Free The Other Me by Saskia Sarginson

that.’ He looks at me. ‘We could all do with being a bit more passionate, like Eliza with her dancing.’
    ‘Oh, I don’t know if I’d call it passion.’ I swallow a piece of dough. ‘It’s more like a compulsion. I have to dance – even when it’s hard, or seems impossible. The need to do it is inside me, and I can’t get rid of it. When I got to Leeds it was my chance to do what I believed in instead of what was expected. A geography degree just wasn’t right for me. It was a big decision to drop out, but you have to admit your mistakes, don’t you?’ I look around at their listening faces. ‘Marriages. Jobs. Degrees. How many people won’t admit it when they’ve got it wrong? They keep soldiering on until it’s too late. It’s so British, so stiff-upper-lip. You made your bed; you have to lie in it. What kind of idiot saying is that, anyway?’
    I stop, flushed, aware that I’m talking loudly, scared that I’ll give myself away if I say anything else. I’ve sailed too close to the truth already. I stiffen, staring at their faces: waiting for one of them to question me. But Mike raises his can of lager towards me in a silent salute. And Cosmo turns his head and presses his lips against my forehead.
     
    A chink of moonlight through the curtains throws shadows over Cosmo’s face. The planes and valleys of his features move across each other like a puzzle. Knowledge of him falters, and I press my fingers against his jaw, feeling the shape of his nose, twin arching brows like supplicant creatures.
    ‘You’re very quiet.’ I lean over him. His chest rises and falls beneath my ribs. A boat carrying me onwards.
    ‘Just thinking about what you said.’ He takes my hand in his, kisses my fingers. ‘I wish I was as brave as you.’
    I crumple, my arm losing strength, too weak to hold me up. I sink onto my side. ‘I’m not brave.’ I look at the dim ceiling. ‘I just dance. That’s all.’ I twist my head away, squeezing my eyes shut.
    He rolls over and hugs me close. I’m turned away from him. My spine curved into the hollow of his chest. I can feel tension inside him. His self-doubt. ‘You’re pleasing your parents,’ I murmur. ‘You’re being sensible. Sensible is good.’
    ‘That’s another thing. You’re so courageous about being alone.’ His words rumble through me. I feel them in my stomach, my heart.
    I fidget inside the cage of his arms. My fingers dig into the sinew of his biceps. ‘No,’ I whisper. ‘I’m not.’
    ‘Where are your brothers?’ he asks.
    I’m glad he can’t see my face. ‘Abroad,’ I say. ‘Both of them. They live in Australia.’ I need to change the subject. I can hardly breathe. ‘Weren’t you interested in becoming a doctor – like your mother and father?’
    He gives a quick humourless laugh. ‘It’s not just my parents that are doctors. My sister and brother too.’ He hauls me closer, his legs spooning mine. ‘I was never much good at science at school. Always had my head in history books or I’d be messing about with pencils and paint. I’m the odd one out.’ He blows gently into the nape of my neck. ‘You can imagine what family meals are like when we get together. I don’t get a word in edgeways among all the medical anecdotes and in-jokes.’ He’s kissing the edge of my shoulders as he speaks. ‘Why is it doctors never stop talking about blood?’ He stops, moves away slightly. ‘Seriously though, I have great respect for them.’
    ‘Of course.’ I wriggle out of his grasp and turn on my hip to face him, relieved to be talking about something safe. ‘It must be amazing to be able to make a difference – actually cure people.’
    ‘They’re committed to saving lives.’
    ‘All lives?’ I can taste his breath.
    ‘What do you mean?’
    ‘I don’t know,’ I flounder. ‘Say if someone was terribly injured, in pain, with no chance of recovery?’
    I can just make out his frown. ‘It’s a tricky subject. But modern