“AAAAH!” I scream, stumbling backward and clutching my heart.
“It’s me!” Cordelia yells, getting a bit of a fright herself from my scream. “It’s only me!”
“WHAT THE FUCK!” I wheeze, my heart thudding so hard against my rib cage I can hear it in my ears. I grab the controller and turn off the TV. “What are you doing?”
Cordelia bursts out laughing. “More to the point, what areyoudoing?”
“You’re in my flat!”
“That really does look like a fun workout. I might quit that gym of mine and start coming here. Do you do classes?”
“Cordelia!”
“The headband is a nice touch. You were really getting into that song.”
“How long have you been there?”
“Since toward the end of ‘Jump.’ And, by the way, you were right, ‘Flashdance’ really is a classic.”
She folds her arms, leaning on the doorframe. She should be in her stately home in Derbyshire getting ready for her big pre-wedding dinner right now, being professionally made-up and preparing to get into her evening gown. Instead, she’s in my poky little flat, wearing her old school hoodie and tracksuit bottoms.
I catch my breath, hands on my hips, staring at her. “How did you get in?” I ask eventually.
“I tried buzzing for a while. I knew you were in because I rang your mum and she told me—”
“You rang my mum?”
“I thought you weren’t letting me up, but then one of your neighbors came out and let me in. And your door was open. It’s a nice flat,” she says, glancing around. “The office is a bit small. Was it a cupboard?”
“What are you doing here?”
“I came to say sorry,” she says, as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You know I like to apologize in person.”
“But… you shouldn’t be here. You’re supposed to be in Derbyshire!”
“I was in Derbyshire. Popped back here to do the apology.”
I go to run a hand through my hair, forgetting I’m wearing a headband. I catch it in my fingers and pull it off, pretending I was going to do that anyway.
“I don’t… I’m not…” I try to work out what I want to ask her first but it’s all a jumble in my head. “I’m confused.”
“I found out about the barman at the Duck.”
“You—you did? How?”
She holds up her phone. “The magic of social media. He sent me a DM apologizing.”
“Oh.”
“Apparently, a friend of mine laid into him recently and whatever she said got through. He felt bad for causing any pain and suffering.” She watches me carefully. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
I shrug. “I wasn’t sure you’d believe me. And the damage had already been done. It didn’t matter.”
“It matters to me.”
I feel fidgety and unsettled, rubbing my forehead as I think about what this means. My name has been cleared. They know I didn’t do it.
But so much has happened now.
