‘What the fuck was that?’ she demanded as we crossed out of the main hall and into the lobby. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’
‘My singing wasn’t that bad,’ I muttered.
My best friend’s eyes flashed with warning.
‘Laura, I say this with nothing but love. You need to be careful. You can’t be expected to go from burying yourself in work one minute to pretending to be Hottie McHotScot’s fake girlfriend the next without the risk of picking upsomeresidual feelings. It’s like a horny contact high, you didn’t inhale but you still breathed it in, only please, please, please remember, this isn’t real.’
‘I know that,’ I said. ‘You’re imagining things.’
‘Come off it,’ she replied. ‘Look at him, look at this place! You’d think this whole town had been specially designed to trick unsuspecting city dwellers to fall in love with the strapping, stoic locals. Thank God you’re not a high-powered lawyer who just broke up with her financier fiancé or you’d have no chance of getting out with your pelvic bone intact. You’re only supposed to be pretending to fall in love with him, Laura,pretending.’
‘Which is exactly what I’m doing,’ I said with not-so-fake frustration. ‘What is so difficult—’
‘I’m not done.’ Desi grabbed my wrist and pulled me off to the side to allow a group of beaming, bearded, clearly tipsy men in kilts to pass by. ‘Don’t get me wrong, I like him, but I could start not liking him if he’s using you.’
I snatched my hand away and gave her a scathing look. ‘How is he using me? We have an agreement.’
‘Does your agreement involve him pawing at you all evening? Does it explain why you’re walking around like a heart eyes emoji? I’ve never seen you like this before and I don’t think you’re that good of an actress.’
‘I’ll have you know I played the caterpillar in my school production ofAlice in Wonderland,’ I replied with a sniff.
‘Why is he suddenly all handsy?’ she went on, not nearly as impressed as she could’ve been with my student acting career. ‘Because his parents are here. Because his ex is here. There was no hair stroking all day long when it was just us, was there? He’s acting. He’s pretending. You’re not.’
In that moment, under the harsh fluorescent lights of the lobby, I hated her.
‘You’ve made your point,’ I said quietly. ‘Thank you.’
‘I’m not trying to upset you,’ Desi said, her voice tinged with regret and apology. ‘I’m trying to protect you.’
‘OK.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes.’ I looked away, unable to meet her eyes. ‘I’m really OK. I know you’re trying to help but you’re reading too much into it.’
Even though I could tell she didn’t believe a word I was saying, Desi knew when to stop. She would never try to hurt me on purpose, which was why it cut so very deep.
‘Good because I really do need a wee,’ she said, marching on the spot. ‘I’ll be back in a minute.’
Slouching against the wall, I watched the residentsof Braewick cross the lobby, out into the night. Parents holding hands, half the little kids in mittens and scarves, racing ahead, the others clutching their grandparents, equally exhausted and excited, Christmas so close, they could taste it. Pulling out my shiny new phone, I opened up a photo album that rarely saw the light of day. I’d forgotten it was there until the delightful Ian in the phone shop transferred all my data from the cloud while he lectured me on the perils of not turning on two-factor authentication.
The pictures had a grainy quality compared to the rest of the snaps on my phone because most of them hadn’t been taken with a digital camera. Dad always used film when I was little and my mum loved a disposable camera. There were always a couple in the cupboard at the bottom of the stairs, ready for a surprise day out or weekend away. We did a lot, I recalled as I swiped through the images with blurry eyes, spontaneous adventures. Sometimes, they’d pick me up from school and we’d drive all the way to the seaside to get fish and chips for tea. Once, she let me miss school and we spent an entire day waiting in line to meet one of the chefs from my favourite cooking show. I was, admittedly, a bit of a weird kid. I still had the signed cookbook somewhere, buried in a box. She and I made a different recipe from it every day for a week, or rather we attempted to. Neither of us were talented cooks. A month later, she was dead.
The thumbnail I was looking for waited for me, right at the end of the roll. Not a photograph but a video, someone’s grainy camcorder trained on an empty stage just like the one in the Braewick town hall. I pressed play. Even without sound, the memories flooded meinstantly and a huge lump rose in my throat. A row of tiny children streamed onto the stage, one by one. Second from the end of the front row, in a red tartan dress, white socks pulled all the way up to my knees and hair inexplicably crimped, was me. My eyes scanned the audience and then I waved, almost directly at the camera. The close-up pulled back to show the whole children’s choir as our music teacher played the first notes of ‘Silent Night’ on the piano and the back of a copper-red curly head came into view, right in front of the camera.
I watched, nursing the phone in my hands, counting down the seconds until she twisted in her seat to say something to the woman sitting next to her, pointing at the stage. She must’ve seen the video camera out of the corner of her eye because she turned and waved, giving the camera man a big grin and a thumbs up. Two fat tears fell on the phone screen, magnifying my mum’s face for one moment, until she looked back to the stage, watching me belt out Christmas carols with everything in my little lungs.
I couldn’t remember who took the video. I’d found it by accident, on a Facebook group I’d forgotten I’d joined, supposedly to collect memories of our village but, every time I was bored enough to check it, the members seemed to be using it mostly to bicker about who had owned the post office first and complain about kids today. Someone uploaded this a couple of years back and I’d screen-recorded it right away, too overwhelmed to message the owner to ask for the original file. After watching myself climb the stage, pausing on Mum’s happy face, over and over again, enough times to commit the entire thing to memory, I filed it away.Seeing her like that, stumbling across her as though we’d bumped into each other in the supermarket, hurt in a way I could not have anticipated. Like someone had torn my heart open and pulled out what was inside. I was ecstatic and I was heartbroken. Thrilled to possess this precious moment and devastated by her loss, all over again. I hadn’t looked at it again. Not until now, when I wanted it to hurt.
Phone back in my pocket, I sloped back into the hall, not waiting for Desi and bowed with the weight of her accusations, every word slicing at me like a papercut.
As per our agreement, Callum was pretending and I was pretending too.
Only now, I was lying to myself instead of his family.
Joel and Rory were by the mulled wine, Joel standing altogether too close to Callum’s baby brother for a married man, and I saw Shiv, Callum and his parents, talking to a group of what I assumed were family friends, all of them engaged in different levels of crossing conversation. The two exes stood side by side with smiles on their faces, both laughing at something said by a woman in a velvet Santa hat, and when their eyes met, I saw – no, felt – something pass between them. A lifetime of shorthand, of stolen glances and secret code.
‘Don’t feel too bad,’ a voice said over my shoulder. ‘Everyone knows they were meant for each other.’
