Girl After Dark

by Charlotte Eve

  It does get tiring sometimes.

  But listen to me! When this whole thing kicked off, I pinched myself because it felt so unreal. So right now, I’m making a promise to myself, never to complain about my life again. Because there is so much that’s perfect.

  For a start, there’s Will, of course.

  And then there’s my flat, too. Looking around it now, I still can’t quite believe that I actually live here, in Islington — an area I would never have dreamed I could afford, back when I was working in retail. And on my own, too. No flatmates means that I get to decorate it exactly how I want, too.

  As I gaze around my open-plan kitchen living room, everything really is to my own personal taste. There’s a lot of colour for a start. I’m particularly pleased with my latest find — this amazingly kitsch vintage bar that I picked up in a car boot sale when I went to visit my mum in Hastings, just a few weeks ago. I’ve been collecting vintage glasses and bar ware for the longest time, and I’m so pleased they finally have a home.

  The kitchen is definitely a girl’s kitchen. Will says it looks like a Wendy house or something. But I don’t care: I love it. Everything is in cute pastel shades of baby blue, yellow and mint green. I think it kind of looks like a 1950’s American ice cream parlour. It makes me so happy. And of course, anything American reminds me of Daddy, too.

  And thinking about him just then, I make a mental note to reply to his last email — or maybe even Skype him. It’s been too long since I asked how he was doing.

  Scanning back over to the living room, I’m satisfied that the place is perfectly tidy. There isn’t a throw, cushion or vase out of place. But my new bar … You know, I don’t think I’ve got the arrangement of glasses quite right yet …

  And I’m just about to head over to the corner of the room, ready to get all my organizing creative fingers in gear, when I glance up at the clock and realise.

  Oh no!

  How did it get to ten o’ clock already?

  I haven’t even finished my blog post or got fully dressed yet.

  I’m gonna have to get my skates on if I’m not going to be late to meet Katy …

  §

  “Oh Honey, your necklace is really gorgeous! Where did you get it from?” Katy coos, her brown eyes widening as I take off my coat and she first catches sight of it.

  Katy’s my best friend, has been since I was six years old, and I still always smile when I see her gentle pear-shaped face and her glossy mass of corkscrew curls.

  Today we’re meeting in this cute little cafe that Katy’s chosen, just around the corner from her publisher’s offices in Bloomsbury.

  “Wait, don’t tell me!” she continues. “You just stumbled across it like magic in a charity shop, when all I ever seem to find in those places is musty old shoes!”

  “Not exactly,” I reply, as I take my seat. “Don’t hate me but …”

  “Oh, I know,” Katy groans. “It was sent to you, wasn’t it? By this amazing new jewelry company who gave it to you for free because you’re so amazingly stylish?”

  “Soreeee!” I reply, guilty as charged. “It came in the post this morning. Isn’t it gorgeous? I was looking on their website. They’ve got tons of great stuff. You should totally have a look. And anyway, you can borrow it, any time you like!”

  “I know, I know,” says Katy. “You always say that. But I just don’t have the same knack for dressing as you. It wouldn’t look half as hot on me. I don’t know how you do it.”

  Just then the waitress comes to take our order, and I realise we’ve been so busy talking about my necklace I haven’t even looked at the menu!

  Luckily everything looks totally delicious, so I choose the first thing that takes my fancy, a salmon and cream cheese bagel.

  “I hope you’ve got room for cake afterwards!” I add with a cheeky smile. “They look totally amazing, too.”

  “I wish,” she sighs. “But I’ve got meetings with authors all afternoon. I can only stay for another half an hour I’m afraid.”

  “How’s work going by the way?”

  Katy’s only been at the publishing company for six months, you see, and so far she’s still at the very bottom of the ladder — she always jokes about how she’s ‘someone’s assistant’s assistant’.

