“You can do it in here?”
“It’s an Airbnb. I don’t want to be rude.”
Jake studies me as I shimmy into my clothes, a pinch between those kingly brows. I forgot he’s a sharp one.
“I just need a solo vape break,” I say. “Is that okay?
“Of course.” His face softens. “Want a jersey for outside?”
My heart thumps in double time. What I want is to get away. Far, far away. But a stolen All Blacks jersey would bequitethe sex memento. I open my mouth to say, ‘Hell yeah,’ but the words won’t come out.
“I’m okay. It’s not that cold,” I lie once again, bundling up my shoes and tote bag. “Be back soon.”
It only takes a few seconds to creep into the kitchen, unplug the stainless-steel fridge and leave the double doors ajar. It’s packed top to bottom with steak, sausages, cheese, bread and eggs. If I had to guess, I’d say a massive hangover barbecue was in the works. Well, no reason it can’t still happen, only now featuring surprise guestsalmonella!
It’s hardly the all-encompassing revenge I anticipated in Stabbies, but it’ll do. I tiptoe to the frontdoor, ease it open and creep into the night. I pull on my shoes at the gate and walk fast, sticking to the shadows until there are ten streets between me and Jake Graves-Holland. I order a ride, and my phone informs me the car’s ten minutes away, so I sit on a brick fence and hit my vape until my head spins. I feel empty, sober, and lonely to my bones. But that’s about the same as I felt before.
It’ll get better, I tell myself.
It’s what I’ve always told myself. Whether it’s true or not, I have no idea.
4
Cece
Istand above Ada’s bed in semi-darkness. As much as I don’t want to wake her, I’ve been dying to have the Will Sharpe conversation all morning, and now it’s 1 pm, and I can’t take it anymore. I clear my throat. “Hey, lovely. I need to talk to you about something…”
“What’s going on?” Ada mutters into her pillow before cracking an eye. “Wait, what’s that smell?”
I smile down at my very hungover friend, stunning even in this state. “Do you want a potato?”
“Yes, please.”
“Good, because I’ve brought something I prepared earlier.” I produce from behind my back a couple of baked potatoes, their crispy skins covered in half a block of grated cheddar cheese. They’re not what I would choose for breakfast, but I know my friend back to front.
Ada sits up, reaches for the potatoes, then stops herself. “Why have you made me this delicious snack?”
My insides wriggle. I was hoping she’d eat first and fall into acheese-induced coma before we actually got to this part.
“Because I love you.”
“Cecelia Anne Taylor...”
I draw in a deep breath for courage. “I think we should go to the centenary.”
Ada barks out a laugh. “Fuck no.”
“Come on. It could be fun?”
“It willnotbe fun. Itwillbe a consortium of dickrags simping over their glory days while drinking prison-toilet-grade Chardonnay.”
“Okay, yes, that might be the case, but I still think we can have fun if we go together.”And for other Will-related reasons.
I edge the plate of cheese-melting potato goodness forward, as if coaxing a scared animal from a cage. “Don’t you want to show everyone how you’re the most talented…”
I move the plate closer. “Most gifted…”
Closer still. “Most successful…”
