By Tuesday afternoon, one of my shoes had begun to talk.
It made a soft, wet flap every time I put my left foot down. I had noticed the sole coming loose before lunch and decided it would last until Sunday. Then rain came off the sea in a thick grey sheet, and the pavement water went straight through it.
I was halfway to Callum's kiosk with sandwiches for both of us. I could have gone back. Instead, I walked faster, which made the flap louder.
He heard me before he saw me.
“Tell me that's not the suitcase.”
“Worse.”
I stepped under the kiosk awning and lifted my foot. The front of the sole hung away from the shoe.
He crouched, took one look and covered his mouth.
“Don't.”
His shoulders moved.
“Callum.”
“I'm upset for you.”
“You're laughing.”
He stood and kissed my wet cheek. “Both can be true.”
The wind blew rain under the awning. I held up the paper sandwich bag. One bottom corner had given way.
“I brought lunch.”
He caught it from underneath and took it inside before anything fell out. Behind the counter, the kiosk smelled of damp ropes and rubber. Stacked paddles leaned against one wall. He pulled his folded sweatshirt from a shelf.
“Put that on.”
“I'm all right.”
“Your teeth are clicking.”
I hadn't noticed until he said it. He turned away while I pulled off my jacket, though no one was there to see us. I got his sweatshirt over my head and pushed my wet hair out of the neck.
He reached to draw it free where it had caught at the back. His fingers were careful against my skin.
“Better?”
I nodded.
“I finish in ten minutes. Then we can go to mine.”
“What about the boards?”
Three were propped along the back wall, their edges streaked with sand. Yesterday he'd said he could get an extra paid hour cleaning them before they were stored.
He took his phone out. “They can wait until tomorrow.”
“You don't have to lose the hour.”
“I'm not leaving you in the rain while I scrub a paddleboard.”
He sent a message, put his phone down on the counter and gave me a stool. I sat with my broken shoe stuck out in front of me while he finished securing the last equipment.
“Can you mend it?” I asked.
“Possibly. Want me to look?”
I remembered the suitcase tab in his hand. “No.”
He gave me a wounded look and went to get the keys.
His rented room was above a shop two streets back from the seafront. By the time we reached it, my sock squelched and my fingers were clumsy. He took the sandwich bag from me so I could hold the stair rail.
Inside, he put an old towel on the floor.
“Sit.”
“I'm getting everything wet.”
“Then get it wet in one place.”
I sat on the edge of the bed. He knelt on the towel and pulled my shoe off by the heel, holding the loose sole together so it didn't catch. I took my sock off myself.
“That's disgusting,” I said, looking at it.
“I'm familiar with feet.”
“Not that familiar.”
He got me another towel and turned his back again while I changed out of my wet trousers. My spare T-shirt was still hanging over his chair. I put it on under his sweatshirt and borrowed a pair of his shorts.
He held up his trousers against me, considered the length, and shook his head.
“You'd just be a waist with ankles.”
I laughed. He looked pleased with himself and hung my wet things over the drying rack beside the window.
There was a damp mark on the sleeve of his own T-shirt from carrying my jacket. He took it off and put on a clean one. I watched the way his hair flattened when he pulled it over his head.
“You've gone quiet,” he said.
“I'm looking.”
He smiled, but instead of coming straight to me, he filled the little kettle on his shelf.
I had been in this room so many times that I knew which floorboard creaked beside the bed. Four months earlier, when I'd been ill, he'd come the other way, to mine. He missed a paid shift because I couldn't stand long enough to change my sheets. Tess covered what she could at the hotel, and Callum brought soup in a container with a cracked red lid. He sat with me while the bedding went round in the machine downstairs.
There hadn't been a speech about it. He'd asked whether I wanted the window open, then spent half an hour trying to close it again when I got cold.
I tucked my bare feet under me.
“What?” he asked.
“Remember my window?”
“Unfortunately.”
“You nearly pulled the handle off.”
“It was holding you hostage.”
He came over with tea and set both mugs on the floor, out of the way. Then he sat beside me and took my foot between his hands.
“Still freezing.”
“Don't look at the sock.”
“I won't.”
He rubbed warmth into my toes. I leaned my shoulder into him and kissed the place just below his ear.
“That's a distraction,” he said.
“Is it working?”
He turned. This kiss was slow and comfortable, with his hand resting against my calf. I touched his hair, where the clean T-shirt had left it sticking up, and he laughed into my mouth.
For a while, the wet shoe stayed under the drying rack and the tea cooled on the floor. We ate the squashed sandwiches sitting against the headboard, knees touching. He gave me the half that hadn't collected rain in the bag.
Later, he walked back to the hotel with me. I wore his trainers with the laces pulled as tight as they would go. He carried my shoes in a carrier bag and said I'd have to return the trainers before Sunday because they were essential to his new life.
“You have five other pairs.”
“All with different duties.”
At my door, I put both arms round his waist. He rested his chin on my head.
“Beach at eight,” he said. “Wear shoes that know their job.”
“These have been promoted.”
He kissed me and went downstairs. I stood in his trainers for another minute before going in to get ready.