by Naomi Joy
*
My new-ish housemate was prowling back and forth in the kitchen when I arrived home. I rented the spare room in this run-down, two-storey terrace – no one normal had the money to buy these days – and I was irritated that this one had managed to hang around for quite so long. I was usually so adept at dispatching any would-be lodger, that the spare room should have featured a revolving door.
I overheard her talking about me as I moved inside.
‘It’s sad, really, I wish I could set her up… I just don’t know anyone else with a BMI over 25!’
I imagined the person on the receiving end laughing.
All I wanted to do was head straight for the wine fridge and pour myself a pint of pinot. She would disapprove. She would tell me it wasn’t good for me. But I barged past her and opened it anyway.
‘Straight for the wine tonight, Jade? Bad day? It’s no good for you, you know that don’t you…’
I didn’t listen to her about the booze. I finished half the bottle sitting on the battered couch by myself, then she came in and started.
‘Why do you always do this, Jade? You jump straight to the worst conclusion and then straight for the wine! You think he’s embarrassed by you? That he’s realised you’re not good enough? That his messages were just a terrible mistake?’
I’d made an error of judgment in telling her about Josh.
What was wrong with me? Why couldn’t I have just kept it a total secret? A notification buzzed in. Finally. But it wasn’t from Instagram.
Ms Jade Fernleigh, your appointment is confirmed for 10.00 Wednesday. Please call should you wish to rearrange.
I screamed. I screamed for a full minute. I hurled my phone across the room. It smashed her favourite vase. She screamed too and sprinted over to it, assessing the damage, picking up the pieces. My tears were so stupid. I knew that really. I knew it was crazy to get this worked up over a message, over a man. I just, I really wanted it to happen; for one of my relationships to work out for once.
She went to bed; she wasn’t speaking to me. I took repeated swigs from the bottle on the floor, gearing myself up for sleep, repeating to myself that he wasn’t going to text between the hours of midnight and 6 a.m. It had been over twenty-four hours now, so that meant it was over. Completely over and done with, for good. Stop thinking, I thought. Clear your mind. Nothing matters. Not the job, not Josh, not Ava. I drank some more, thinking it would help me forget, drowning it all out. I repeated the pattern. Stop thinking, stop it. Just a couple more sips… Clear your mind. One last swig.
17
Ava
My parents had left without fanfare, my mother annoyed she hadn’t been able to convince me to change my mind about Charlie, my father annoyed he’d been dragged away from home, away from his routine. Waste of a day, I imagined him tutting to mum as they made their way back round the M25. As soon as they’d left I’d gone to sit in a nearby coffee shop: the house had reeked of Mum’s too-sweet perfume and my head was sore from the smell.
As I arrived home later that evening, I was surprised to find a new phone had already arrived for me. It sat on the doormat in pristine packaging and I muttered a quick thank you that David hadn’t decided to hand-deliver it. Unwrapping my new phone as I made my way through to the kitchen, I noticed the window over the sink was open a fraction, the blind that covered it billowing gently into the room. I hesitated for a moment, a bad feeling creeping up behind me, then started humming – doesn’t humming out loud make you feel better somehow? Nothing bad can happen when you’re humming – I debated whether it was a trap. I decided, on balance, it probably wasn’t, and hurried over to the window, slammed the frame down and twisted the lock tight. The rational part of my mind tried to calm me down – maybe Sheff had popped in today at some point and left it like that? – but the irrational part guffawed. Sure, and the man who’s in the house right now broke in because he just wants to talk…
I moved quickly selecting a glass from the cupboard, desperate to get upstairs and lock the bedroom door. I pushed it roughly into the American-style fridge-based water dispenser. The liquid hit the sides of the glass noisily and bubbled upwards. As I turned to leave, my finger on the light switch ready to send the room into darkness, I spotted something that caused me to drop it: a plain envelope sitting ominously in the middle of the kitchen island. Ava scrawled across the front.
Visions of Charlie in the flat streaked through my mind and I heard a smash as thousands of tiny pieces of glass scattered across the floor, my dropped glass drenching my shins in water. I winced as I crunched over the shards and frantically ripped at the envelope. Another note.
Ava, your security arrangements leave a lot to be desired. What’s the point of a fancy CCTV camera outside if you’re just going to leave the kitchen window unlocked? Next time you do that I’ll be here, waiting for you to come home. For now, I just want you to call me back. Please. We need to talk.
All my love,
Charlie.
My hand shook as I held the note and read it over and over again, hoping the words before me would change. The tone was different: no more, I still love you, or, it’s not too late. This was threatening, plain and simple. A last-ditch attempt to get me to speak to him. I looked up again at the window over the sink. That was how Charlie had broken in. I held my new phone heavy in my hand and debated calling 999. Then I heard a noise, a slow and deliberate creak that called out from somewhere behind me: from somewhere deep inside the house. I spun round quickly. What if Charlie was still here? I stood stock still, listening out for the slightest confirmation I was right, but my ears were greeted only by the sound of my quickening breath and the thud of my own terrified heart. My body trembled, my feet covered in cold water, and I dropped the note back on to the countertop. I crept into the hallway, balanced on tiptoes, listening out for anything that would give his position away.
