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A familiar voice echoed against the walls of the vacant loo. “It must be you. You’re the only person who would wear cheap ballet pumps to a society event. Don’t bother getting up.”

The heels turned towards the wall of mirrors facing the row of stalls. Alex heard a clutch snap open and assumed Olivia was reapplying her lipstick. “Well, that didn’t go to script. You weren’t meant to be here tonight, but what’s a theatrical presentation without a little improv, eh?” Another snap stabbed the quiet.

Alex shook intermittently, waiting for Olivia to speak again, but no further words floated over the stall door.

Olivia strode purposely towards the exit. The washroom’s air filled with loud music and enthusiastic voices. A slight breeze wafted in from the open doorway.

The door slammed shut, leaving Alex alone once again.

Fourteen

“All the art of living lies in a fine mingling of letting go and holding on.”

– Havelock Ellis

Alex climbed into the black cab and fell into the warm embrace from Lucy and Freddie. Her fingers clung desperately to the rip in her dress, maintaining what little modesty she had left. Lucy unfurled a cardigan across the jagged tear, prompting Alex to release her iron grip. The sickly white hue occupying her blood-deprived knuckles began its slow retreat. A blush of sunburn brightened her nose, in contrast with the tear-soaked smudges of mascara and eyeliner that gave her pale skin a spooky Goth-like aura.

“Thanks for rescuing me, guys. I didn’t know what to do.”

“I’m glad you called me. We’re here for you no matter what.” Lucy held onto Alex’s clutch. “I cannot believe the nerve of that poisonous bitch. God help her if we’re ever face-to-face.”

“Actually, you did us a favour,” said Freddie, attempting to make Alex smile. “Lucy’s co-workers are tragic. If I had to hear one more word about the ‘optimum crunch of a baguette’, I was going to throw myself from the bloody Shard.”

“Freds, shush.” Lucy turned back to her distressed friend. “What do you want to do? You don’t want to sleep there tonight, do you? Should we swing by yours, grab some clothes, then head to mine?”

She shook her head. “No, can we go straight to yours?”

“Sure. I’ll loan you some comfies to put on.” Lucy leaned towards the cab’s plastic partition. “Excuse me, mate. We’re headed to Henshaw Street in Southwark. Cheers.”

She rubbed Alex’s back. “Once we’re settled, do you want to go out? It’s only eight o’clock. We could go to the pub, whatever you want…”

“No, but I could murder something to eat.” Alex wiped her red nose with a shaky hand. “God, I haven’t been that sick for ages. I only drank a little champagne.”

“I blame that snobby bitch,” said Freddie. “Betrayal will turn your stomach every time.”

• • •

Alex stepped out of the teeny upstairs bathroom clad in a pair of Lucy’s tracksuit bottoms, an oversized blue Ravenclaw t-shirt, and a dark grey hoodie. She looked like any other recent college grad, except for her puffy eyes, swollen nose, and hunched shoulders.

She wandered downstairs to the living room and flopped on the flowery love seat, tucking her legs underneath her and laying her head on the overstuffed cushions. Freddie claimed the spot to her left, wrapping her in a sympathetic squeeze. Alex sighed, thankful for his gesture.

Lucy’s rental was a typical London terrace house. Two rooms on the ground floor, a small bedroom upstairs along with the bathroom and some storage, and Lucy’s bedroom on the third floor—cramped but cozy. The front room of the main floor was the place to hang out, with a small TV and a hodgepodge of DVDs. Lucy’s tastes fought for space with her flatmates’ favourites. Thankfully, Lucy’s were winning. There were far more DVDs dedicated to superheroes, antisocial detectives, and aliens than there were earnest folk rock documentaries. The bongos, spiky plants, and Jethro Tull vinyl clearly didn’t belong to Lucy.

A small round table with two chairs gave way to a kitchenette tucked in the back of the house. Lucy popped out, looking pleased. “Good news. Cider with Rosie are boozing it up at a craft beer festival in Camden, so the place is ours. What do you fancy: pizza, fish and chips, kebab?”

“Can I have a grilled cheese sandwich? I’m craving old school American comfort.”

“Got it.” Lucy disappeared behind the kitchenette’s wall.

Freddie pushed the TV remote and a few magazines to the corner of the tiny coffee table so he could stretch out his legs on its surface. “Make me one, too, please?”

Lucy poked her head around the corner, saluting with a spatula in her hand. “Cheese toasties coming up.”

Alex rested her head on Freddie’s right shoulder, scratching at her swollen eyelids. “I didn’t think for a second she’d steal my play. She even pitched Isabella the bit about the male roles being portrayed by women. She didn’t leave anything behind.”

Freddie wanted to say something nasty about Olivia, but held back, sensing Alex’s need to vent. He got up to grab the box of tissues near the TV.

“I feel so stupid. I’ve no one to blame but myself. I handed it to her on a silver platter.”