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‘He’s done it before,’ says Chloe, wobblily. ‘With me.’
She lets her words hang there, like fog between us. And I know. I know exactly what she’s talking about. The thing with Chloe – it moved fast because it had started long before I even realised. Owen cheated. On me. Of course he did.
‘I’m so sorry,’ says Chloe. ‘I’m so sorry, I never, ever wanted you to get hurt, but I was .?.?. lost. Completely, completely lost.’
Chloe starts to cry then and I don’t know what to say. I’m furious. I’m sad. And somehow – free all at once. Like someone’s cleared the fog, tuned the frequency, and I can finally see clearly.
‘How did you know my emails were there?’
‘I didn’t,’ she says. ‘But he said he was in Manchester and he wasn’t answering his phone, so I’d gone to the office. Driven there.’
‘To check up on him?’
Chloe nods, her arms a tight, nervous belt around herself. ‘Sounds crazy but I wanted to check he wasn’t hanging back with someone in the office or something. With .?.?. you.’ She meets my eyes shamefully. ‘Then IT – my old team. They roped me into helping. And .?.?. it was too easy. Your laptop was justthere.’
‘But – Owen was there too. I saw a photo. On Instagram. Him, with IT, with pizza.’
Chloe’s brow furrows. ‘That was – no, that was for the new equipment tracker thing Steve’s trying to set up. Leona called Owen for his help. His forte, she said. That was .?.?. I don’t know. A month before?’
So, it was just uploaded late. A photo that got taken, and not shared and passed around until weeks later, maybe. And of course Leona called him in to help. She’s probably with him right now.
‘And the password?’ I ask. This whole thing still feels unbelievable. I was sure. I wassosure it was him. Had the story in my head; the beats, the beginning, middle and end. It made sense. A fitting dark end for the man who broke my heart. A man I could finally, finally see clearly. But this .?.?.
‘Owen has the same password,’ she says. ‘For one of his streaming things you shared together. He still has your profile. He’d .?.?. tease me about your profile. Kept it on there for just that reason really.’
I stare at her. Rain sprays our faces; my cheeks are numb with cold. I’m searching my head. Unpicking the story I had stitched together, rearranging it, putting it back together, like a hand-made quilt.
‘Did you use Jack’s pass?’
Chloe shrugs from within her thick parka coat. ‘It was in the kitchen.’ Simple. That simple. A memory of Jack joking, about his lost passes, flickers into my mind. Of course it was that simple.
My heart drops. ‘Right. And then what? You – thought you’d make me the villain.’
Chloe swallows, her eyes glistening as rain starts to fall. ‘God, Millie, this was never about you. Please know that. It was about me. I knew if I could just allow that email to be seen, people would see. They’d choosemyside, see him for what he is, and I’d be .?.?. free. I wouldn’t be flighty Chloe who’s called off another wedding. I’d be poor Chloe. Who got out of a shitty relationship in which her fiancé cheated on her and talked about her like she was just a passing thought. Myparentswould hear me, and not him. They wouldn’t blame me.’
I stare at her, raindrops starting to sting my neck, landing on my eyelashes. I think of Mum. I think of her disappointment, when we broke up. I think of how it weighed on me; another failure. Failed university. A so-called dead-end job. A failed relationship. And I understand. I’ve felt that invisible pressure; the invisible shame.
‘I’m sorry you went through what you did,’ I say, and my words are clipped, flat, but I mean it. But I also, above everything, want to go home, crawl into bed and cry now.
‘Nobody is more sorry than me, Millie. I’m so sorry he cheated on you. I’m so sorry that I did what I did. You don’t deserve it.’
I nod. ‘I know,’ is all I say. ‘Just – don’t tell Owen I was at his.’
‘Of course. And I know you don’t owe meanythingbut—’
‘I won’t say anything .?.?. About the emails. About you.’
And then I turn away, walk to the car. Waves crash angrily behind me, as if they find it so easy to express everything that’s thundering silently inside of me.
‘I’m so sorry, Millie,’ Chloe calls again, but I don’t turn around. I get into the car, buckle myself in.
‘Millie?’ Petra asks worriedly.
‘Time to leave,’ I say, my voice wobbling. ‘It’s done.’
And as we drive away, Chloe just stands staring, in the shadows, alone, watches us disappear.
Chapter Thirty
