You meet in a pub at the beginning of Spring. You managed six months at uni before admitting the bitchiness of your flatmates and the unrelenting loneliness wasn't worth it. Of course your mum is all very much smugly relishing in the "I told you so" but you've got this job now. It's not the posh cocktail place which opened up for the tourists finally discovering this part of Devon but the banter is good and really pulling pints isn't that bad. You tell yourself that university is only for posh twats, you could do some course, meet some lad and settle down. Your mum did it. Your cousins have done it and your sister's now pregnant. You can swallow it down just like you did with the £8 own brand vodka you used to drink in a field at 15. It's a typical Friday night with the farmers and office work dos settling down to get pissed when he comes in. You know your regulars by now and he's certainly not one.
He comes in and sits down by the furthest away table from everyone else. He doesn't order for a good 20 minutes just sits down staring at the placemats. It's not really a table service place but you look down the bar and you're not needed so slip round the bar and go down to him. He's not bad looking, tall, ridiculously ginger with a smattering of freckles. Those eyes though are deep in their misery. It takes him a minute or so to respond to your questions with a quiet request for a pint. You even bring it down to him. Your colleague looks at you a bit funny when you bring it down to him but says nothing. It's not until the third pint you introduce yourself. You're not exactly flirting but you're intrigued. His accent has a bit of a funny twinge and seems very different to the local lads you grew up with. The pub gets busier and you don't get a lot of time with him but still do the table service. When it's finally closing time past midnight and he hasn't moved but there's a load of glasses on the table. He seems to be one of those quiet drunks and has difficulty responding to your gentle coaxing.
You take his arm and lead him out gently to the door. Thankfully he doesn't seem to have parked anywhere but you're still concerned. You ask if he wants to borrow your phone but just looks blankly. He mutters something about evaporating but it's par for the course in this job. After you ask twice about how he'll get home he shrugs and starts walking down the road. You keep an eye out as he goes down but he doesn't seem to stumble. Sure you've wandered across a few Devon fields yourself in the early hours of the morning. As you get into your mum's car you had to bargain for to borrow you think you heard a crack but shake it off.
He becomes a regular, and you start to break down the barriers. He always asks about you and you begin to feel like he's the one person who listens. At home, everyone's at your sister's beck and call as she prepares for the baby. There's teasing at how you're back again despite the ambitions of the previous year. Your sister's boyfriend pisses off and your mum asks you to start paying rent. There's a college course that looks interesting but your manager won't change your evening shifts and reminds you about how hard it is to get a job here outside of summer. You know that. You remember the winter your mum was "on a diet" and the excitement of the weekly biscuit and juice at the foodbank. He just listens to all this even though sometimes he looks confused about basic references. He won't say much about himself just he grew up fairly isolated. You ask about siblings but he changes the subject. When you finally notice the lack of ear he makes a joke but immediately looks pained. You don't want to bring up bad memories so ignore it.
Around Easter, end of March/start of April he seems more withdrawn. At the start of April he comes in everyday and drinks until he can't stand but is definitively less chatty. He's drinking a lot now. You enquire if he's ok but just get that tiny smile again. A few times when you're helping him out the door you notice wet eyes but he won't talk about it. You're only the pub girl, you get it.
At the start of May he comes in with a few others. There's a few other gingers, a dark haired lad and another girl with the curliest hair you've seen here for a while. You assume they must be siblings/mates and are intrigued but you get no introduction. There's a left over chair and when you offer to move it you get a very strident refusal. It doesn't seem to be the typical mates' typical night out they're very sombre and there's a lot of silent pauses. They order a fair few shots. One of the ginger lads order some fiery whiskey and are a bit nonplussed at your attempts to clarify the order. A few of them seem close to tears especially when toasting someone or other. The toasts go on for a long while. Nevertheless, you use your staff discount to give them another round of shots when you notice your one get a bit teary.
He comes in again the next night and gets horrendously drunk. You trip over him in the car park and prop him up He smiles that tiny smile again and mutters something about you always remembering his name. It's typical of many a drunk but your stomach has a little flutter.
