Cheryl gives me a quick peck on the cheek before walking out. Jay doesn’t feel the need to say goodbye. I screwed up big time, and I need to prove myself before I can show my ass back in this family.
I close the door behind them, leaving Joan and me in the living room. She’s curled up on the sofa, casually scrolling through her phone.
“Did… did Effy say anything to you?”
She looks up. “What do you mean?”
“You know, about me resurrecting from the dead or whatever.”
Joan wraps her arms around me tight and buries her face in my neck. She’s been clinging to me ever since I got out of the hospital.
“No, babe, but I’m meeting her at the art gallery later. Want to come?”
“Nah, I don’t want to be a burden.”
Joan gives a little nod, her nose brushing against my collarbone one last time to sniff me. She pulls away to unlock her phone.
“Look who just texted me.” She shows me her screen. “Alice van der Veen. She’s asking about you. What should I reply?”
“Who’s Alice?”
“Oh my god, you’re such a slut. You and Alice were all over each other at the Amsterdam Summer Festival. You don’t remember?”
I shrug. “Must’ve been the keta.”
Joan groans and smacks my shoulder for dramatic effect. “You’re joking, right? There’s a famous photo of the two of you. It’s been all over the internet you idiot.”
“What photo?”
“Please, babe, don’t make me say it out loud!”
I blink at her. I’m pretty sure there are crickets chirping right now.
She rolls her eyes and cups her hands around my ear, whispering, “The one where she’s, um, giving you a blowie in a portable toilet.”
“Oh, fuck off. Seriously?”
That’s… not my finest work. Jesus Christ, if this isn’t a sign I really need to fix my life, then what is? I feel my face heat as Joan smirks, her fingers flying over her phone.
“Wait. Don’t tell me you erased it from your mind. Let me show you.”
I push her phone away before she can type my name. “I really, really don’t need to see that.”
She raises an eyebrow. “So, what should I tell Alice?”
I pause, the gears in my brain grinding for something clever. “Tell her to meet me at the airport tomorrow. I’ve got time for a little shag before my flight.”
Her fingers hover over the screen. “Time?” she asks, like she’s my personal assistant.
“No, wait!” I laugh. “I think I’d rather have one last shag with Kimmy Kaczynski before I go all clean and celibate.”
Joan narrows her eyes. “So you’re really doing this?”
“Absolutely. I will come back a changed man, you’ll see.”
I’ve got all the best intentions. I have to. If I don’t, next time I’ll end up in a coffin. The fallen musician who overdosed in a ditch, drowned in the canal, or—God forbid—a public toilet at the railway station.
I’m better than that. At least, I want to be. And I will be. I need to do this for Effy.
