on the small two-seater sofa that I dragged onto the balcony earlier today. It's a cool evening and the breeze five stories up is fresh, nipping at my exposed skin.

Casey is half sitting up, leaning back against cushions that pad the slanted arm rest, legs stretched the length of the sofa, with me resting between them, facing her. Her chest rises as she inhales, then she passes the joint to me as smoke seeps lazily from her lips into the night air.

I inhale until my lungs burn and cough a little as I exhale.

She smiles and takes the joint back. ‘Not a big weed smoker anymore, then?'

‘Not for a while, no.' I rest my head against her chest. ‘These past few days have been amazing.'

‘They have,' she says, gazing down at me, her eyes gleaming in the moonlight.

‘You have no idea how much I needed this weekend,' I say. ‘I felt suffocated at home, not just because of what was going on when I left, but because of all the years leading up to it. All the stress of it.' I pause as I contemplate whether to tell her about Lily, but the thought of going through it all exhausts me, so I forget it for now. ‘I had this urge to get away and get some control of my life back, if that makes sense.'

‘Makes total sense. I felt like that too. Just didn't realise it until I got here.' She brushes her thumb across my cheekbone. ‘We should give this a proper go. See where it goes.'

‘You mean us?' I take the joint from her.

‘Yeah.'

I release a plume of smoke. ‘You think this is more than us needing to get the past out of our system?'

She takes the joint from me, has one last toke and stubs it out, then shimmies down to wrap her arms around me under the covers. They're cool against my warm skin. ‘I think it could be more, if we want it to be.'

My finger makes a pattern on her chest. There's something niggling at me from earlier that I've held back, not wanting to scare her off, but I'm loose with alcohol and weed and the words spill. ‘When I was talking to Katarina, she said she didn't stay with that woman in the painting because you can't keep a woman like that confined in a relationship.'

‘Did she?'

‘Mmm.' I look up. ‘You have that look about you.'

She cocks her head, a tiny lift of her brow. ‘Do I?'

I nod.

Her mouth presses into a tight line as she searches my face. ‘I'm not twenty anymore, Holly. I want to find my person too, and I don't have issues being in a relationship when I'm with the right person.' She pauses. ‘I don't want tonight to be the last time we see each other. I'd like to give this a go. If that's what you want, like.'

Everything inside me softens and I lay my head against her chest, listen to the gentle thud of her heart. My own heart wants to tell her I love her, but my head argues that I couldn't possibly know that this soon. Instead, I say, ‘I can hear your heartbeat. And you know it's what I want.'

She kisses the top of my head. ‘I do, yeah.'

We're silent again for a few minutes until I say, ‘On Friday night, at the river, you said you always struggled with feeling overwhelmed. In what way? Is this something I need to worry about if we're going to try having a relationship?'

She stretches across to the coffee table. ‘Looks like we're going to need this second spliff.' She lights up, draws deeply and hands it to me, then exhales a long stream of smoke. ‘It's just the way I've always been, especially as a kid. I didn't process emotions well. Like, I'd get emotional sensory overload. It's how I got into art, actually.'

I stay quiet to give her the space to talk.

‘I was about thirteen, first year at high school and had a fight with this kid in my class. He'd been taunting me for weeks. Little racial digs. And it was a shock because I went to a diverse school, and we had so many non-white kids, but he targeted me. Jazzy and my other mates were like, "Just ignore him." But I couldn't shake it. It felt so personal, and I couldn't handle all the emotions associated with it. One day, he was up in my face saying shit like, "Are you black or are you white? Make up your mind", followed by some racial slur, and I lost it. Smacked him up against a concrete wall, hand around his throat and said, "I'm biracial, you pasty twat".'

I laugh. ‘Pasty twat?'

She grins. ‘Yeah, not my wittiest comeback, but it's exactly what he was.' She pauses as she tokes and passes the joint to me.

‘I thought I'd get a bollocking,' she continues. ‘But instead I was put into art therapy and started to learn how art can help you deal with emotions.'

‘Huh,' I say. ‘I've never thought about art like that.'

‘A lot of people don't, not consciously anyway. But art often provokes a reaction of some kind, and your reactions can be a good indicator of what you're feeling and thinking. If you give yourself the space to sit with it, it can really help you process things.'