He doesn't come in for a while but he come back mid June, in the middle of the day, sober, with a tiny smile and a bunch of flowers. You've never been one for gardening but you stick them in water and they are still as bright as Day One when the flowers from your sister's returned again boyfriend are long dead. He starts to only come in for one or two and wants to talk to you. He still clams up at certain conversational topics but wants to find out about you. He starts to wait for you at the end of your afternoon shifts and you might walk home together. Home is so loud with your sister due any day it's nice to just wander in peace. You have your first kiss in July by the field near the school. You show him your childhood haunts and he begins to open up. Little by little you hear he grew up here but is a little vague on where and about his mum who can make food out of anything. He mutters something about owning a shop in London but it's a three hour drive away and seems to be closed anyway. When your little niece is born money is tighter at home. The boyfriend is long gone and your little sister is depressed. Your mum mutters something about the baby blues and mentions the new café that's opened up in the old bank. You get a second job in the new touristy café and are run off your feet. He's still about. Sometimes you don't see each other in a week but he'll always come back. After much persuasion, you get him to come for dinner at your mums. He carefully holds your niece and mentions he's got one with some gorgeous French name. Your mum asks him a fair few questions but he manages to charm her while diplomatically avoiding them. Sitting around the kitchen table with them makes the house feel a little more whole than it has been since the police knocked on your door a while ago with their news about the last man in your family's life.
When you escape your house a week later because mum is moaning about the hoovering again you see him in the field and that half hour chat feels more like home than the cramped terrace you've just left. You cautiously mention he seems happier now and he briefly says how his sister in law got him to speak to someone. He's beginning to mention more names, it's hard to remember them all but it's nice to hear he doesn't live in a bubble. He still will occasionally lapse into depressed silence or mumble over his words and finish sentences in the middle. The secrecy is starting to annoy you and you have your first proper argument. He storms off leaving you in the field but a week later leaves a strange chocolate toad thing at work for you.
You chat and he promises to explain things soon. You're still surprised when he invites you for a picnic with his siblings in early September. It's the weirdest one you've been to. You get on well with his brother in law who seems to be the most normal one. His posh sister in law (the curly haired one) barrages you with questions and definitely seems to be unimpressed when you admit you dropped out of uni. At least she doesn't get weirded out by the flask of tea unlike his siblings. You fucked your Physics GCSE so can't explain the thermodynamics. You watched a documentary about the Amish once and briefly wonder if they're all part of a cult. The sandwiches are good though and you enjoy the afternoon. You play some card game that somehow can bang, snap and even explode.
He disappears around Halloween again but comes up to say he's reopened the shop again. You wonder when you can come see it or where it is but he fobs you off again. In December you take your niece to see Santa with him and he's honestly as near clueless as the baby is. It's endearing though. Work for the both of you gets very busy and you have to bargain for every little half hour. He doesn't have a phone so leaves you little notes at godforsaken hours. You ignore the little poked marks on the envelopes that almost look chewed. He's still not told you where he lives. One Sunday you tried to head in the general direction of where you've heard there's an isolated house but realise you've forgotten if you've turned off the gas and turn round in a panic. Thankfully, it's a false alarm but every time you plan to go back another little urgent errand pops up.
It's a surprise when he turns up three days before Christmas and asks if you want to pop in Christmas night. By 8pm your nan, uncles, aunties, cousins and mum are all pissed. The little kids are high on sugar or asleep so it's a relief to escape. You still feel like you need to run home when you get close to the orchard around the house but when you tell him he whispers something and holds you close. It's slightly awkward when you get there initially and you gets a few funny looks from the curly haired girl. His older brother's wife is beyond stunning but quickly makes you feel at ease and his dad is just an angel. Your ginger one is embarrassed at his questioning but he's sweet despite the fact you have no clue how a toaster really works. It's not quite clear why his dad considers you an expert in electricals. You fucked your Physics GCSE remember. His mum even makes you a Christmas jumper and you are shocked at how she's guessed your fit. You struggle to follow some of the conversation as it turns out they all went to the same boarding school which nearly has its own language. You just lie back in your ginger's arm and relish in the fact large gatherings can also mean peace. They get a little maudlin when toasting to absent friends. That night he walks you home across the Devon fields and it feels like your heart is flying.
