“Oh, sorry. I wanted to catch up with you about the interview, get some more details. I’ve been texting you to meet up but I don’t think the messages were getting through.” She sounded sincere, which meant she wasn’t.
“They have. I did text back to say that you need to go through Wes for any more interviews. I’m trying to step back.” I kept my eyes on her, hoping she could read what I was trying to say.
We’re over. We’re done. It was fun while it lasted, but I’ve moved on.
“I wanted to know if you wanted me to cover your wedding.” She still hadn’t looked or acknowledged that Sophie was there.
“We’re not making it public. If you don’t mind, we’re having an evening out by ourselves.” I didn’t offer to catch up another time, because I didn’t want to.
Amber was part of my past. One I wanted to leave there.
17
Sophie
We were the sort of people who hooked up on a night out. She wanted to be seen with the in-crowd and I was after a quick, easy fuck with no strings. She’d never kiss and tell because that would be her career done. She got into the bars with us and the parties.
The last time I slept with her was about a year ago. Pretty much the same time I decided I was done with the whole performing shit. I just wanted to write music and pretend to be normal.
And that was his explanation.
I got it in full once Amber had left us alone, the stomp in her step enough to tell me she was pissed off.
I didn’t ask whether it had ever been any more, because that was what a real fiancée would ask. I didn’t need to be insecure, because there was nothing to be insecure about; we weren’t in love, just pretending and as long as he didn’t make me look a fool now and when we were married, it didn’t matter.
We were in Amelie’s café. Amelie was a family friend of the Callaghans who owned her little bohemian place in Borough that served breakfasts and lunches during the day and turned into a speakeasy in the evenings. Today Amelie had purple hair mixed in with her usual blonde, in keeping with the café’s style. She was the daughter of a multi-millionaire who’d disowned her when she refused to marry the son of one of his business acquaintances. It had all felt like something from a Jane Austen novel when Vanessa had told me, only Amelie had still to find her Darcy or Bingley. She deserved someone who’d treat her well as she was one of the nicest people I knew.
“You look lost in thought, sugar,” she said.
Liam had nipped outside to take a phone call from Wes. I was using the time to collect myself after what had been an amazing night, bar the interruption from Amber.
“A bit.” I looked up at her. “I think I might really like him.” It was a new understanding.
After the meal that was part of our date, we’d gone back to the bar onto their outdoor terrace, watching London from under blankets and with patio heaters. He’d wrapped his body around me, keeping me warm, although his hand had slid under the blankets and he’d tried to interfere with the tit tape on a couple of occasions. We’d talked about everything. My business, Vanessa and how we’d become friends, his first tour, his bandmates. It had felt like the date he’d wanted.
“That’s a good job you do, seeing as you’re getting married.” She gave me a wink and turned to face Liam who was coming back inside. “And he’s a mighty fine specimen.”
Liam shot her a grin that was his usual smug shitty one.
I kicked him under the table. Hard.
“Hey! She was the one giving compliments!” He grinned at me now, the look containing more than I’d realised before.
The café door opened and I saw the familiar messed up hair of someone who was going to get a bollocking from his eldest brother for something – probably breaking the dress code.
Seph Callaghan spotted me straight away and beamed. If he had a tail it would be wagging.
“Room for a small one?” He zoomed straight over.
I looked at Liam, who was now paying no attention to me, and was instead fawning over Seph. I foretold a bromance.
“I’m just going to order you all a full English breakfast with a few extra sides rather than waiting for you all to make up your minds,” Amelie frowned at Liam and Seph. “You good with that?”
“Thanks, Am. I’m pretty sure that’ll be fine.”
The men were now talking about football results that did not mean anything to me. I let it pass for a minute, distracted by coffee that appeared without it being ordered because Amelie was a goddess, and then the conversation turned more general.
I played footsie with Liam under the table just to try and get a reaction in front of Seph, but it didn’t work. He kept his poker face fixed. At one point I had to check that I wasn’t playing with the table leg instead.
