Some smells go much deeper inside; like they climb into your soul and wrap their hands around something in there. Walking into Maz’s flat, the air smells warm, inviting, like some kind of peace in there. It scratches at my throat a little, but it is in a comforting way. She shows us inside - or me rather. Joanne already knows the place and walks in ahead of me with an air of knowledge around her, her comfort at being there evident. We pass by three doors - two bedrooms and a bathroom. The end of the narrow corridor splits off. One archway leads to the kitchen, where I can see a giant pan steaming and rattling its lid on the stove, and the other leads to a lounge of sorts. But it is more like an explosion of colour; blankets with tassels, odd matching cushions.
On the mantle, I locate the source of the smell - a small figurine holding an incense stick over what looks like a waterfall, a place for the ash to fall. The whole place feels like the home I never had. It’s like walking into some kind of safe love. The sensation is so strong that even the walls seem to ooze this compassion.
There is a man sitting on the sofa. Joanne sits down with no introduction and no bother, and even though he is sitting down, I can tell that he is incredibly tall. His long legs are spread out in front of him; his feet look larger than any I have ever seen. His black hair is long, too, falling down the front and resting on his lap. Everything about him is long, even his face. Long fingers roll tobacco in cigarette paper.
“How do?” he says, dropping his H and making it more of an Ow sound. His accent is thick - Yorkshire, I realise.
“Good,” I say to him.
He holds his tin up to me. “Want one?”
“No thanks. Can’t stand rollies,” I reply, and then I pluck my own cigarette packet out to show him.
“I could never smoke them, either,” Maz says as she comes out of the kitchen, where she had disappeared before to stir her bubbling pan. Just the smell of it was making my stomach rumble and my mouth water. “You get used to them,” she adds. “Sit down if you want. Do you want a drink? Beer? Coffee?”
“Beer would be great,” I say, nervous to voice what it is that I want. But she just smiles at me.
“This is Froggy,” she says to me and points to the long man. He stands then and he really is tall. At my six foot height, he makes me feel short for a moment. He licks his cigarette paper and rolls it closed. He nods and smiles at me and then he lights his cigarette. It doesn’t take long to realise that the smell isn’t just tobacco. There is cannabis in there, too. Its sweet smell mixes with all the others. He must notice my recognition, because he offers it out to me. “Want a toke?”
I shake my head. “Doesn’t do anything for me.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean I can smoke it all night and not a thing.”
“You’re smoking the wrong shit,” he laughs. “Try some of this. You’ll see.
I want to, but then I see Maz’s face and, for whatever reason it is, she looks upset. Her eyes are wet, but no tears have fallen. Froggy notices, too, and I realise her expression is one of anger.
“Don’t fucking start,” he says to her, even though she hasn’t said a word. “The smell will be gone by tomorrow.”
“You can’t just leave it for one night?”
“It’ll be gone tomorrow.”
“No, it won’t. It lingers.”
He takes a big draw on his joint, inhaling it deep into his chest. Then, he walks to Maz and lets it out slowly in her face. He grins. “I’m smoking it,” he says. “If you have some, perhaps you’ll stop your pissing and moaning about it.”
