by Andi Osho
Maybe Meagan was right about a lot of things. Simi crumpled at the mean words she’d said to her at the party. As liberating as it had been to get it off her chest, it had also been unfair – especially when Simi had questioned Meagan’s abilities as an agent. Meagan had twenty-three successful careers under her belt. Simi didn’t even have one. She suddenly felt painfully foolish. Meagan was successful. It was Simi that was failing and trying to blame everyone but herself for it. She didn’t have a clue what she needed. Furthermore, standing her ground only made things worse. Involving other people in her choices was a good thing. Besides, Meagan only did what she did out of love, but instead of gratitude Simi had thrown it all in her face. She planted her head in her hands. It was time to just do as she was told and accept other people’s wisdom. Throughout her life not doing that had messed up one thing after another and it had to stop. It had messed up everything with Meagan and derailed her relationship with Oscar. If she had let him take the lead and not expected so much from him, he wouldn’t have fallen into the arms of another. And in the deep recesses of her soul she couldn’t help feel that if she’d been a good girl and done as she was told, her father would not have left either. She was seven when it had happened but all her life the thought that it was her fault had gnawed at her. If she’d been a quieter, less flamboyant, more obedient little girl, perhaps he’d have stuck around. From now on, she concluded, she would toe the line and just do as she was told. Sometimes other people just knew best.
As her new reality sunk in, her phone pinged. Meagan’s name glared at her from the bright screen. It was their first communication since the party and could have been anything from a warning saying she’d taken out a contract on her to an invoice for services rendered. Simi reached for her phone, wondering if she should read the text after her date. If Meagan had put out a hit on her, it would put a real downer on the evening. She paused then swiped open the message.
‘Oh,’ she said as she read it.
you got the job.
A broad grin spread across her face.
‘Do as you’re told? Screw that!’ Simi laughed, as she flung on her jacket and strode out of the flat to meet Chance.
Simi peeked from behind her hand as the London Eye capsule continued its ascent. She gripped the railing and took a long inhalation.
‘I am so sorry, Simi. I should have asked,’ said Chance.
‘No, no, no,’ she said, trying to control her trembling. ‘You weren’t to know I’m scared of heights and anyway, we’ll be on our way down soon, won’t we?’
As the city lights twinkled in the distance the irony was not lost on Simi. Having vowed not to get horizontal with Chance, she was now battling to stay vertical – and conscious.
‘I think I need to sit down.’ She quivered as the zenith loomed above them.
‘Course,’ said Chance, scrambling to her assistance.
Simi closed her eyes as he led her to the middle of the capsule where she lowered herself onto the bench. Once her breathing had returned to normal, she opened her eyes.
‘So, should I cancel our dinner reservation at the top of the Shard?’ Chance smiled, kneeling in front of her.
Simi felt the blood drain from her cheeks.
‘I’m joking. Sorry,’ he said as he rubbed her arm.
Her face broke into a smile and they laughed at the ridiculousness of it all. As the capsule finally approached ground level, Chance helped Simi stand. Despite her wooziness, his touch felt good. No, better than good. It felt amazing.
Chapter 38
Jemima
The girls were at their usual brunch spot, Des Oeufs! a bustling Upper Street café where the staff knew them well. They were in their usual booth having their usual order but today everything felt different. Where once the atmosphere was light, now it was thick like tar; dark and unforgiving. Meagan’s refurb update had been monosyllabic. Congratulating Simi on her new job had been heartfelt but perfunctory as was the praise for Jemima completing her book. So much for a nice birthday brunch for Meagan, Jemima thought as she swirled her mimosa. Things were beyond tense and she had no idea how to untangle this ungodly mess. There were so many things she wanted to ask, like what had happened on Simi’s date with Chance two days ago? Normally, information poured from Simi like a waterfall but today there was nothing. Then again, Jemima hadn’t exactly been forthcoming about the secrets she held. All at once, her shoulders became heavy with her unsaid burdens – stolen stories, her feelings for Chance and conversations with Miles. And piled on top of all that, Rebecca had been in touch – again. She’d received an offer on her apartment but was giving Jemima first refusal. She had three days to decide. Though everything that made Jemima want to stay was crumbling, she still couldn’t pull the trigger. The centre of her world was sitting right in front of her and whatever rocky terrain she encountered, all roads still led to these two women. How could she give them up?