January gets cold and frosty. On one of your winter walks he starts to open up about his brother. You hear about a confident cocky lad to the world who danced his way through life, never taking life too seriously. He's hazy on how he died but you know why. You finally understand why he used to murmur to you about always remembering his name. Later, you realise that was what attracted him. The girl who didn't have a clue. You wouldn't compare him or forget his name. You didn't know what he was like when life felt fully whole to him because you never met the other half. Him, the individual, was your whole.
He starts to drink again when it gets to April and May but you get it. He's distant, you argue, you feel like you're drowning but he's trying to use you as an anchor. In June, you realise why you can't leave Devon as the fields brighten in the ways they have for centuries but it feels like new everyday. He brightens too and you feel again like you're flying or sparking up. Elation or explosion are increasingly blurred boundaries.
It's August when he gets on one knee. You're shocked but you get it. He may have lost his other half but he's your whole. That night he explains everything. He whispers he can leave, he can make it so that the whole past year won't have had him in it. But he is your year. He is your whole. You smile weakly and grasp his hands. He's been your little spark in the darkness for a long time now. Your mum's delighted. The only ring she ever got from your dad was blue around her arm shaped like fingers. Your little sister starts planning your niece's flower girl outfit plus fretting about her new bump. The boyfriend came again like the Mayfly but left another legacy in your baby sister. She still can't vote. That night, you wonder how on earth you ended up working in the pub and engaged at twenty. Just like all the other girls in your village whose grandads got fired from the tin mines. You flick through the pile of discarded local college prospectuses that still come through the door.
For someone who can get so curious and used to feel giddy when enveloping herself into new knowledge you're never that fussed about his abilities. Maybe it's because the first thing you understand is how that power was used to murder his brother or it just makes you feel unsteady. You never really ask in idle curiosity about it, stick to what you need to know and keep moving. A stumble is still a forward motion.
He insists on telling his family separately. Apparently, his mum did not anticipate this. She's concerned. All his family is. His bushy haired sister in law remarks that you're very "Devon". Her parents were dentists apparently. Your mum works in the Tesco Express down the road. He tells you not to worry but doesn't see how you spend an hour in the loo at the next Sunday Dinner. No one actually notices this. You make an effort and invite his parents to yours. His mum bustles about trying to help but is shocked at how one actually has to spend hours chopping carrots without a poky stick. His dad tries but is so enthusiastic he comes out beyond patronising. When they leave your mum gives you and your sister a shot of your grandad's whiskey from Christmas.
Wedding planning is hard. It's not even going to be that big but after agreeing to have it at his parents you lose control. It's all done so nicely, "Dear you're so busy. We did at the same at Ginger 1,3,6,7's wedding so it would be such a shame." You just feel burrowed over by the flowers, cake, decorations, food etc. The thing you fight over is that you're not using that squeaky voice man. He agrees on the basis his brother's funeral had the same man. His mother objects on the basis you won't have the same binding but relents after you point out magical fire is actually going to hurt you and you don't even have a wand to do it.
In another world, that summer you would have worn a gown, walked across the stage and your mum would have taken pictures of you holding a scroll. That world feels hazy in its dreamlike qualities. In this world, the wedding happens. You don't know half the people. Your family musters up its ranks and you're even relieved your uncle won't get drunk due to some odd little wave of the wand on the glasses. A space is left for your love's first love. The guests keep pointing out in a way that's supposed to be kind but burns of how x reminds them of that Ginger's wedding. Y reminds them of the other Ginger's wedding. You dance with your love until your feet hurts and your throat is roughly reminding of the whiskey your French sister in law slipped you that morning. Sex hurts but as you lie on the slightly too soft mattress of the hotel your love tried to book but had to ask for help because he still doesn't understand money, you realise this is you. You can do this. He's left the overwhelming expectations of the family who sees him as the ragged remains of the perpetual symmetry that was shot down on Mayday. He was trying to fall downwards you were trying to soar. You met in the middle. As he snores you lie wide awake on his chest and realise this was the worst or best decision you'll make. The stories speak of how their heroine was giddy in love, you just can't get steady.