  “Manic,” she replies with a sigh. “But, things are looking up, I think. They’ve been giving me lots of manuscripts to read recently and it’s actually starting to look like they’re listening to some of my opinions! Plus, I’ve seen my boss applying for jobs, and if she goes somewhere else then I’ve got a really good chance of moving up the ladder.”

  “That’s awesome!” I say.

  “Well, we all know your job’s amazing. How’s life otherwise? How’s everything going with Will?”

  “Good,” I reply, kind of hesitantly. “But, the only thing is …”

  At this my mind casts back to this morning. What did he even mean when he said he preferred things the way they’d always been? I thought that maybe a new chapter was starting in our sex lives, only to have him shut it down like that before it had properly begun. But I don’t want to get into all that with Katy. She’s single right now and it might seem like gloating. And anyway, there’s another problem she can help me with when it comes to Will, too …

  “Come on, spit it out,” she urges.

  “Oh, it’s just that he’s so busy all the time,” I sigh. “I hardly ever see him. I keep telling myself that he’s not going to be studying forever, but it really does feel like that sometimes. And when do see him, that means I want to do something special, like go out for dinner or whatever. But then that brings up another problem: because he’s still studying, he’s just so broke all the time. And if I offer to pay, well, he finds that kind of emasculating. It just feels like I can’t win sometimes …”

  “I can see where he’s coming from,” Katy replies sensitively. “Guys just don’t like to be paid for, you know? And it’s not like he’s a waster, Melissa. After all, he’s training to be a doctor, remember? Soon he’ll be able to take care of you, for life … Not that you need it or anything. But you know what I mean! You’ve got more money than most people our age. You’re lucky. Just be careful you don’t rub his face in it, that’s all. And besides, your whole thing is creativity on a budget, right?”

  I nod.

  “I’m sure if you put your mind to it, you could do something that didn’t cost the earth. Think back to the kinds of things you used to do when you were in uni. I’m sure there’s all kinds of inexpensive ways you could surprise him …”

  And you know what? She’s right.

  That private video was just the start.

  I’m gonna get thinking on how to create a night in that Will’s never going to forget!

  Before I hit the upload button, I watch my latest video back, one final time. It’s called ‘Complete 1940’s Land Girl Look!’ and you know what? I actually look pretty good in it, even if I do say so myself!

  I haven’t gone full 1940’s … I mean, I’m wearing stockings; it’s not like I’ve stained my legs with cold teabags and drawn a Kohl line along the back of my leg as a seam. But I’ve got the most perfect lemon yellow tea dress on, and my hair is up with a beautiful baby blue headscarf.

  I spent extra time doing my makeup for this video and it really shows. But there’s a little extra that I didn’t show on camera: I’ve packed my vintage picnic hamper with cheese and crackers, homemade bread and jam, and a chilled bottle of prosecco.

  Because this is my surprise for Will.

  I’ve prepared him a full ‘wartime experience’ picnic, you see. I’m going to go round to his house right now, to tell him that he’s “officially on leave from his duties” so that he can have a picnic with his sweetheart.

  And this time, I’m not going to come on too strong again and scare him off.

  I’m going to be sweet and demure and for once I’ll behave like a proper little lady. I just know he’d love that.

  I’
ve made a playlist of 1940s ragtime music, too, that we can listen to while we eat and I’m sure he’s going to love my surprise. But best of all? It hardly cost me a thing. I even made the bread myself.

  (Well, okay, the 1940s inspired bra and panties set I picked up in Coco De Mer earlier this afternoon was pretty pricey. But Will doesn’t need to know that, does he?)

  The video finishes playing and I feel that distinctive thrill as I click upload. Because soon, it will be watched by hundreds of thousands of people.

  And I’m feeling so confident that I don’t even need to check my bright red lipstick in the mirror one last time, the way I normally do, before heading out of my flat.

  I pull on an appropriate olive green, military-style coat, pick up my basket, then head excitedly out of the door.

  I just can’t wait for Will to see me now …

  §

  Knock, knock, knock!