Simi pushed her plate aside and cleared her throat.
‘Sorry to bring this up now but I’m stopping the game. Definitely this time,’ she said at Jemima.
‘Good,’ Meagan said, draining her mimosa.
‘What? You can’t. Why?’ said Jemima.
The game couldn’t end like this. Simi finding Chance was like watching the ball on a roulette wheel bounce into the one gulley you absolutely did not want it to. Black. Thirty-five. The game couldn’t end on Simi with Chance. It just couldn’t.
‘But we didn’t all get dates last time. Let’s give it one more week?’ said Jemima in desperation.
‘Come off it, Jem. We’ve had enough. You should be pleased,’ snipped Meagan.
Jemima recoiled. There was nothing she could say that wouldn’t also reveal her heart.
‘No, Jem. Me and Chance have our second date tonight. I think it’s serious,’ Simi said.
Jemima jolted as Simi’s words hit her. A second date? And what did she mean by serious? Had Chance said this or had Simi misread the signals again? Jemima’s lips moved but nothing came out, Simi’s cold and unrevealing expression stopping her. Well, if Chance did want Simi, Jemima would just have to pack away her passions and accept he was lost. Under the table she dug her nails into her hand, wanting to run. Finally, Simi peeled her gaze away and Jemima was able to breathe.
‘Plus, with me going away on this Clash of the Crown job and you moving to LA we’d have to stop anyway,’ Simi said.
Meagan turned sharply to Jemima. ‘What?’
Jemima looked to Simi. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I needed to print a script so I took some paper from your recycling tray. There was an email from Rebecca. Pictures of her flat and stuff.’ Simi shrugged.
‘Secrets and lies,’ said Meagan, eyes locked on Jemima.
‘She was just offering it. I’m not doing anything about it,’ Jemima flapped.
‘Really? “I am soooooo interested”,’ Simi quoted. ‘You got that email at the ice rink. You said it was nothing.’
‘Told you she was up to something,’ murmured Meagan.
Jemima crumbled, trapped. ‘Listen, we’ve all got side-tracked. Let’s restart the game—’
‘Stop telling me what to do,’ Simi spat, ‘and Meagan, I think you’re right.’
Meagan’s eyebrows arched practically to her hairline.
‘We should separate work from friendship. I’m getting a new agent. Thanks for that advice, Jem.’
Meagan threw a piercing glare across the table, deep hurt pulsing across her face. She slid out of their booth and before Simi had even finished her sentence, two bank notes fluttered to the table.
‘Meagan, wait—’ Jemima pleaded but Meagan was already halfway to the door.
She stared into the space where Meagan had been. Where once there were three, now there were barely two. Simi gave a nod to their waiter for the bill.
‘You know, Jem,’ Simi said slipping her jacket on and taking out her purse, ‘it’s almost like you don’t want me to be happy, I mean really
happy.’
Jemima tried to answer. Simi’s pain was the last thing she wanted and the very suggestion left her reeling.
‘It’s like I’m this joke to you. Simi, the love klutz, Simi the broke actress, Simi the unfixable problem, and just when I meet someone I like you do everything to put me off, ruin it.’
‘I was protecting you. You don’t know him,’ Jemima implored.
‘Do you?’ said, Simi, a frost in her words. ‘Do you like him?’
All at once, Jemima was on a shore, a tsunami accelerating towards her. Waves of emotion crashed, battering her. She so wanted to deny, to reassure her friend but nothing came. And with her silence, she had made everything worse.
‘Thought so,’ said Simi as she placed a couple of notes on top of Meagan’s and left.
‘Simi,’ Jemima said but she was gone.
Jemima was numb and aware of only two things – the futile desire to run and the beating of her devastated heart. Was it shame she felt, hurt, guilt or an astringent cocktail of all three? She shook as she picked up her phone and dialled.