Another crack. It was coming from the lounge. I hurried silently to the closed door and pressed my ear against it. I didn’t want to go in, but there it was again. The sound. The creaking. I braced myself to barge through the door, but realised I was woefully ill-equipped for a duel and raced back into the kitchen, grabbing the largest carving knife from the block on the side. I dashed back to my previous position, mouth dry, senses heightened to fever pitch, knife wobbling erratically by my side. I wasn’t actually going to stab him, was I? And what if it wasn’t Charlie but something darker, someone more dangerous: Olivia angry with me for wearing her clothes, sleeping in her bed, stealing her father’s affections. I counted to three under my breath, then crashed through the door, a cacophony of sound and shouts following as I prepared to face the worst.
My eyes darted all over the darkness, over every shape, every silhouette in the room, but nothing. The crack called out again. I thumped the light on. Empty. The radiator next to the door whirred and crackled sheepishly. My rage grew and I took advantage of the adrenaline racing laps round my body to zoom from room to room, flinging open doors and cupboards as I searched, shouting and grunting as I braced myself to confront anything I came into contact with. I caught sight of myself in the dark windows, my eyes wild, my hair loose, the knife glinting in my hand. What was this place turning me into?
Eventually, I concluded my search and, even though the house was clear, I still felt deathly afraid. I walked slowly upstairs to the bedroom, blade in hand, and closed the door behind me. I used the last of my energy to manoeuvre the chest of drawers up against it and tucked the knife under my pillow. How long could I go on like this?
I tossed in the cotton covers that night, moonlight seeping through the gaps in the shutters, calling to me. I know what you did. Does anyone else? Does anyone else know the real reason you and Jade fell out? The real reason you’re both terrified of the other: the secrets you could spill, the lives you could ruin, the truth you could out.
18
Jade
The sun, blinding, invited itself into my front room at an unnatural hour.<
br />
What had happened last night?
My mind was foggy and I was slow, disoriented, maybe a little drunk still. I saw the wine bottle, smashed vase, abandoned phone. I groaned. Then thought: Maybe? Could there be a message? Judging by the upturned bottle, I was probably completely out of it last night, I could easily have missed it. I stumbled on my hands and knees like an injured ape, quickly, towards my phone, praying I hadn’t damaged it, frantic to get past the lock screen. Nothing. I navigated to my inbox, the text confirming my appointment still there, laughing at me. Sneering. You? You thought Josh Stein was seriously interested in you? You haven’t been to the dentist for five years. Your teeth are a horror show, like a portrait of someone from the 1600s before the invention of toothpaste. You didn’t brush them last night, did you? No. Didn’t think so. You just let the wine rot, rot, rot away at them.
I dragged myself into the shower, clawed at the knots in my hair and cleared away all the fake tan and failure that still clung to my body. I shook a couple of pills into my cupped hand. They weren’t making me feel any better recently. Maybe I should up my dose? My housemate was quiet, I didn’t want to see her this morning anyway, best let what happened between us yesterday blow over.
*
The enormous clock in the grand reception area of Watson & Stein Partners confirmed my suspicion that I was running appallingly late. I could tell Georgette had been talking about me; probably wondering where I was, discussing how often I came in late, how I didn’t work hard enough, how there was no way I’d get the job ahead of Ava.
I spent most of the afternoon staring at the computer’s time and date settings, watching the second-hand meander round the clock face, willing six o’clock on so I could leave and down a case of wine.
Reception I.D. sprang up on my phone and I turned the dial volume down to one so it didn’t break my head open with the noise of its violent ringing.
‘What?’ I asked impatiently.
‘There are flowers for you here, in reception.’
My ears pricked up. Could he…?
‘I’ll be down in two.’ I found a new lease of life and my legs leaped into action carrying me downstairs to receive the delivery. Bright oranges, pinks and yellows blossomed out of the wrapping and I searched for a note.
‘Was there a card?’ I directed my question at the perfectly-proportioned socialite on reception.
‘Umm… Maybe this is it?’ She produced a note which had clearly fallen off the side. It said FAO: Jade Fernleigh. I traced my finger round the rough section the sellotape had pulled from the packaging and matched the two up. I ripped open the card, my excitement barely containable.
Dear Ava,
Hopefully Jade can look after these whilst you’re away. I know you’re going through a rough time at the moment so please take as long as you need to recover.
Also, I didn’t thank you properly for the thoughtful birthday gift you sent, so these flowers are extra special – my favourites!
Kai x
She’d sent Kai a birthday present. Was this a joke? The receptionist was looking at me, waiting for me to tell her what the note said.
‘Ah, that’s nice,’ I said, looking wistfully at the disgusting card in front of me.
She chirped back, sensing gossip. ‘Who are they from?’
I tapped the side of my nose twice and gave her a knowing look.
‘Tease,’ she called as I walked away.
I called the lift from reception and, when the doors closed, tore the card into tiny pieces and stuffed them into my cardigan pocket. I’d dispose of them later.
