They’re locking up when I walk in but the bar manager grins when I mention I’m here to see Paul.
‘He’s in the back, go on through.’ He gives me an odd smile. Almost amused. And I realize why when I open the kitchen door.
Paul is in the midst of a passionate kiss with one of the hottest women I’ve ever seen. My insides crumble and I find myself leaning on the cold kitchen wall to keep from falling. I want to leave before he can see me but the sickness bubbling up inside me wins out.
I gag noisily and they leap apart.
‘I’m really sorry.’ I cough now, trying not to be sick. ‘I’m so sorry, I’ve interrupted. I didn’t mean—’ I turn to leave, the mortification burning my cheeks and the stomach acid burning my throat.
‘Esther!’ I hear Paul’s voice chasing me as I leg it back out the way I came. He catches up with me at the bar, looking confused. ‘What are you doing here?’
I gulp. ‘I don’t really know. I was passing and I had some… news.’ I am breathing too heavily to be clear. ‘I had a terrible date and then I heard I got the events job and I—’
‘What?!’ He hugs me. ‘That’s amazing news, dude! Congratulations.’
I am limp in his arms. ‘Who was that?’ I murmur.
‘Who?’ He pulls away, examining my face. ‘Oh, that’s Celeste. I was going to tell you about her when we had our drink next week. We’ve just started seeing each other.’ For a moment, a look of anxiety flashes in his eyes. ‘Would you, er, like to meet her? She’s great.’
He knows. He knows this is horrible and awkward andthat I’m heartbroken. He can see it, we can both see it, but we have to pretend it’s fine. Because officially we’ve never been anything more than friends. If anything, I’m the one who’s been holding us back all these years. I can’t be upset or annoyed he’s moved on. Not when I’ve kept him waiting for three long years.
‘I’ll meet her another time,’ I say and gulp down the solid lump of tears in my throat. ‘I would love that. But I am exhausted and have to get my milkies home for the night.’
‘Your what?’ he says with a frown, but I ignore the question.
‘I’m so happy for you, though; she seems… I mean, she looks so beautiful!’ Tears start blurring my eyes so I turn for the door, walking away as fast as my wobbly legs will carry me. ‘Really, really, really happy for you, Paul! REALLY!’ My voice is starting to choke and I clock the bar manager watching us from across the room. ‘It’s brilliant news! I’ll speak to you soon, yeah? Byeeeeeeeee.’
I take off, running in the rain, and I don’t stop until I get home, crying harder than I can ever remember. We had so many opportunities, so many times we could’ve tried it. And now we’ve missed our chance.
CHAPTER TEN
As we open the door to our building, a kind of intense weariness settles over me, making my bones feel heavy and sore. I can hardly even face the stairs up to our first-floor flat. We wave goodbye to Sofia, watching her leap up the remaining stairs with a former ballerina’s agility.
Inside, I mutter an excuse and head for my room, immediately collapsing on my bed. I sigh deeply into the duvet, wondering whether this is all worth it. Is this mission just going to be humiliation after humiliation? So far it’s been a total letdown with Alistair and his girlfriend, then the Paul stalking. I’m sure it’ll get back to him that a group of women were shouting about marrying him, then demanded to know his whereabouts and relationship status. I can’t ever message himnow! Even if I were willing to wait months until he’s back in the city.
Beside me, I pick up the Dickhead Tree and examine it. There are five names left: Carl, Alex, Idris, Will and Rich. Above their names, I’ve doodled a list of B names to askBibi about. Is she a Belle, Betty, Billie, Bernadette, Bianca? Ooooh, Bertha! She sort of looks like a Bertha. I reach for my pen to write it down.
My phone vibrates on the bed and I check it automatically. The name sends something through me that I can’t quite put my finger on.
Alistair Morris (school)
Hey there pal! Good week?
12.20
Absolutely fucking not. Terrible week, actually, Alistair Morris (school). But that’s not what you want to hear.
My finger hovers over the reply box.
Why is he texting? It’s been a couple of weeks since our weird, intense, climactic and anti-climactic evening together and I wasn’t really expecting to hear from him. Did he actually mean it about being friends? How strange, I’ve never had a boy mean that before. Come to think of it, I’ve never meant it when I’ve said it either.
I run into the living room, phone still in hand. Bibi and Lou are sitting close on the sofa, drinking tea. They stop abruptly, looking guilty as I rush in, but I’m feeling too panicky and sweaty to care that they were obviously gossiping about me and my embarrassing encounter.
‘Guys!’ I am high-pitched and Lou sits up straighter. ‘Alistair just messaged.’
‘Let us see!’ Lou leaps up as Bibi claps happily.
I hand over my phone and there is a long, twenty-second silence while they read and compute.