‘It’s me,’ she said, cupping her hand around the microphone, as much to block out the café noise as to conceal this dreadful deed.
‘Jem-Jem,’ said Miles.
She knew he was toxic but as with so many noxious substances, a little poison often brought pleasure. This would be the first and last time, a final fling before disappearing to Los Angeles. And before she departed, she would confess all to the girls then be out of their lives forever.
Chapter 39
Meagan
Meagan pulled her hair into a bun. After that chronic brunch with the girls earlier, she was glad to be on her own. She looked around Bar Dodgem before scribbling down her song choice.
‘I won’t need the words,’ she said, handing in her slip of paper.
Had Meagan known it was karaoke night, she would have gone elsewhere but now she was here, she was well up for belting out something vengeful. From the flyers scattered around, she quickly discovered that Bar Dodgem’s annual karaoke event was their one concession to cheesy naffness. As a result, the bar was actually busier than usual. It was filled with its usual hipster-types in ‘casual’ outfits that in fact were more curated than an exhibition at the Tate Modern. The rocking horses had been moved to the outer edges. The brightly coloured equine spectators now watched disinterestedly from the shadows over the main area which had become a mosh-pit-cum-dance floor. On stage, there were no crumby speakers, wobbly lyrics screens and cruise ship crooner comperes. This was karaoke, Bar Dodgem-style. There was a band and they were tight and well rehearsed. This was not their first rodeo. They’d already belted out several subverted covers. Rap tracks transformed into Eighties pop, reimagined as rock anthems. Meagan rubbed her hands together. This was how to celebrate her birthday, unencumbered and free. She would drink, sing and forget. Forget herself, Todd, Miles, Simi and Jemima. She would forget everything except one thing – relationships meant giving away a piece of your heart and it was never, ever worth it. Even if they didn’t mean to, people always trampled and destroyed your love. Jemima and Simi were just as bad as Parker, two more people who could not be trusted with her emotions. She’d always suspected life was easier as a solo pilot and these last few weeks had proved it.
‘Fuck ’em!’ she bellowed just as the band rounded out the final bars of the last song.
The crowd whooped as a bandanaed woman who’d sung the hell out of an Amy Winehouse track tiptoed off stage.
‘Next up, Meagan! Where are you, Meagan?’ said the keyboard player.
‘Here!’ she yelled draining her beer.
She nudged her way through, still getting used to the soft, flat padding of her new trainers. Only at the age of thirty was she discovering that flat shoes were actually comfortable. Out of sight of everyone she knew, she’d decided to wear them as an experiment and they were brilliant. What a trap she had created for herself, the designer cage of a sassy, hard-arse business woman. It was understandable though. Coming from nothing, the look meant everything, be it her postcode or the shoes on her feet. Well if it was a cage of her own making, tonight she would bust out of jail. As she bounced onto the stage, she looked down at her T-shirt, loose and creased and her ripped skinny jeans. These clothes were soooo comfy! Microphone in hand she saluted the audience, playing up to the applause and wolf whistles.
‘Right, Meagan is gonna sing ‘You Need Me, I Don’t Need You’!’ boomed the keyboard player.
‘Yeah!’ screeched Meagan as the speakers whistled discordant feedback.
The keyboard player went back behind her electric piano and gave a nod to the band. ‘Okay! One, two. One, two, three, four!’
Luckily for tone-deaf Meagan the half-rapped track was in her range but even if it weren’t, she didn’t care. All she wanted to do was dance herself free. She wanted to feel happy, alone and alive – to throw off her pain like a sportswoman running off an injury. She twisted, bopped, leapt and turned, taken by the music. She didn’t need the words. The sentiment was etched into her heart from the life she’d already lived. From leaning on a man who would never give her what she wanted, from watching girlfriends rely on unreliable guys, from the painful betrayal of Simi and Jemima, from realising even her parents couldn’t support her. She punched the air and jumped up onto a speaker. This was what life was about – rocking and rolling on her own terms, she affirmed as she launched into a flying kick across the stage. The crowd roared in appreciation as she landed. She was crushing this performance.
