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Chapter 26

CHAPTER 26

September was colder than it was last year. I pulled at my lilac jumper. When I’d dressed this morning, I thought about what Amy might wear, but the fabric scratched my skin and the color washed me out. Diana tapped her pen on the desk every time she articulated a thought.

Enola, I really think you need to introduce this character sooner.

Her perfume was light, but the whole room smelled like it. I couldn’t tell what the scent was. Citrus and jasmine? It was probably from one of those independent Covent Garden shops.

Enola?

Yes, I’m listening. Sorry!

Diana smiled and said that it had been a long summer. But we’re nearly there, I promise! She stood and went to the door. Let’s get you a coffee. She came back in and said that her intern would bring them. I was an intern once.

You started here as an intern?

She looked proud as she told me that she did. Then her left hand met her right, and she played with her diamond in a way that told me it was still a novelty for her to wear it. I fingered a red bookmark on her desk. She explained that her friend had bought it for her after she did a quiz that told her she was a Gryffindor. I remembered how he said that those quizzes were data collection. I had called him a Slytherin and he had called me a Huffletrout.

I told Diana that I got Ravenclaw, and she smiled and said that made sense.

A scruffy-haired twentysomething who looked like he went to private school put two coffees on the desk. Thanks, Toby. He glanced at the hardbacks on her shelf before he left.

Did I belong in this world? Everyone knew what they wanted and what steps they needed to take to get there. There was a photo on Diana’s desk of her parents looking happy and proud at her graduation. Last Wednesday, I had tried talking to Mum about my book, but all she wanted to talk about was how happy she was that I was dating a lawyer.

Diana sipped her coffee and shook her head in acknowledgment of a need for caffeine; then she asked if I had questions. There was really only one question: Would I be able to do this? For so long, all I’d wanted to do was to finish a book, and then it became about getting an agent, and now the goal posts had shifted. Now I wanted to get it published, but it seemed like that was something that happened to other people, like the ring on Diana’s finger.

Diana looked puzzled at my question. You are doing this, Enola.

I exhaled. Okay. When do you want the final draft?

Diana clicked her tongue and said that she’d ideally like it in two weeks, ready for the book fair in October. I told her that I would do my best, and, like a Gryffindor, she told me that she believed in me.

W HEN I OPENED THE door with the key he gave me, Virinder was putting two preprepared training meals in the oven. I told him that I might skip dinner because I needed to write. He said that it was fine but proceeded to cite an article about working hours and animal types, concluding that I might find it easier to work in the morning. I told him that I had a shift at the café. He said that he was just trying to help, and then turned back to the oven. I put my hand on his back, but he stared at the hob. He mumbled that I had been writing for months, and he never saw me. You’re at work most of the day, I said gently.

Yes, but that’s work .

And writing is my work. I don’t come to your office and tell you to spend more time with me.

But this is my flat, Enola, not your workplace!

I started to remind him that I had told him I didn’t have to work at his, but he pulled me to him and pressed my head against his chest. His jacket smelled like a new car. I’m sorry. Look, there’s something I—

I pulled back. What is it?

It’s nothing, but…

He inhaled like he was about to announce an award winner and then said: It’s just this new medication for my anxiety.

You’re on anxiety medication?

He nodded that he was. I asked why he hadn’t told me. He said that people treated him differently when they didn’t think he was perfect. I asked him why he had told me then, and he laughed.

Because you already know that I’m not perfect, Enola!

Other people would never acknowledge their limitations, let alone seek help, but if Virinder strained a muscle he would go to the physiotherapist; if he needed vitamin D, he would go on a sunbed; if he made a mistake, he would apologize. I kissed him and said that he was perfect. He asked what was perfect about him. I told him not to fish.

I’ll tell you what, he said. I’ll draw you a bath. Are you at the café tomorrow?

From two.

So, if you get up at seven, you’ll have six hours.

He made it sound like a compromise, and even though it wasn’t, it was hard to say no to him. He put meditation music on and drew me a bath. He added bath oil, and in the notes of citrus I saw my mum with a glass of wine as the sun descended lazily over the vineyard. Get in the bath, Enola. He’s a lawyer. I smuggled in my laptop and put it on the toilet seat. After thirty minutes, and a character moved from chapter five to chapter two, Virinder called dinner, and I jumped in and out of the bath. That’s better, he said. You look much more relaxed!

V IRINDER KISSED ME ON the forehead, and I pretended to be asleep. When the door locked, I got out of bed. He had set up the French press next to my favorite mug (the only one he owned that wasn’t white, a bumblebee-patterned one from Anthropologie that his mother bought him). There was a note on the desk that read:

Happy writing, love V xxx

I felt guilty for being annoyed with him yesterday. He had been feeling anxious, and yet what he chose to do with that feeling was to try to look after me. And he did look after me. Virinder had been a big part in helping me finish the book. His perfectly painted walls were a serene palette of eggshell, and it was like writing in a museum café. Here with him, I wrote like writing was work and not compulsion. I still changed the font obsessively, but I did it for a logical reason, to help me see the mistakes. The chaos over, now was my favorite part: order.

