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She nods, sadly, eyes dipping to the floor then, looks up at me. ‘It was Leona,’ she says, almost defeatedly. Of course. Of course it was. ‘They’re seeing each other apparently.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I say, ‘I’m really sorry, Chloe,’ and she lifts a shoulder.
‘I’ll be okay,’ she says. ‘Plus, I’m sure she’ll be saying the same to me in a few months. Just like, I was saying sorry to you. A horrible, dark cycle.’
‘Chloe, it was actually the best thing that ever happened to me,’ I say.
Her eyes brighten under the lilac disco lights. ‘Really?’
‘Really.’ I nod. And I’d have never seen it like this in the beginning, but now, I can see everything was leading to this. To breaking free, not only of Owen, but of all the barriers I put up, in the name of protecting myself. Barriers that kept me safe, but kept me stifled too. And without those emails being sent, I’m not sure when I would have got here. Or if I ever would. ‘Chloe, I feel like you set me free.’
Chloe’s eyes glisten under the spotlights. ‘I feel like you set me free too,’ she says, and she reaches forward, folds her arms around me; a curtain fall. A page turned. That when she pressed send, she was releasing us, like birds.
After a few moments, we say goodbye, and Chloe moves into the crowds. I realise, I haven’t once looked for Owen since being here. I don’t care if he heard me, what he’d make of it, what he’d be thinking. I really have totally let him go. I let that version of Millie go too; put it all into a bottle, watched the waves take it away. Because I’m the Millie I’ve always been. The one who wanted adventures. The one who wanted new things. The one was ready to find out who she was. And she’ll help me find the Millie who’ll come to be too. And .?.?. it’s exciting. I’mexcited.
‘Can I help?’ says a barman, as I approach the bar.
‘Oh, yes.’ I pick up a small, plastic stand of a menu from the wooden surface. ‘Can I have a Petra-Fying, please?’
‘Sure.’
I sit, as the barman shakes a stainless-steel mixer, pours out a bright green cocktail, places down my drink. ‘Nice speech.’
‘Oh. Thanks.’
‘I’m sure he’d be over the moon,’ he says, running a thumb and forefinger down his dark moustache, like a pincer. ‘The man in the tux.’
‘Oh,’ I sip. ‘Well. I suppose we’ll never really know. But I like to hope so.’
The barman nods. ‘There’re quite a few tuxes here, actually,’ he says. ‘Not that I’m saying any other man in a tux could replace the man who passed—’
‘Oh God, he’s .?.?.not dead,’ I say. ‘My man in the tux, he’s .?.?. he’s just inQuebec.’
‘Oh! Oh, well, blimey! Phew, eh?’ The barman laughs and so do I.
Jack would laugh too.‘Killing me off are you, Millie dot Chandler? Well, that’s all well and good, but just make sure nobody sings any of those made-up hymns at my funeral.’
‘Thought it was a bit sad for a Christmas party,’ says the barman. ‘Lost opportunities with a dead man who never got to wear his tux.’
‘No! No, he thankfully is very much alive. I just .?.?. fucked it up a bit.’
‘Ah.’ The barman smiles, close-mouthed, his cheeks balling into taut apples. ‘We’ve all been there. Oh, damn. Did you want the pineapple slice in the Petra-Fying? I forgot to add it.’
‘Ooh, yes if you like.’
He reaches beneath the bar with tongs, his eyes darting up. ‘And, ah, told you. Knew there were other tuxes floating around here.’ And he nods behind me. ‘Nice seeing a tux. Don’t see so many these days. Even at weddings.’
‘Agreed.Classic,’ I say, and I turn around.
And it happens in a blur. I see the tux. I see the glinting hazel eyes. Standing there .?.?. isJack.
Jack.
Jack Shurlock is actually here.
Everything leaves my body. Air. Words.Everything.
‘Oh my God,’ leaves my mouth, shaky and tight.
