‘Why was I stabbed? It sounds drug-related.’
‘Randomly.’
‘Why was I in Benidorm?’
‘Studying.’
‘Studying what?’
‘Spanish wine, of course.’
‘Spanish wine. Hmm. No. But it could be sherry. Wouldn’t it make the papers?’
‘No. People get stabbed all the time.’
‘You need to stop reading those awful tabloids.’
‘It’s a little slice of my trashy childhood,’ I said. And before she could protest and tell me I was not trash, I joked, ‘Anyway, trust me. No one is going to search through Spanish local news to find out if some posh English girl was stabbed.’
‘Did they catch the guy?’
‘No.’
‘He got away?’
‘I mean, the police are still looking, obviously.’
‘Well, that’s a relief.’
There was a brief silence and then we both burst out laughing.
‘You should tell them, Heather,’ I said as the laughter subsided.
‘It will be fine. It’s only a summer placement, and they will replace me in a second. Paris in the autumn is my big next step. This was nothing. Well, mostly nothing. I’ll probably never have to see or speak to them again …’
I couldn’t let her do it. ‘How about I call them for you? I won’t pretend you got stabbed. I’ll say something appropriate, okay?’
‘Would you?’ she said, eyes wide with pure, genuine relief.
‘It’s no problem.’ It wasn’t the first time I’d stepped in to do something for Heather when she was afraid.
‘Okay,’ she said, visibly relaxing. It was something I could easily do for her, unlike paying my share of the rent. ‘I suppose I shouldn’t risk any blemish on my track record.’
I cringed, thinking about the dumpster fire that was my career. That ‘career’ was essentially a series of dead-end jobs, the best of which was the latest – something with ‘digital media’ in the title – which, to be honest, I had blagged my way into, with my pointless knowledge of Instagram influencers. I got fired when they figured that out. Before that, there were a couple of attempts at acting, but I really couldn’t bear the other actors; the bookshop job, which I quite liked but was made redundant from; the accountancy firm, awful; some bouts of unemployment; and two summers working in a bar on Tenerife that Heather had arranged for me. ‘Just to tide you over until you figure out what’s next. Find your calling,’ she’d said.
But I’m now thirty-one, and no closer to that mythicalcalling.
‘I’ll make up a good, reputation-preserving excuse for you, okay? But you’ll need to lie low. You can’t pull out of a job and then be all over the Internet, sunning yourself on the Riviera.’
‘Cristian actually wants me to lie low too, so no problem.’
I’m sure he does, I thought, my loathing of him redoubling.
‘Leave it with me,’ I said.
‘Thanks, Birdy.’ She let out a deep breath and there was a brief silence. ‘I really wish I could afford to let you stay here, but you know I have to rent it out. You have sorted somewhere, haven’t you? You don’t have to go to your parents’ house?’
‘Don’t worry, I’m going to try the cousin in Tooting,’ I said. I couldn’t bear to tell her he’d already said no.
