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iMessage from Alexis:I’m so sad.
iMessage from Alexis:I’m not perfect, but wtf?
iMessage from Alexis:I’m so done
iMessage from Alexis:I’m too busy for this shit.
*
WhatsApp from Dad:Please call me, Millie. Urgently if poss. Both Mum and me OK, not dead.
WhatsApp from Dad:Would like to talk to you asap if possible darling
WhatsApp from Dad:Just slightly confused
WhatsApp from Dad:Your email insinuated that on the Easter bank holiday you weren’t with your mother, but she said you stayed the whole weekend and you went out together.
WhatsApp from Dad:When I called her at the time, she didn’t pick up. She said she was with you.
WhatsApp from Dad:Was she?
Missed WhatsApp video call from Dad
Missed WhatsApp video call from Dad
Missed WhatsApp video call from Dad
WhatsApp from Dad:Ignore that. Not sure what I pressed, not wearing glasses.
*
Cousin Rhiannon:Millie, I don’t know what you meant by your emails? I just received a lot of LOLs and zzzzzs and one saying, ‘give your head a wobble.’ Have you been hacked? X x x
*
WhatsApp from Cate:Millie, I’ve read your emails.
WhatsApp from Cate:I just walked out of work.
WhatsApp from Cate:Fuck.
WhatsApp from Cate:Millie?
WhatsApp from Cate:Millie, please answer me.
*
Cate sits at the breakfast bar, bewildered; like someone who’s just been picked up from her sofa by a giant claw and dropped in the middle of an unknown century. But at the sight of her, I practically combust with relief.
She’s here.
My beautiful, dependable friend ishere, in my kitchen which means she doesn’t hate me so much that she’s blocked me and never wants to see me again. Unless, of course, this is it. Unless this is like a mafia movie, and I’m being lured here, over to the breakfast bar, to be handed a stallion’s head – an emblem of a severed friendship. And who knows? I wouldn’t be surprised by anything anymore. In fact, a stallion’s head would be a fitting end to a nightmarish day of hiding in storage offices and dark, humiliating conversations in the rain with ex-boyfriends.
I stand in the entrance of the kitchen, tightening the cord of my dressing gown. Ralph stands, polishing a wine glass, subtly observing.
‘Oh, Millie. I’ve been ringing your phone off the hook.’ Cate stands, the bar stool’s legs squeaking on the tiles beneath her. ‘I’ve emailed you, left you voice notes,texted.?.?.’
‘Oh, Cate, I know, and I’msosorry. My phone’s been off.’