The lift doors opened and I strode into the kitchen area, pulled a pint glass from the cupboard and filled it with water. I cut the stems one by one and placed each of them in the glass. I walked quietly back to my desk with it and set the flowers down, obscuring what would normally be my view of Josh.
He wasn’t in the office today, but as soon as he got back I wanted him to be jealous. I wanted him to think there was someone else.
19
Ava
Tonight was the annual summer party, a lavish affair at the expense of our clients’ generous marketing budgets. Georgette appeared at my office door and let herself in, a package under her arm and a bottle in her hand. ‘Here’s that nail varnish you wanted to borrow.’ Then, the real reason for her visit: ‘Urgh, she’s driving me mad today.’
She nodded towards Jade with her angular chin. Georgette’s vulpine features matched her prickly personality and, save for the fact being close to George had taught me it was useful to have her on side – she’d steal all your secrets and scream them from the rooftops left to her own devices – I knew she played both sides: she’d repeat anything I said about Jade back to her, and vice versa.
‘What’s happened now?’ I took the nail varnish from Georgette and applied careful strokes of the gold shimmering gel to each fingernail.
‘She’s sulking. In fact, she’s been sulking for days. You know, I’ve been starting to wonder if she’s bipolar or something. She goes from high to low like a fucking yo-yo.’
I nodded along with Georgette’s attempts at a diagnosis for Jade’s personality but kept my concentration fixed on applying the nail varnish. The colour was perfect for tonight, it made me feel powerful and feminine and indestructible and a night away from Olivia’s and out with lots of people was exactly what I needed. I was trying my best to be positive. One day at a time.
Georgette continued her rant, ‘What do you think she’s gonna wear tonight? Probably some rank tunic dress or ill-fitting pencil skirt as per.’
I giggled along for her benefit.
‘How about you?’ she asked. ‘Because this arrived downstairs this morning and I can’t help feeling it might just be something gawjus for this evening.’ She handed me the large box she’d been carrying, Westwood splashed across the front. ‘Don’t look so frightened,’ she shrieked. ‘Jesus! You’d think you’d been sent it by a ghost.’
I couldn’t bring myself to laugh along this time and snatched it from her, feeling faint. I made some excuses and eventually she left – the only reason she’d come in here was to watch my reaction to receiving the package she’d probably already looked inside. What she didn’t know was who probably used to wear it.
*
The great dining room of Taften Manor, David’s revered country house, had transformed into the ultimate summer retreat, runs of creeping ivy snaked their way up the walls, gathering in the centre of the ceiling and twisted round the base of an enormous, champagne-coloured chandelier. Rich, white linen covered each table, topped with gold crockery and cutlery at every place setting, a stunning floral centrepiece tying it all together.
‘Isn’t it perfect?’ David’s hand was in the small of my back as he appeared by my side.
His touch was firm and assured and it made me jump: why wasn’t he more guarded in his affection? Did he really want everyone to whisper about us?
I moved away from his grasp. ‘It’s wonderful, David, the place looks truly stunning.’
His eyes made their way down my body. He was pleased I was wearing the dress he’d sent.
‘I could say the same about you…’ he remarked under his breath.
He forced me to twirl for him, taking my hand above my head and twisting me round. The dress he’d chosen was a flashy flesh-hugging number with a plunging neckline and slight train. There were cut-outs at the waist and slashes down the arms. I felt like I was wearing an expensive cage.
I tried to divert his attention from looking at me like that.
‘Is there a seating plan?’
‘Don’t worry about that, darling, you’ll be in good company.’
My pulse was racing, my breath shallow. Was I reading this situation correctly? Had David taken me away from Charlie just so he could control me instead? Where was his conscience in doing that? I couldn’t work him out: it wasn’t like he was forcing himself on me exactly, or being aggressive, it was just that
he wanted to get too close. Wear his clothes, live under his rules, dance to his drum… The other half of me argued: Wouldn’t a normal person be absolutely thrilled if someone bought them a designer party dress to wear, gave them somewhere beautiful to live, helped them out of a horrible relationship? What was wrong with me? I shouted down the doubts and told myself he was just being friendly. Perhaps too friendly for someone who was supposed to be my boss, but still: I’d spent more time with David than anyone else in recent weeks. He was the only one who’d really known what I’d been going through and maybe he realised that. He just wanted to help pick me up. I told myself David was probably like this with all of his close pals; I imagined people saying things like, ‘Oh, don’t mind David, he might shower you with gifts but he’s completely harmless: a heart of gold that man.’
As more staff arrived, we moved to the adjoining drawing room for a Champagne and canapé reception. Dark wood panels clad each wall, interspersed with full length bookcases which required little ladders to reach the top shelves. As I popped a tiny blini in my mouth, I made out Georgette standing in a conspiratorial clump of women in the corner. Long limbs stretched out of shimmering dresses, cheekbones sharpened with contour, imperfections ironed out with heavy make-up. They were bent in towards each other, giggling. Then George, the loudest, their leader, motioned for me to come over. I wished they hadn’t caught me looking.