I made coffee and then edited for two hours until a message from Ruth snapped me out of my trance.

Hey, not seen you in ages! Wanna go dancing? Trump might be president of the world soon so we should dance while we still have joy in our hearts.

I replied that I still needed to write, and so she suggested next weekend. Chris from the writing group was having a birthday karaoke thing, and I asked if she wanted to come. She said yes and proposed dinner first.

Perfect. Can’t wait. x

I closed my laptop and went for a shower. Maybe it was having a plan with Ruth to look forward to, or the fact that my book was nearly finished, but, under the water, I felt excited about my life. I fantasized about winning a literary award wearing that green silk dress from Atonement . I picked up Virinder’s pepper-scented shower gel and held it like an Oscar.

Thank you so much, everyone! I couldn’t have done it without you. Especially my girls!

Women, Ruth corrected me, we are women, not girls!

Virinder was in the front row in a designer suit, looking happy and proud, but then I noticed a tall figure at the back of the room. Denim jacket with a rip in the shoulder. Eyes burning with regret.

I detached the shower head and lowered it between my legs.

He dragged me to the toilets, wild and wolflike, and pushed me against the wall. He bit my neck and fucked me. Is this what you want? Is this what you want, you cunt?

I came hard but quick, so once the sensation faded it was like it had never happened. I replaced the shower head and picked back up my award.

I’d like to thank my best friend… I’d like to thank my agent… I’d like to thank my dad…

W HEN I TURNED THE corner into the courtyard, Ruth was on the swinging seat by the vegetable patch with a bottle of prosecco. She stood when she saw me. You finished the book! We hugged each other hard; I couldn’t go this long without seeing her again.

Sasha made a stew, and we sat on the floor around the conjoined crates used as a table, tearing bread and drinking red wine. Sasha’s friend Olivia, a petite girl with a mullet, was telling us about her friend who was becoming one of those brides. She doesn’t get that not everybody is comfortable upholding archaic patriarchal structures, she said. Nodding in agreement, Ruth said that her sister had had a traditional wedding. I reminded Ruth that she had cried at Emily’s wedding and she stuck out her tongue, purple from the wine. Olivia asked me if I wanted to get married, and I answered that I didn’t know. That means yes, Olivia said, putting her bowl down. Society won’t change unless we change it. Ruth said that society wouldn’t matter if the world ended. I told Ruth that she couldn’t invent an apocalypse to avoid commitment. She replied that I couldn’t deny an apocalypse because I was excited about my career. Olivia huffed: Climate change is real, Enola.

I know that climate change is real, Olivia , I thought. And then: Fuck it.

I know that climate change is real, Olivia.

Ruth stifled a giggle.

Sasha contributed sagely: People will be extinguished but the planet will continue. Ruth said that Sasha might get lucky, and the planet might save the vegans. Sasha threw a napkin at her. Olivia said that Brexit was step one in our extinction. Sasha asked what step two was. I suggested Bowie, and everyone laughed apart from Olivia. Ruth gestured to ask whether it was okay for her to finish the bread. We nodded, and so she took the crust. I passed her my bowl to scrape. Well, Sasha said, whatever the order, we can all agree that Trump is stage three. I said that I didn’t think Trump would win.

Olivia spoke to me but looked, smiling, at Sasha. So, you think that people don’t hate women, Enola?

I think he’ll be assassinated before we find out.

What, like shot in the chest at a Republican convention?

Or between the toes with a needle.

Everyone laughed again apart from Olivia, who said that I watched too much American television and not enough of the news. Ruth picked up her phone and started scrolling. Ah, she said. Bowie died first. Bowie died and then it all went to shit. Did anyone think to check between his toes?

A FTER DINNER , WE CHANGED our clothes and brushed our teeth. I wore a denim skirt and a burnt-orange cardigan, and Ruth was effortless in black jeans and a black T-shirt with a brown belt. We split an Uber with Olivia and Sasha, who went into Soho. I asked Ruth why Olivia had been funny with me, and she said that Olivia was intimidated by people like me.

Who are people like me?

Well, from an outsider perspective you’re a professional writer who owns her flat and your boyfriend is a lawyer.

So, she thinks I’m the poster girl for cis heteronormative white female privilege, basically?

She just thinks that you have your shit together. Speaking of, how’s it going with Mr. Perfect? You never speak about him.

I said that there wasn’t much to say. Everything is fine.

Fine?

Great, everything’s great.

It’s been, what, seven, eight months now?

Erm, yes, I think about eight.

We arrived at the Korean barbeque karaoke. All around the restaurant, meat was sizzling on hot plates. Chris and his friends were having dinner. The table was dirty, and their faces were red. Enola, you came! he said in a way that made me feel like I shouldn’t have. We’re the reception guests, Ruth said under her breath. Chris said that the room was ready and that they were just paying the bill.

Downstairs in the booth, Mat was on his own looking glum. He asked if anyone else from the writing group was coming. I answered that Hugo was working and Amy had a phobia of karaoke. Mat told me that he saw an advert for her book on the tube. I replied that it was a great cover, and he told me not to judge. Ruth nudged my arm. He’s funny, she whispered, emphasizing the pronoun.

