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‘Why do you say really?’
Jack pauses, shakes his head. ‘No real reason,’ he says. ‘Got something for you later, though.’
‘Have you?’
‘It’s nothing too exciting,’ he says, then he leans in and says, hotly into my ear, ‘It’s a new email address.’
‘What?’ I laugh. ‘Seriously?’
‘Made you a new one. A whole fresh slate—’
‘Helloooooooo, people!’
Oh no. Oh, fuck.
‘Hey, Owen,’ says Jack.
‘Bro,’ Owen says, raising a hand. Then he leans in and says, ‘Mills.’ It’s meant to be a hug, but I don’t move, and he clumsily presses an arm around me. It feels like a hot, lead weight.
‘Hi.’
‘Andhow.?.?. are you?’ And he is drunk. So drunk. I can smell it on him, feel the heavy limbs, the hot skin beneath his shirt. I remember this so well. I hated him getting drunk. I hated how he said horrible things. I hated how sometimes the only time he said nice things to me waswhenhe was drunk.
‘Good,’ I say. ‘You?’ Shifting closer to Jack. He doesn’t move. He’s like a muscular statue. A guard. Immovable.
‘Oh me? It’s my wedding day. Congratulations tome.’ He lets out a guffaw, but the grimace is followed by what looks like literal pain. A scrunch of his whole face, like someone stepping on an overturned plug.
He knocks back a sip of beer. ‘Mywedding day. Today was meant to be my wedding day.’ He looks at Jack. He has a flicker in his eye. A goading spark. ‘Happy leaving day.’
Jack fixes him with a completely unfazed look and says simply, ‘Thanks.’
‘You’re doing the right thing,’ he says, sliding closer, his arm on the bar, gliding across my midriff. I move closer to Jack, feel his hand slip around my back. He stands taller. ‘Getting away from this shit hole.’
‘Wouldn’t call it that.’
‘No?’ Owen makes a face, a childish, wordless, ‘oooh!’ ‘Why’re you off then?’
Jack’s brow furrows, and a tiny irritated smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. He says nothing.
‘I should just piss off too,’ Owen says. ‘Like, I did to India. Fucking loved it out there, man, I really did. And then you have to come back here, to this.’ He throws his heavy arms upwards. ‘Show:over.’
‘Owen, do you think you should have some water?’ I ask.
‘Aww.’ Owen puts his hand on my arm, then glances up at Jack. ‘She always looked after me, this one. She’s like that, aren’t you? My littlenurse.’ He grins at me, all dark, slitted eyes.
‘Back off, eh, mate?’ says Jack, words sharp, piercing the air.
Owen lifts his hand off my arm. ‘Sorry, Mills. Sorry, you know it’s just me, yeah? You know it’s just— Fuck.’ Owen loses his balance.
Jack pulls me closer to him, swaps places with me, pushes me behind him – and oh God, this can’t be happening. Owen is drunk. Owen is emotional. And Jack is ready to .?.?. what? Fight him?
Owen holds a palm up. ‘It’s all good,’ he says. ‘Sorry. I’m sorry if I scared you.’
‘Me?’ Jack laughs. ‘Nah, I’m good as gold. Thanks though.’
‘I was talking to Millie.’
‘Owen,’ I say. I step in between them. ‘Owen, do you need to sit down?’ And I look right into his eyes pleadingly. It worked sometimes. This softly-softly kind approach. Like I was appealing to a small child. To calm him down, to defuse him. I don’t want him to ruin tonight; ruin Jack’s party.
