CHAPTER FOUR
Exhausting, mesmerising, knackering. . . but, mostly, Cannes has been a success. Both Violet and I are buoyed up as we land back in London. Violet is smitten with Chip and her (my?) pictures from the film festival have been bagging her more likes than ever on social. I even managed to sneak a bit of time off on our last day, pottering behind the scenes to takesome photos of life away from the famous faces at the festival – kitchen porters racing around like headless chickens, make-up artists grabbing an emergency ciggie on balconies in between jobs, that sort of thing. They’re much more raw than the polished shots Violet prefers and I really like them for that.
Not that I have the time to toot my own horn. I’ve just shoved Violet and all 642 suitcases into the back of a taxi (she calls them, wait for it, ‘town cars’) and now I’m wrestling my way onto a packed tube. It smells fusty on the underground but for once I don’t mind. I’m heading home to take off my bra, eat a packet of Quavers and sleep in my own bed. . . in a bedroom that has windows! Sweet, sweet home. My phone starts vibrating just as I’m about to get the escalators down to my tube line.
‘Mila! I missed you,’ I answer.
‘Are you back? I missed you too! We need to catch up because I have to hear all
about Thierry immediately.’
‘Oh yes please. I could come over tonight? Though I could really do with a shower. . .’
‘You are always welcome at mine, shower or not, but Mike’s been banging on about watching some new comedy all week and I did promise we could watch it tonight.’
‘Roger that, I don’t want to deprive you guys of some cosy couple time.’
‘What will you do instead?’
‘Go home, shower and sleeeeeeeep.’
‘Or. . .’
‘I guess I could have a bath instead? I’ve got a couple of bath bombs left over from Christmas. Though you know how much I hate that bloody avocado tub. My bathroom must have been the colour of sludge green since the eighties.’
‘Whyare we still talking about your gross bathroom when I quite clearly meant that there is something entirely else you could be getting on with. Like. Your. List. How about you hop on the central line and go see Zach?’
‘How aboutyouhop on the central line and go see Zach.’ Don’t nobody tell me that my comebacks aren’t the best.
Mila doesn’t even dignify this with a response. There’s just a loaded silence down the line, which she knows I hate.
‘Mils, I’m tired. I smell like travel. I literally just went on a date like you said I should, isn’t that enough?’
‘It’s an incredible start and I’m really pleased, Jas, but this is just the tip of the iceberg. Let’s strike while the iron’s hot! Let’s make hay while the sun shines! There is no time like the present! Let’s. . .’
‘Ohmygod, alright! FINE. I’ll go and see bloody Zach.’
Mila makes some cheering noises down the phone while I give my bra strap a consolatory twang. I really cannot wait to get this guy off. Still, that terrifying moment when I realised that Violet and I have the same type in men has been plaguing my brain all trip long. Another tiny attempt to step away from that can’t harm, can it?
‘Give him a kick in the balls from me,’ Mila’s saying.
‘I think we both know I’ll do no such thing. Enjoy your evening with Mike and don’t forget that I love you.’
‘Love you too.’
I’m in a bar surrounded by all my camera kit plus the bag of bathroom goodies I liberated from Violet’s hotel room before we left, emptying a miniature pot of moisturiseronto my hands in the hope that it will mask that stuffy plane scent I’ve absorbed into every pore, when I spot Zach shooting a panicked look in my direction. Zach the ghoster. Zach whose name appears on my new to date list next to a drawing of a poo. And it turns out that his lack of communication cannot be explained away by him suffering a horrific accident, which had been my best hope. The selfish jerk. Here he is being all good-looking, flashing his white teeth at the women vying for a spot to be served by the hot bartender. He looks good. He looks happy. He looks positively unmoved by the fact that he left me high and dry. I swill the sparkling water in my glass around, self-doubt creeping in. Sure, I was feeling all high-on-life when we landed but now I’m here I’m starting to wonder why I let Mila nudge me into this. Other than the fact that she’s a bit scary. And that she’s taken over my love life. I know Mila’s only trying to help but maybe some things are better left unsaid? Also my bra is really digging in.
‘Jasmine?’ Zach pops up on the other side of the bar just as I’m about to slink off.
‘Argh,’ I jump. ‘Um, yes, it’s me, Jasmine.’ An excellent start.
‘Is everything okay?’ He leans towards me and for a moment I just want to reach out and touch his strong arms.
‘Yes thank you Zach,’ I say, wondering why my voice has gone all headmistressy. ‘Actually, no. I am not okay. I’m here for some answers, like why you ghosted me.’
Zach has the decency to look embarrassed.
‘Ah,’ he scans the bar with an apologetic shrug. ‘It’s really busy in here tonight. . .’