  I stand there on the doorstep outside Will’s shared student house in Hackney, waiting impatiently. I mean, he’s definitely in — I can hear music drifting from his second-floor window — but it must be too loud for him to hear the bell, because he’s taking ages to come down and answer the door.

  I’m tempted to send him a text message, to let him know that I’m here. But that would ruin my period look! After all, they didn’t have mobile phones back in the 1940s, did they?!

  Eventually, the front door swings open, and I arrange my face into my sweetest smile, offering my basket out in front of me, but my cute little gesture is wasted on Shaun, Will’s stoner flatmate.

  From the look of confusion on his face, it’s obvious that he’s been smoking weed alone in his room all night, listening to heavy rock music and playing World of Warcraft, just like always. He looks so puzzled in fact, his eyes all pink and squinty, that I feel like I should probably start by introducing myself all over again, even though I’ve known him now for almost three years now.

  Eventually he speaks, his voice just a low stoned croak. “Oh … hey, Melissa. Wassup? Will’s up in his room, I think?”

  Before I can say thank you, he stumbles back down the corridor towards the kitchen, most likely to grab himself some munchies.

  So I take a step into the hall, closing the front door carefully behind me, then begin to make my way nervously up the stairs, feeling the butterflies in my tummy swirling and fluttering with each new step I take. I don’t even quite know why I’m so nervous. I guess I just want everything to be perfect …

  At the top of the stairs, just outside the door to Will’s room, I pause.

  I rearrange my silk stockings, and try once more to get into character.

  I’m his 1940s hometown sweetheart, I tell myself, and I’m about to make him forget all his troubles with my homemade bread and jam …

  I take a deep breath then push his door open wide.

  “Private William Hamilton,” I begin, “you are officially …”

  But then I stop, the words freezing in my throat, the cold horror flashing quickly up my spine.

  I process the scene, bit by bit:

  Will is in bed.

  Will is not alone in bed.

  Will is in bed with another girl.

  A naked girl.

  “Mel,” he begins, pulling the covers up around himself, “oh Christ, Mel, it’s, um, it’s not what it looks like …”

  But how in the world could it be anything else?

  “Who’s she?” the overly made up brunette next to him says in bitchy sneer as she pulls the covers up defensively over her breasts, which are definitely larger than mine.

  Before I even know what’s happening, I can feel the basket slip from my fingers, plummeting towards the hardwood floor at my feet.

  And as the wine bottle shatters with an almighty crash, I feel my heart shatter too.

  §

  “I know this sounds weird,” I sob, slumped on Katy’s sofa an hour or so later, a mug of tea clutched between my trembling fingers, “like, why did I even notice it, with everything else that was happening, but when I opened the door to Will’s room, the first thing he did was stub out a cigarette, hoping I hadn’t seen it. He was smoking? When did he start doing that? He’s training to be a doctor for God’s sake.”

  At this, Katy gives me a sad, consolatory smile and gently rubs my shoulder, urging me to continue.

  “And then?” I say. “The girl said to him, ‘I thought you broke up with her weeks ago?’ What does that even mean, Katy? Was he planning to break up with me all along, and he just didn’t have the guts to tell me? Or was he planning to string us both along? And what if she’s not the first? How many other girls have there been while he’s been supposedly ‘studying for exams’?”

  “I don’t know,” Katy replies sadly. “I can’t tell you what’s been going on, Melissa. But I can tell you this. He’s a coward, an idiot, a loser. Look, I didn’t want to tell you, but he’s been acting like a total dick ever since you quit working in Topshop, ever since the whole VintageHoney thing took off. You know what? I think he might be jealous. And …” At this she sighs, looking suddenly nervous.

  “What?” I say, feeling a fresh pang of worry. “What is it, Katy?”

  “Well, I didn’t want to tell you,” she says, her eyes fixed on the floor, “because I really hoped it was nothing. But he tried to come onto me one night, about a year ago. At the time, I wasn’t totally sure. I thought I might have just misread the situation. But now? It’s totally clear what he was up to.”

