AllFreeNovel
Share Us
‘No. No, ugh. There is absolutely nothing going on between Jack and me. Trust me.’
‘Seriously?’
‘Seriously.’ I nod, the giant frame on my head shuddering with agreement too. ‘I could not be less interested. Not my thing at all.’ And I wince so much inwardly that I practically shrivel. Because did I really just say that? It’s, of course, a giant lie, but it tastes absolutely horrible in my mouth.
Jess and Chloe’s eyes slide from me, and back to each other, and Lin starts talking about Paul and hisBaywatchoutfit, as she takes selfies with me, and before I can protest, she’s posting them on Instagram. Then, somehow – I’m alone with her. The woman whose wedding I called off. Chloe and me, in the middle of the dance floor as people pump the air and dance around us to a Queen song.
‘Hi,’ I give a small smile. ‘How are you?’ I feel like I’m walking on coals or something, on shaky ground, prodding a wasp nest with a stick.
‘I’m fine,’ says Chloe over the music, but she doesn’t ask me the same back. ‘Your costume is .?.?. creative.’
‘I – I thought it was fancy dress,’ I reply, and Chloe smiles, just a tiny, miniscule quirk of her full, coral-pink lips, and it feels like an invitation. A nod from the universe that the army have laid down their weapons or something. It’s safe ground. ‘I love your dress. I like the colour. That .?.?. sort of pearly, creamy .?.?.’
‘Pearlescent.’ Chloe gives a nod. ‘Thanks.’
There’s a long pause between us, and it’s strange, being opposite someone who has loved the same man as you. There’s a .?.?. connection. A weird, crackle of shared experience between you, even if you’d rather just file each other under ‘my ex’s ex’. Does our heartache feel the same? Did he say the same things to her, in the beginning, as me? Does she think about how ‘opposite’ it ended up? Does she have a version of me in her head, that she measured herself against, despite herself. Like I have of her.
‘Chloe, I just wanted to say I’m so sorry—’
‘Millie—’
‘And nothing was going on. Like –nothing.I haven’t evenseenOwen for years. Since he left. We didn’t stay in touch. He left, we broke up and the first time I saw him was when everyone got back from India—’
‘Millie.’ Chloe looks uncomfortable, her nimble frame shifting from within the silky material of her dress, but I almost want people nearby to hear me; see me talking to her, see us. If they know I sent that email, they’ll think I’m a bad person, they might even think Owen and I were having an affair, and I want them to know just howuntruethat is.
Petra, Jack, Cate and Ralph sing, ‘Why do you need them to know this, though, Millie?’ in annoying choir-like unison in my mind.
‘Sorry,’ I say. ‘I just .?.?. feel like I need to explain.’
Chloe says nothing, arms folded. She swallows.
‘I know what he said to you at the rugby game,’ she says, large, Bambi-like eyes dropping away from mine. ‘About how he knows when to put his hands up, say he’s wrong. That he knows he fucked up .?.?.’
I stare at her. Beneath my skin, my blood crawls and ripples. ‘We .?.?. we were just talking. How did – how did you know?’
Chloe’s eyelids droop to half-mast, a thick, fan of dark lashes, a look of contempt and sadness all at once. ‘I .?.?. I think he made sure I heard,’ she says, the corner of her mouth twisting slightly. ‘Easily done on set.’
Made sure she heard? Does she mean –the headsets? Surely people couldn’t hear us on the headsets? Oh, God, say if they did? Heard me banging on about my parents. What else did I say?
‘And without sounding rude, Millie,’ says Chloe, and her chest rises and falls as if she’s having to dig deep, right in there, to find the words, ‘it’s none of your business where I live, or what’s going on in my relationship—’
‘I – I know it isn’t. Of course, it isn’t. I just—Nothing happened.’
‘I hear you, OK? I know what you’re saying, and I hear you. I just .?.?.’ She draws in a heavy breath; as if it tires her just to simply do it. ‘The wedding date’s just .?.?.weeksaway.’
I nod.
‘We’re meant to be meeting tomorrow. He asked me over. To talk. And .?.?.’ She gives a hard, sad laugh. I smell alcohol on her breath. ‘I’m probably stupid. Leona thinks I’m stupid.Ithink I’m stupid because I .?.?. I’m ignoring my gut.’
‘You’re not stupid,’ I say. ‘You’re just heartbroken, I think. You just love someone and you’re in pain. Your heart is tussling with your head.’
We stare at each other across the dance floor, two stills amongst a sea of moving pictures. I open my mouth to speak to her, but her face changes.
She shakes her head, as if to snap herself out of a trance. ‘So, listen. Move on, okay, Millie?’ she says, straightening. ‘Becauseyoucan. But truly, and respectfully, I don’t want to talk about this again. OK?’
Startled, I stare at her. A head in a giant box. I nod. So does the frame.
And Chloe is gone. And now Michael Waterstreet is looking at me and smiles tightly, almost sneeringly, the way people might when walking the corridors in a cat rescue centre. ‘Ah. Poor, mangy idiot. Sad, but I’m not taking you home.’ I force a smile on my face. He looks away.
