I rubbed my gooseflesh thighs, relieved.
‘And I wanted to say thank you for coming. I’m so bad at platonic relationships; I get into this super toxic cycle where I do something for the other person then they do something for me, then I have to do another thing for them and it like, never ends. It’s so unhealthy and co-dependent.’
I took a gulp of my water, waiting to see if she was joking. She was not. ‘I could be wrong but I think you just described friendship. The doing nice things for each other bit is a foundational element.’
Bel shook her head. ‘No, it’s a toxic cycle. I saw it on TikTok.’
‘I don’t want you to freak out,’ I lowered my voice in case our phones heard my blasphemy. ‘But not everything you see on TikTok is true.’
She scoffed loudly and snatched away my snacks. ‘OK,Mom. You got a bunch of messages while you were in the shower by the way. And someone who wasn’t the mailman put a note through the door, which is super weird.’
She pointed at a small, cream-coloured envelope on the kitchen counter, next to where my phone was charging, the lock screen wallpapered with Instagram notifications.
‘And you didn’t think to mention it until now?’
‘I was distracted by how pretty you look when you’re not covered in hike dirt,’ she said sweetly. ‘Also I was scrolling and I forgot.’
I shuffled back off my stool, crossing the kitchen to open the letter first. A thick sheet of monogrammed paper slid out of the envelope, a brief note written in elegant blue ink.
Perhaps a party is in order.
I will expect you tomorrow to discuss.
10.30 am
MM
‘Who’s sending you notes? Mr Bridgerton?’ Bel asked.
‘That would be Lord Bridgerton to you,’ I replied, stashing the letter back in the envelope. ‘It’s from Myrna, the actress I told you about, who lives up the road?’
‘The old lady who said you dressed like a toddler?’
Because of course that was the part she remembered.
‘So who was blowing up your phone?’ she asked without waiting for confirmation. ‘It did not stop buzzing for like, ten whole minutes.’
Without a clue, I swiped it into life, an unfamiliar number on the screen.
Heard you’re on holiday
Remember that time we went to Crete?
Hope you’re having fun
But not too much fun
I dropped the phone like it was white-hot.
‘Phoebe, what is it? Did something happen?’ Bel jumped up from the sofa and bolted over to my side. ‘You’re not breathing – breathe, OK? Just breathe.’
‘It’s my ex,’ I said, shaking my head again and again, as though I could undo my brain and set the messages back to unread. ‘My ex messaged me.’
Waiting for my nod of permission, she picked up my phone and scanned the screen, her eyes flicking back and forth.
‘I know you said you don’t want to talk about it, but for this to make sense, I think you have to. These look pretty chill, Pheebs. I’ve had more aggressive texts from my dry cleaner.’
‘Did your dry cleaner ruin your life?’ I asked.