  Katy sighs, blowing a wayward curl from her pretty face. She seems even more angry with Will right now than I am.

  “Give me your phone,” she says.

  “What?” I say, confused.

  “Give me your phone,” she repeats, decisively.

  I sniff and wipe away the last of my tears with the back of my hand, then obediently dig my phone out of my bag and hand it over.

  “What’s your pass code?”

  I tell her — 1989 — the year of my birth.

  Katy taps it in, fiddles around with my phone for a few moments and then hands it back to me. It’s open on my Facebook: on Will’s page.

  “Go on,” she says. “You know what to do, Melissa. Delete him.”

  I feel a sudden small rush; it’s so stupid that Facebook is this important, but at the same time, I realize that in this one small way at least, I can take back some control.

  I take a deep breath then tap the button.

  “There,” Katy says with a smile. “Now you never have to speak to him again. And what’s more, he’ll know it’s over.”

  Shattered

  Have you ever felt your heart shatter into a million and one tiny pieces?

  Well, I just have.

  Right now I feel like I’m surrounded by fragments of my old life, each one no bigger than a button.

  I tenderly pick up each broken piece to examine it: here’s our first kiss — in the rain outside that bar where he worked, and here’s the time he surprised me with a bunch of honeysuckle on a particularly bad day. Here’s the house in Hampstead that we were hoping to buy together, and here we are, our hands intertwined, grown old together …

  Some of these pieces are real, and some hadn’t even happened yet.

  But what does it matter now?

  All that’s left to do with my memories, my hopes, my dreams, is to sweep them all up into a box marked ‘Past’ and forget all about it.

  I’m sorry this blog post isn’t happier, dear readers. I’ve just had a bit of bad news. But don’t worry. I’ll be sure to try and make my next entry a little more upbeat.

  Much love to you all,

  Xoxo,

  VintageHoney

  §

  It’s been a whole week since I last saw Will. I’ve been trying my best to get over him; trying to remember that he doesn’t deserve my tears. And it’s funny — this whole week, I’ve felt like I wasn’t quite being honest with myself somehow. Then I realized that there was someone else I needed to let kno
w about what happened, too: my readers.

  They feel like my friends, you see. And I just know they’ll understand.

  Since that night, I’ve cut off all communication with Will. I know my silence will speak louder than anything I could possibly say to him. He’s been sending me messages, calling me, he even rang Katy. I don’t think he was expecting quite so much of a dressing down as he received from her.

  So, since that night, I’ve been making a complete inventory of my life.

  I’m going to take control.

  My philosophy has always been, ‘There’s Nothing You Can’t Solve With a Good List’.

  So I’ve reorganized my wardrobe, and my makeup drawers.

  And I’ve taken down every single picture of Will, and replaced them with ones that mean something to me: a picture of my mum when she was young in the eighties (she looked totally amazing — dressed in a pinstripe power suit, nipped in to show off her tiny waist, her hair, browny-blonde hair just like mine, swept to one side in a mass of curls, because this was the eighties and of course she had a perm!), a picture from the time Katy and I stayed in a caravan in Cornwall together (our first holiday when we were sixteen; it rained all week but we still had the best time), and a picture of me and my dad together just before he moved back to the States.

  But as I climb into bed and pull my super-soft baby blue sheets around me, no matter how perfect my room looks right now, I just still can’t help but wish I didn’t have to sleep alone in it.

  And I’ve got to admit it.

  Right now, I do still miss Will, despite everything.

  §

  I dream of a large swarm of bees. It’s kind of pleasant at first. They’re whirling and buzzing around the most beautifully colourful flowers I’ve ever seen and I feel relaxed and comforted and warm.

  But then the buzzing doesn’t stop.

  In fact, it gets louder and louder, more and more insistent with each passing second.