Zoe
No, lovely idea. Thank you.
I exhaled, relieved, and walked on.
Mabel
I’m on my way home. Want to hang out tonight? I could pick up some chips.
Zoe
I’ve already eaten.
Mabel
Then I’ll grab some and you can just eat however many you want. Deal?
Again, hesitation. I could picture her eyes darting back and forth between the bar of chocolate and the phone. I chewed my bottom lip until at last an answer came.
Zoe
Deal. But only if you agree to watch Romeo & Juliet with me. I feel like drooling over Leo tonight.
I sent her a groaning-face emoji then typed again,Deal. The truth was I would have done pretty much anything to get her near those chips. If it also involved her drooling over someone who wasn’t Ashton, then so much the better.
Zoe had been at her parents’ place over the weekend, and as always when she got back, she seemed a bit down. She never talked much about her visits home, but I was always keenly aware of the changes in her behaviour. The way it took her longer in the mornings to get ready because she kept changing her outfit. The way she swapped pasta for a salad more often than usual, or nibbled on apple slices during movie night when normally she’d have eaten half a bar of chocolate. The self-critical frown whenever she caught sight of herself in the mirror. The tears that welled up in her eyes when she was handed back an essay with a slightly lower mark than usual. How sensitive she was to any form of rejection, as if me asking to reschedule a coffee meant I was getting fed up with her.
I wondered how they could have given birth to such a kind, fun-loving person, only to sap her of those very qualities on every visit. Because that was what they did–even if I didn’t know exactly how.
I’d only met them once, when Zoe invited me homeoverEaster. At first glance, the Haywoods seemed like a picture-perfect family: the successful husband and wife, married for thirty years, living in an enormous house with a pool and a home cinema on the outskirts of London. Three children, all grown up, gorgeous and well educated. Zoe’s older siblings were twenty-seven-year-old twins. Her brother had studied medicine and was now a consultant working in the NHS. Her sister had studied psychology, like their dad, but did a bit of modelling on the side and was engaged to the heir of a major fashion company. Zoe was the baby of the family, and was still treated that way, as I realised when I heard them calling her Zazu after the bird inThe Lion King, Zoe’s favourite film as a child. Although they had all been immaculately pleasant and courteous, I’d sensed how unnaturally tense Zoe was around them.
When I’d tried to gently probe and find out what the problem was, she always downplayed it. Sometimes I wondered if she thought she wasn’t allowed to complain about her family in front of me because, unlike me, she still had one. I’d gladly have told her that wasn’t true, but I didn’t want to twist her arm. All I could do was be there for her, time after time, until the influence of her family gradually waned and she came back to herself. Normally it didn’t take long enough to seriously worry me, but this time I was afraid her recent low mood would make things worse.
Thankfully, I hadn’t seen anything of Ashton for about a week and a half. I didn’t ask if they were still seeing each other, and she didn’t mention it. It had also been about ten days since I’d spoken to Blake, and four since I’d bitten the bullet and texted him. I’d regretted it every minute since hitting send, because he still hadn’t replied. I wasn’t surprised, but I was hurt. Which was maybe the worst part of the whole thing. He was allowed to annoy me–after all, Blake was the most reliable source I had–but never tohurtme. Getting hurt was a reflex of the heart, not of the head.
I slid my phone into my coat pocket, about to step out into another courtyard. It was bare except for an empty fountain. For a split second I didn’t notice the person sitting on the lip, but as soon as I caught sight of him I stopped dead under the covered archway. My heart began to pound before my mind caught up.
Victor’s hair was tied back in a bun, as always, a few stray wisps framing his strikingly ruddy cheeks. Maybe it was the light from the sky or the lamppost next to him, but I’d have bet money he was burning hot. For one thing, he’d taken off his jacket and draped it next to him.
I drew back into the shadows, just far enough so that I could still see his companion. On the edge of the fountain next to Victor, sat a young man with blond hair and softly chiselled features. It took me a moment to pinpoint where I knew him from: he was one of the people who’d paid me so much unwanted attention at the first party. What had Victor called him? Jake?Jack, my brain corrected automatically.
Only then did I notice the woman sitting next to him. Her hair gleamed gold in the light as her laughter wafted over to me. At least until Jack sighed irritably. ‘You’re getting on my nerves, Paulina.’
My mouth twisted, but she seemed more bewildered than annoyed. She got up uncertainly from the stone rim and took a step back. ‘Should I go?’
Jack reached out a hand and twirled a lock of her barley-blonde hair between his fingers, taking a drag of his cigarette. ‘Ah, but you’ll be back. You always come back, no matter how badly I treat you, don’t you?’
Paulina shook her head vigorously. ‘You don’t treat me badly.’
‘Oh yes, I do.’ Jack blew the plume of smoke directly into her face. I didn’t need to see anything else to know he was right. ‘You just forget about it, because I want you to. I’ve got no choice, unless I want you to go blabbing about us. It’s a vicious cycle.’
I froze. His words were so bizarre that I felt almost certain he was drunk. Yet it didn’t seem that way from his gestures and demeanour–they were too controlled. He knew what he was doing and he believed what he was saying.
Victor coughed. ‘Then break it.’
Jack let go of Paulina and turned to look at him. ‘And how exactly am I supposed to do that, Vic?’
‘You know how. The same way I got rid of June.’
