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“Well, let’s see,” said Holly, trying to stay calm. “We’ll retrace our steps, and go back, and--” “Shit, Holly,” Bronwen interrupted. “We’re lost, we’re fucking lost.” Holly stopped. “Bronwen. Calm down.” “We’ll just go in a circle. We’ll just-- shit-- why are we even…” Bronwen trailed off, pacing back and forth, one hand on her forehead, just over her eyes. “Why did I think this was a good idea? This whole pub thing. Thought it’d be the way to give you a taste of England. Though I could trust myself to remember a few directions after all these years. And now look. I’ve gotten us lost in my own goddamn city, my own goddamn vacation spot when I was a kid.” Holly shifted, reached out a hand to Bronwen’s shoulder. “We’re not lost, we’ll just have to go back. Be logical. The city is of finite size. We’ll find the hotel. It’s not a big deal.” For a moment Bronwen looked as if she were going to cry, and Holly wrapped her arm around Bronwen to steady her. “Holl. I’ve been such an ass all evening. I wanted to impress you, that’s all. Make you love Bath, the way I do. Make you at home, so I could stop being so goddamn scared.” Holly rubbed Bronwen’s back in tremulous circles, as if Bronwen were delicate, a baby bird caught out of the nest. “Scared of what?” “Of losing you.” Holly could not speak. She looked away and back, and kept her hand on Bronwen’s shoulder. There was no answer to give. “I’ve been afraid of that too,” she said at last. “From the other side.” “I know.” “But it’s the pressure, not the place, that’s kept me quiet. The pressure of-- well, you know.” Bronwen was silent. Holly leaned forward to see her face, but couldn’t; it was in shadow. She continued. “For what it’s worth, I like it here. So far. I really, really do.” She stopped short, unsure if she would be able to go on without her voice catching, betraying her. “The architecture?” Bronwen asked, her voice muffled through her hands. Holly smiled a little, regaining her composure. “You should’ve known. That alone was enough to get me.” “Do you think-- does that mean--” “I don’t know yet. How can I?” “God. I know it’s stupid. I didn’t want to stay in the States my first day there. And I do like it there as well. But England is my home.” Pause. “Only I want my home to be with you. And I’ve fucked it up, and got us lost, and been—been so rude all evening. I think I was trying to act so at ease, so happy here. Make you see why I had to come back. I thought. I don’t know what I thought.” “Bronwen. It’s been one day. One day. You do know that, right?” Bronwen
nodded, head down. She looked up for a moment. “Brian’s
a wanker,” she said. “A good mate, but a wanker. Always
fancied me a bit.” “Oh, bugger it,” Bronwen said. “Maybe I won’t even get into the programs I like, and I’ll stay in the States after all.” Holly looked at the ground, looked at her hands. “Maybe I’ll love it here and want to stay forever and ever.” Bronwen turned her head up and smiled. Not a coy smile or a smug one, but a small, timid curve that made her features seem unfamiliar, almost alien. “Come on, babe.” Holly said, patting her on the back. “We’ll find the hotel. It’ll work out.” Bronwen got up, slouching. “I really don’t know where it is.” Holly said it at last. “I do. I think.” Bronwen frowned and shook her head. “You can’t possibly. You’ve never been here before.” “I’m not an artist for nothing, you know. Spatial memory, Bronnie.” Holly turned down the passageway the way they had come, confident if still limping slightly. Bronwen stared after her, shocked for the first time by her girlfriend. Holly was a girl with unplumbed depths. She remembered, after a moment, to follow behind. “Don’t call me that,” she grumbled, belatedly. “And you’d better know where we’re going.”
It was pure show, and Holly knew it. “I don’t know
where we’re going,” she said, not turning around.
“But neither do you, babe, so we’d better stick together.”
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