The equilibrium begins to righten when you get back to Devon. It's your home. It's more rural than you wanted and you can't really turn on the lights but it's home. Sometimes, you put on the odd wireless thing and you dance. You introduce each other to new worlds of music. You lie on the old sofa you found in a charity shop together and you fit together. There's no symmetry but you're together. You're down to one job now at the pub who has smartened up and wants to expand. They offer you the supervisor role, you think of the discarded pile of promises at your mum's and smile when accepting. Your husband is still rebuilding the shop. You both actually need your income in a way none of his family realise when they ask about your "little job". At the weekly Sunday roasts, you feel unsteady your sheer ordinariness unsettles them. The bushy haired one is patronising in how she speaks how hard it was to get used to magic when she was 11. You're over twice that age now and still jump when the potatoes begin to peel themselves. You fucked your physics GCSE so don't even know what the laws are of whatever universe you've found yourself in. You smile so much it feels frozen. His mum annoys all your sisters in law about babies but not you. Maybe she realises your finances you rationalise or maybe she's terrified of a baby who just cries without creating sparks or sticks themselves to the ceiling like your growing brood of nieces and nephews. Your sister's children are beautiful in their ordinariness, and you revel in how they play without vanishing fingers.
Your little sister has met someone. They're not married but he's kind. He's an electrician and his mum is an ex nurse. He loves her children like he physically birthed them himself. He's good with your husband. He treats him like a mate and will gently include him in trips to football. Your husband sleeps better, he stops drinking mid May instead of June. You start to have couple nights. It's simple just a Chinese and a few drinks. You're on steady ground and £10 white wine tastes so much better than Firewhiskey. One night your little sister, who's grown so wise, brings down your forgotten prospectuses. You find a course, you fill in the forms, you write the cheque and the next day you pee on a stick in the dingy staff bathroom.
Much to his family's shock you refuse the visits of those weird people in green robes who try to come through your fireplace. You drive your old car to the hospital and to the GP. Your sister in laws try to be helpful but you're going to have this baby your way. You expect the pains, the bump, the nausea but you don't anticipate the way you start to spark at six months. You can feel the fire in your womb as this baby radiates something strong that feels like thick molten gold choking you out. The midwives are puzzled but don't know what. Your husband is elated when you manage to fry the tv when trying to use the remote. You just feel unsteady. You mention it to the midwife but they can't do a lot just mutter vertigo and give you the leaflet about drinking in pregnancy. You've got two copies at home already.
Whilst you and your husband attempt to assemble the cot in the half painted nursery, he mentions his brother is going to join him in the shop. The bushy haired one has invited you both to dinner. You sit in silence as they discuss charms, curses, shield hats. Your sister in law occasionally asks you about the baby in an anthropological way. It's almost like you're a particularly fascinating species and she's on the BBC doing a David Attenborough documentary. You just brood like a fucking milk cow. Of course, she's nowhere near having children, there's far too much to do at the Ministry. She's just frightfully busy what with bill X and the second reading of Bill Y that was adjourned in order to do a technical scrutiny for fucking legalese. That night, the baby is kicking you awake so you slide under the tight arm of your sleeping husband and throw the college forms into the fire. He never mentions the tripling of ash in their tiny fireplace you never wanted but acquiesced to. He just vanishes it and puts his mug down onto the suddenly clear coffee table. It leaves a stain behind.
When the pain gets too much you head to the hospital. Thankfully, the policy is one partner only. He holds you in his arms as you go inside yourself for that last push. He may feel like he's anchoring you but your heart is flying. Your little ginger baby is out. When you are allowed visitors you make sure your mum gets first cuddle. He poos on your brown haired sister in law. You pass of your snort as tiredness and get them all to leave. Including your husband. You just want one night with the baby as yours. One night. The baby begins to spark at 3am. The equilibrium tilts.