One shot of tequila and half a beer later, Chris and his friends appeared in a cacophony. Chris kicked the night off with a corporeal performance of an eighties power ballad, and Mat and I talked over the music. He asked how my book was going, and I said that it was finished and that my agent wanted to submit next month. How’s it going for you?

He replied that he had been longlisted for a competition. Then Mat asked the question that I was hoping to avoid: Have you heard from him ? I shook my head and said that we weren’t in contact. Mat’s face didn’t change, so presumably he still didn’t know that we used to be a couple. But then he said: So, you probably haven’t heard his news then.

What news?

He’s just got signed with Simon Longman!

I choked on my beer.

Simon Longman was a renowned agent. He only signed people who he thought were going to be huge successes in literary fiction and then he made sure that he was right. Every day he tweeted something intimidating like: Never query unless you’re happy with every single word.

I know, right? Mat continued. I bumped into him and his girlfriend the other day and he told me like he wasn’t fussed. I could have punched him. Imagine being signed with Simon Longman and not giving a shit!

Girlfriend.

What did you say?

I could have punched—

Come on, it’s us! Ruth placed a microphone in my hand. People were cheering. Someone shouted “Girl power!” I was dragged up. Was I singing? A girl was sharing my microphone. Her arm around me. Tugging the microphone closer to her mouth. Girlfriend—he has a girlfriend? I ducked under the arm and shimmied backward. The door shut like a vacuum. I followed signs to the toilets and pressed down on the sink.

Okay. Breathe and break it down.

Firstly: he would never have introduced someone as his girlfriend. Mat probably saw him with a woman and assumed she was his girlfriend. It might have just been Steph. Fucking Steph . Secondly: Why did I care? We broke up months ago! And Simon Longman… Oh my god. He was about to become huge. Like, literary-prize huge. Why wasn’t I happy for him? Was I jealous that I wouldn’t be the one sharing in his success? No, I knew what the problem was. Ruth told me that he was the issue, that he struggled with commitment and intimacy and insecurity, and I had started to believe her. After all, I was the one with the agent and the new boyfriend and the new life. But if he was thriving then maybe she was wrong. Maybe I was the problem.

My heart started beating fast, and my hands felt numb. Fuck, I hadn’t had a panic attack in months. I instinctively reached for my wrist, but I hadn’t worn my band in months either. I splashed water on my face instead and swore at the mascara beneath my eyes. How the fuck did women in movies do this?

My jacket and bag were in the booth, so I ran in, snatched them, and left. With Chris attempting to rap, I didn’t think anyone had noticed but halfway up the stairs I heard her voice: What are you doing? Ruth was on the bottom step looking confused and then hurt. I didn’t know why, but I felt angry with her. I told her that I needed to go home. Okay, she said. Were you planning on saying anything? I told her what Mat had told me, and she pleaded with me not to get upset.

You’ve been happy, Enola. Your career is going well and I’ve not seen you cry in ages. Please don’t let this derail you, okay?

I nodded because it was the reaction she wanted.

But you can’t just run away, she continued. This is what he does. He makes you reckless. He makes you unsafe! I told her that I was always safe, and she scowled. Fine. You’re always safe —whatever the fuck that means—but overlooking that, it’s just rude! You can’t push away the people who care about you!

I wanted to punch a hole in the wall. I wanted to rip my hair out. I wanted to run as fast as possible. I wanted to scream.

Look, Roo… I—

Fine, Enola. Just go.

What will you do?

Meet Sasha and Olivia, I guess.

Remembering they were in Soho, I felt better. Ruth would be happier with them. But her face was fixed in an expression normally reserved for Emily. Just text me when you get home this time, Enola. I moved one step down to say goodbye, but she turned and went back to the booth.

I WALKED HOME AND stopped on London Bridge. Tower Bridge was green and glowing ahead, and the moon was bright. I could feel my skin turning pink in the cold. Virinder messaged asking what time I would be over. I lied that I was staying at Ruth’s.

But I’ve put fresh sheets on the bed and bought stuff for breakfast?

Why was that my problem? I hadn’t asked him to do that.

I’m sorry. I’ll come over in the week. Is that okay?

He was “typing” for ages, so I sent another message saying that my battery was dying and put my phone on silent. I rested on the stone wall and stared into the black. Dad told me that drowning was the most peaceful way to die. The Thames looked calm but the undercurrent was dangerous. I lifted onto my toes and leaned over. I couldn’t see the water, just flickers as light caught movement. It would be so easy to—

Hi, I’m so sorry but could you maybe take our picture? Our selfie stick has broken!

I turned to find a European couple, both tall and blond with shiny puffer jackets. She handed me a phone in a glittery case. He kissed her cheek. She made a peace sign. They pretended to laugh. I passed the phone back and twenty-five minutes later I was home.

Opening the door, the smell was familiar and comforting. I put on my Mario Kart T-shirt that was still under my pillow; then I held Otter and cried until I was breathless.

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