It was the pain she was aware of first. A cold, shooting bolt from her ankle. She crumpled to the floor in what felt like slow motion, the crowd still revelling in her daredevil manoeuvres. Meagan was sure – something was broken. A leg, an ankle, her pride? But whatever had happened, she was going to finish this song. She had to, she grimaced, pushing through the final bars on her back. The band crescendoed to a close as the crowd roared.
Meagan waved from the floor, high-fiving any hand within reach.
‘Thank you. Cheers, guys,’ she boomed into the mic before beckoning the keyboard player over. She grabbed her charity-pin laden lapel, and pulled her close. ‘Babe, call an ambulance and call my… friend, the one who texted me last. Tell them to meet me at the hospital.’
Unable to bear the pain any longer, she flopped back onto the stage – defeated.
Meagan stared up at the standard-issue ceiling tiles. She hadn’t been in a hospital since Jemima’s appendectomy after Mile’s premiere. How did hospital staff do it? The uniform and smell were enough to put Meagan off let alone the hours and pay. Just then, the curtain swooshed back and Meagan’s exhausted junior doctor popped her head in.
‘How are we doing?’ said Dr Blandy as she flicked her floppy purple fringe aside.
‘Just give me the bad news,’ said Meagan.
‘Really it’s just news, isn’t it? It’s how you feel that makes it good or bad…’
‘Just spit it out.’
‘You’re pregnant. Yay,’ said Dr Blandy going in for a flaccid fist bump.
‘What?’ gawped Meagan propping herself up on her elbows.
‘What?’ said Todd.
Meagan almost jumped out of her skin. What the hell was he doing here?? But then she remembered. Numb with pain and beer – she had told the keyboard player to contact the last person who’d texted. She’d thought it was Jemima but it had actually been Todd. This was beyond a disaster.
‘Wait, this is bed nine?’ said Dr Blandy consulting her notes. ‘Damn. I’ve done it again. I am sooooo sorry. I’m like, super tired. You’re the ankle – so, not broken. Yay. We’ll get you bandaged up, give you some anti-inflammatories then you’re good to go.’
While Meagan sat in shock, Dr Blandy made her getaway, briefly popping her head back through the curtain.
‘Aaaand if you could keep that little snafu to yourself that’d be aces. I’m sort of, completely on a final warning. Cheers,’ she said before disapp
earing again.
Meagan puffed her cheeks, too stunned to be angry.
‘The fuck was that?’ she said falling back onto the bed.
Well, at least her ankle wasn’t broken. There was too much going on for her body to fail her now.
‘Wow. Can you imagine us having—’ Todd began.
‘Don’t. Listen, thanks for coming but I can handle it from here.’
‘How are you going to get home?’ he asked.
‘I was thinking of trying out this new thing called a cab,’ said Meagan, nixing any and all attempts to be her knight in shining armour.
‘You need help—’
‘Seriously, mate.’ Meagan grimaced. ‘Look, sorry if I’ve been a bit of a—’
‘Bitch,’ Todd said. ‘It’s okay.’
Meagan lay still. What was with everyone backchatting her? As she studied his face, formulating her acerbic response she noted that something was different. There was a grit to him that hadn’t been there before or maybe she hadn’t noticed.
‘I just wanted to make sure you got home okay. That was all,’ he said standing.
‘Wait, where are you going?’ she said, reaching out.
‘Back to my date…’
Meagan’s face froze. A date? Lying on her hospital bed, that same loneliness she’d felt at the Hudson Hicks party began to close in on her. She turned away unable to watch him leave. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed him sit back in the visitors’ chair as tears splashed onto her pillow. Todd pushed a crumpled tissue into her hand.
‘Dodgem dust,’ she sniffled, wiping her eyes.
Meagan manoeuvred herself to face Todd again.
‘Thank you,’ she said, the strange sensation of vulnerability almost overwhelming.
‘No problem,’ he replied taking her hand. ‘Anytime, Meagan. You know that… Anything for you, even this book thing.’