one

nine

After school I walked straight to the asbestos toilets to try and find Maeve. Unsurprisingly, she was leaning against the back wall fiddling with the edge of her cigarette and tapping her foot slightly to whatever music she was intently listening to. I walked over and pulled one of her earphones out, "Are we going or not then dickhead?" She turned round surprised by the intrusion but quickly smirked when she saw it was me. "Of course" she chucked her cigarette on the floor and grabbed my hand, "after all, where's a better hangout spot than an abortion clinic". I rolled my eyes at her but still let myself be tugged out the room.

... 

About an hour later Maeve was following along with the quiz show playing on the TV in the waiting room and I was sitting next to her, writing songs on the back of a pamphlet about safe sex and helplines to call if the worst did happen. She cocked her head to one side: "what are you even doing" she asked, staring at the scribbled lyrics. "Writing a song" I muttered, "I could ask you the same thing. "Dickhead, it's a quiz, do they not have those in Oxford or something. Was that what you were doing earlier in English?" I went bright red, caught out by such a personal question, of course I had been adding to my playlist for Maeve but I didn't want her to know that. Not yet at least. "No I was just" I squinted my eyes, "Making notes" I said unconvincingly. "Sure" she rolled her eyes at me, "let's see it then". "No I mean I'm, it's private" I shoved the flyer back into my guitar case desperately wishing I had just lied and said I was researching contraception or something. A small smile played at the corner of Maeve's lips "you know Sophie", she rested her hand on my knee immediately making me freeze, "you say all this stuff, you know that you play the guitar, write music, on paper you're a right fucking muse, but you never want to prove it. Do you even sing?" "You actually want me to, oh for fucks sake", I pulled my guitar out of its case and glared at her, "I hope you know how embarrassing this is". "Coward",  she retorted, obviously enjoying how uncomfortable I was, "can I choose the song?" "Fine" I rolled my eyes lazily at her. Maeve's eyes lit up in response: "Cigarette daydreams" she immediately shot back, challenging me, to what though I had no idea. "By Cage the Elephant?" I asked "I wouldn't have pegged you as an alternative girl" I smirked sarcastically "good choice though". "Just fucking play it" Maeve smiled softly and ran her hand through her hair, letting a frustrated puff of air out of her mouth, before crossing her legs on the chair and turning more fully to face me. 

I began to strum gently. Guitar was, had always been, easy for me, so this in so many ways felt simpler than talking to Maeve like a normal person would. Sometimes I wished there was some kind of option for meeting new people, you know play them a song, make them a playlist, sorted. 

I zoned out totally, losing myself effortlessly in the song. Cage the elephant were a brilliant band and "Cigarette daydreams" perfectly captured this idea of helping someone through depression but feeling totally demoralised when they pushed themselves away from you again and again in an effort to shield you from themselves. I felt that way with my brother, we all knew to some extent that he was suffering but he hid it so well that it felt impossible to help. I felt tears prickle against my closed eyelids and tried desperately to concentrate on anything else. 

The music drew to a close, wrapping round me like a beautifully soft, totally safe hug. I opened my eyes slowly, confused by the sudden shock back into reality. Maeve was staring at me, totally lost for words. "Shit" she whispered, and then an inevitable smirk "not bad for a dick". 

... 

After the procedure had finished we went back to to Maeve's caravan, me totally paranoid she would hurt herself moving too quickly and her, frustrated by my constant worrying. I ran in, and began to make her a cup of tea, instructing that she just "sit down and stop getting in the fucking way". I poured the tea into two identical mugs, noticing the little details in her kitchen: smudges of nail varnish on the table, books propped precariously against pans and a pack of worn cards buried under half a dozen essays forged for various people in our year. I took one of the mugs by its handle and walked through the dimly lit passage to the sofa. Maeve was curled up, her lips slightly parted and her hand grazing the corner of her chin. I smiled to myself, my stomach flipping at how peacefully beautiful she looked. I quietly placed the mug on the corner of the table and went to get a blanket from her room. It felt odd, trespassing on her privacy whilst she was asleep and I almost left, but stopped myself remembering how upset Maeve had been last time that happened. Instead, after covering Maeve up with a patchwork blanket that had been neatly folded on the end of her bed, I covered myself with my coat and lay on the floor next to the sofa, hoping to catch a few hours of sleep before she woke up.