‘What happened to him?' I ask.

‘He was put into some sort of therapy program too, and his parents were mortified. They turned up at our house to apologise to me and Mum and Dad. He turned out all right though, and a few years later he said sorry to me, and we had a good talk about it.'

I stub out the joint and cuddle back into her.

‘That event kind of changed the course of my life, I think,' she says. ‘I can't imagine not being involved in art now.' She dips her head to kiss me, her mouth smoky from the weed. ‘So, to answer your question, I've learnt a lot about myself since we first met, and no, you don't need to be worried. When things become too much, I find ways to deal with them. Usually involves tattoos and paintings, but that's what works for me.'

I gaze at her, a little stunned. ‘I think we could be really happy together.'

She smiles. ‘Agreed.'

‘Holly?'

‘Mmm,' I say, floating in that space between asleep and awake.

‘I have to go.'

My eyes flutter open. ‘Already?' I prop myself up on my elbows and glance around, the sheet dropping to my waist.

Casey's gaze drops to my naked chest.

‘Stop staring at my boobs,' I yawn.

She grins and meets my eyes. ‘Sorry. You'll definitely come over at the weekend?'

I nod. ‘I'll leave Saturday?'

‘Cool. I'll come meet you at Heathrow.'

‘I can get the tube on my own. I'm a big girl.'

‘It's not to babysit you; it's because I want to.' She looks around. ‘And to help with all this gear that I have no idea how you'll fit in your luggage.'

I sit up fully, my gut prickling with anxiety, and stare at her.

‘What's up?' she asks.

I hesitate a beat. ‘If you don't show and don't answer your phone, I'll be back here sitting in that park for the rest of my life waiting for you.'

She grabs my phone from the side table and passes it to me. ‘I knew you'd feel like that, so I've messaged you where I work, my address, my email, my parents' address and the butcher's. You have many, many options to find me.' She gently hooks a finger under my chin and lifts my face. ‘I'm not running away. And if you can't find me at any of those places, across from my gallery is a pub; you'll find me in there – usually on a Friday after work with Jaz. Okay?'

I scroll the details, glancing between her and my screen. ‘You're serious about this? About us?'

She nods. ‘Aren't you?'

I roll my eyes. ‘I came straight to Berlin from Australia just to go to our park again. What do you think?'

She smiles. ‘I think that means yes.'

I widen my eyes. ‘Uh-huh.'

‘That's sorted, then.' She makes a sad face. ‘But now, I have to go.' She kisses me goodbye, but when she starts to pull back, I hold her there, letting the kiss linger. She moans and runs her hand up my back.

I release her and reach into the drawer beside the bed. ‘Before you go, I have something for you.' I pass her a small photo.

She takes it from me and gasps. ‘This is the one you took that night.'

‘Yep.'

Casey holds her hand to her chest. ‘Look at us. How perfect do we look together?'

I pull my knees up. ‘I know.'

She shakes her head. ‘It was so obvious how I felt.' She clears her throat and swipes a finger across her cheek.

‘Keep that; it's yours. I always wanted you to have copy.'

She holds it to her heart. ‘I love it.' She tucks it away and pulls me into a tight embrace. ‘I'm going to miss you.'

‘I'll miss you too, but Saturday is only three days away.'

Casey grins. ‘What are we like?' She hops up and heads for the door.

‘Oh, wait,' I call as she grabs the door handle. ‘You didn't give me your socials. You must be on something. Insta?'

‘Erm … I don't use socials much.'

My brows rise. ‘Still?'

‘I'm on Instagram – with my full name, and the profile pic at the mo is a photo of the Sappho and Erinna painting.'

‘Ah, a painting.' I shake my head. ‘Never thought to look for a painting as your profile pic.'

‘I'll take you to the Tate next week to see it.' She pulls open the door. ‘See you in London town,' she says with a wink.

The door clicks shut, and an emptiness consumes me. I open Instagram and search for her. Her account is private, so I send a request and hop out of bed. By the time I make coffee and hop back in bed, my phone pings with a notification that she's accepted. I send a message.

Miss you already x

She replies with a quick video clip. ‘Miss you more,' she says to the camera and blows me a kiss.