Car died. Going to be late. Please don’t murder me.
Her reply was swift.
It only happens to you, Poppy.
An hour later, rescued by a tow truck, I rushed through the terminal with my heart slamming into my sternum. I found Eliza at Pret, and even scowling she was beautiful. Her hair was perfectly styled despite the early hour, and her posture oozed controlled irritation. The realisation hit me: I actually wanted her to like me. Not just professionally, but as a person. I wanted her approval.
“I’m so sorry.” I hated how flustered I sounded. “The car literally broke down. I was stuck on the hard shoulder with lorries flying past at full speed. It was pretty hairy.”
“I know it wasn’t your fault.” However, her tone suggested she thought the universe conspired differently around me. “But shit happens in business. You have to be early, be prepared, have contingency plans.”
Heat flashed through me, born of embarrassment and frustration. “I don’t need a punctuality lecture like you’re head girl and I’m some hopeless first-year.”
“I was head girl.”
I rolled my eyes. “I know. I was there, remember?”
I recalled how she’d commanded respect even then, how she’d always been kind when she didn’t have to be. How she’d made everyone feel like they mattered.
Somewhere along the way, I’d forgotten all of that.
I’d fallenasleep on the flight as I always did, and woke with my head on Eliza’s shoulder. I’d also dribbled on her jumper, much to my horror. But when I lifted my face, bracing for the scowl I deserved, her mouth had a slight upturn and her eyes sparkled with actual humour. Relief flooded through me like warm honey.
Our cab driver from LaGuardia was the essence of New York, grunting responses and scowling when we wanted to pay by card instead of cash.
At least our Tribeca hotel looked decent; my PA had done a bang-up job. The lobby was all exposed brick, slate and Edison bulbs, industrial chic to the max. After a shower and fresh clothes, it was almost as if my body clock hadn’t been brutally assaulted by a five-hour time difference.
The hotel bar was dimly lit with copper fixtures and too many succulents, buzzing amid a sea of designer trainers. I was simultaneously underdressed and overdressed, which seemed to be my default state around Eliza.
“I’m sorry about being shitty earlier,” Eliza said once we’d claimed two velvet bar stools that spun delightfully. “Punctuality is a bugbear of mine. But I know some things can’t be helped.”
I shook my head. “No problem. Shall we get a cocktail and drink to this trip’s success?”
Mine arrived first, a Pink Gin Spritz that looked like liquid confidence in a glass. Eliza’s Old Fashioned followed, amber and serious, which seemed fitting.
Eliza was twitchy, not her usual composed self. She kept scanning the room like she was expecting an ambush, her fingers drumming against her glass. I had a hunch I knew why.
“Does Michelle live anywhere near here?”
At her ex’s name, Eliza flinched, spine straightening like someone had yanked a cord. She glanced at me without quite meeting my eyes.
“Not directly, no. But she works in SoHo. There are some cool places around here. It’s not impossible she might turn up.”
“Here? In this overpriced hipster paradise?” My tone made it clear I thought that was bollocks.
She gave me a tight smile. “You’d be surprised. Michelle always knew the right places.” There was something wistful in her voice that irritated me. “I guess I’m just nervous. This is the first time I’ve been here without telling her or arranging to meet. Is it weird I feel like I’m somehow betraying her?”
“A little, when you’ve been divorced as long as you have. Plus, unless she’s stalking hotel bars, you’re probably safe.”
“This place is full of New Yorkers, believe me.” She gestured at a table of impossibly cool women in vintage leather jackets who looked like they’d stepped out of a magazine.
“The more important thing is why you’re feeling like this. Why you never made a clean break. Why you’re sleeping together. Are you still in love with her?”
Eliza frowned, then shook her head. “Definitely not. But she was my person for a good few years, you know? I guess I miss that.” She took a slug of her drink. “Plus, you know what lesbians are like. We all stay friends with our exes.”
I smiled. “I don’t.”
“That doesn’t surprise me. You don’t even stay friends with your friends.”
