I’m not sure what happy feels like anymore. There’s the performance of happiness, the construction of smiles. The version of myself I smooth and trim until there’s nothing left that might snag. The routine isn’t new. I learned it at eight, cross-legged on the landing in Cumbernauld, listening to Mum and Dad rip into each other about the schedule and the money. Don’t ask for new shoes. Don’t need anything. Don’t cry.
‘Of course. Just tired. Training has been intense.’
‘Ava.’ Laurel strips the banter entirely from her tone. ‘You’d tell me if something was wrong, aye? Properly wrong?’
‘Nothing’s wrong. Promise.’ The silence stretches and I hold my breath.
‘Okay.’ She doesn’t sound entirely convinced. ‘But I’m serious. If you need me, I’m on the first flight back. Lotta will understand.’
‘I know. Thank you.’
‘God, I miss you. Hong Kong’s amazing, but I’d kill for a chippy supper and your stupid wee face. And taking the piss out of terrible reality telly.’
‘Miss you too.’
‘Are you back to full capacity yet?’
‘Getting there. The physios reckon that if the tendon holds up, I’ll be cleared for grand allégro by mid-February. But I’m in the room. That’s something.’
‘That’s good. You’re a machine.’
I guess I am. An apparatus held together with discipline and denial.
‘Listen, my battery’s dying. Lotta forgot the charger at the flat, because of course she did. But I love you. Call me soon, aye?’
‘Love you!’
The screen fades to black, and my reflection stares back at me. Pale and drawn. The truth was right there, twice, and I smothered it both times.
Coward.
Laurel asked if I was happy. She has never asked that before. Which means she has noticed. Even from six thousand miles away, through sporadic texts and clipped video calls, she has seen the fractures. And I lied to her.
I set the phone down and push myself upright, swinging my legs over the side of the lounger. My knee bounces, that restless tremble I can’t control when anxiety sinks its teeth in.
Nevin emerges from the sauna and the ice plunge like a Nordic God. Golden hair slicked back, skin red from the heat.
‘There you are.’ He slides into the chair beside me. His lips brush my shoulder. ‘You look stunning, babe. I haven’t told you that enough recently. I could kill any guy who looks at you.’
He laughs, but his eyes stay cold.
My heart used to do happy pirouettes when he bombarded me with compliments in our early days. Now there’s a numb space. I want to feel it again. I want to look at him and remember why I chose this. Scream at him to go back to how it was.
Instead, I smile and hope it looks real enough. ‘Thanks.’
‘This was a good idea, aye?’ He stretches, but his gaze stays on me. Watchful. ‘An investment in us as a couple.’
Investment. Like a portfolio.
‘It’s lovely. Very thoughtful of you.’
‘You deserve it.’ He laces his fingers through mine, and I have to force myself not to pull away. ‘I know things have been rough. But we’re solid, babe. You and me.’
‘Mhm.’
His smile widens. As if my hummed agreement is a contract signed and sealed.
This time, I catch my reflection in the window across the room, and the woman staring back is a stranger with dead eyes.
