“I think we can sort that. We’d better sit down, toast your success.”
I stayed with Zoey that night, camped up in the front room of her usual Puffin Bay rental, buried under blankets and cushions and pillows, like two kids having an innocent sleepover. She told me she wasn’t sure that her boyfriend wasn’t cheating, but their managers wanted it to carry on until the New Year because they had a joint Christmas song coming out that would do better if everyone thought it was a fairy tale romance.
I hated him but somehow hid it from her. This was the friendzone, the worst place to be because there was too much to lose if I decided to twist.
She fell asleep in the blanket fort, an old nineties rom com on the TV and the room smelling of the late-night pizza. I tucked a blanket around her, trying not to wake her, unsuccessful.
Her arms reached around me, pulling me down into the fort, snuggling into me.
“If a tree in the woods falls and there’s no one there to hear it, does it make a sound?” Tiredness and the few glasses of champagne soured the clarity of her words.
“Scientifically, yes.” I knew not to go into details.
“So who knows if we sleep like this? As friends? Do we make a sound?”
I laughed softly, cuddling next to her and pulling covers over me too. “You’ve drank too much champagne.”
“I haven’t drunk enough.”
She fell asleep buried next to me, her legs interweaving with mine. I tried to stay awake, unsure when, if ever, I’d get to do this again, wondering what the hell she had infused me with to make me want to stop my world just to make sure she stayed in it.
Zoey
Caleb was still snoring on the sofa when I woke up, dressed in the silky nightdress I’d picked up especially for this stay in London. I’d slept well, even though alcohol usually made me sleep badly, and I put that down to not drinking as much as I’d pretended.
Something else I’d pretended.
I’d wanted Caleb to think I was tipsy, maybe a little drunk, in case he was repulsed by the hint I didn’t want to pretend anymore. Then I could blame the idea on having too much to drink and we went back to normal.
I slipped out of bed, smothering a laugh at how he was half hanging off the sofa. He could sleep anywhere, and I had offered him half of the bed with a promise of a pillow fence, but he’d made some sounds about not knowing whether he had the willpower and then fell asleep where he was lying anyway. My hair looked better for a good brushing and my skin was glowy already. I brushed my teeth and added some moisturiser – I’d shower after coffee.
The nightdress was ivory and lacy, clinging over my boobs and ever so slightly transparent. It was fitted over my waist and stomach, hitting mid-thigh. Caleb hadn’t seen it last night and I wasn’t sure what his reaction would’ve been if he had. He’d been drunker than me, and overly thoughtful, although not keen to share those thoughts, which wasn’t unusual.
He wasn’t a secret keeper, or much of one, not if it was about himself. He’d always been open about how he felt to an extent, but I knew he thought about what he said. He didn’t speak like a publicity campaign, which had always been refreshing, not telling me what he thought I wanted to hear, but his truth.
But last night had been different. He’d held back. Today I knew we would talk, and while I might not like the answer he gave – this was all pretend and had to stay that way – I wasn’t going to go down without testing his response.
Hence the nightdress.
I switched on the coffee machine and heard Caleb make a sleepy moan, starting to rouse. Watching him wake up seemed a little creepy, so I focused on finding the cups – always too small in hotels, why couldn’t they give you decent sized mugs? – rather than him.
Then there was silence.
“Have I died?”
I turned around. He was sitting up on the sofa, shirtless – yes, I stared – and looking handsomely ruffled and confused.
“No, you’re alive. Do you have a hangover?” I faced him so he had a full view of the nightdress. I liked clothes, which was one of the benefits of the career I’d had. Lingerie was one of my passions and in a different life, I might’ve designed it. What I was wearing now made me feel sophisticatedly erotic, as it gave away a little more than a hint about how I was feeling.
Reckless.
I felt like I was about to soar from a cliff, and it didn’t matter about the sea beneath me because I knew I could fly. The sort of reckless that comes from anticipation, like a Friday night when you’re sixteen and the weekend means freedom and possibilities.
I wanted to see what more with Caleb could feel like. I wanted to explore what could happen now I didn’t have my wings clipped by record label executives and the expectations of fans and the media. I had financial security and the world at my feet, and the wisdom that came with navigating a life in the public eye.
“I don’t. That’s not what you usually sleep in.” He blinked a few times, staring at the nightdress and what was underneath it and then raising his gaze to my face. “What’s going on, Zo?”
In the last two weeks of living with Caleb, I’d concluded that I didn’t want to just be his friend. The idea of seeing him with another woman just wasn’t sitting well. The idea of me being with someone else while he was around sat as equally unpleasantly. I found him stupidly attractive, and having to put on a show pretending we were a couple felt too good.
