‘Why?’
‘Wanted to know what you were up to, see if you were okay.’
‘Why would you want to do that?’
Cam paused, coffee cup hovering mere centimetres from his mouth. It looked like he’d suddenly turned into a Parisian mime artist. But then, as quickly as he’d paused, he unpaused himself and took a sip. ‘Feelings don’t just fade, Lizzy. We were so much a part of each other’s lives that it was hard to let go of you. Of us.’
‘There was no us, Cam. We were college rivals for two years whohappened to have sex one night. That’s it.’ But as I said the words, I knew they weren’t true.
‘You don’t really believe that.’
‘I do,’ I said as dismissively as possible.
‘No you don’t.’
‘Cam!’ I waved my fork angrily. ‘Don’t tell me what I do and don’t mean.’
He eyed me for a while, his features unreadable. His expression made me nervous. It held the promise of something, I just didn’t know what. Something was coming. I could feel it. It was in the way he was looking at me, the way he was circling the rim of his cup with his finger, and the way the air around us seemed to be crackling.
‘Come on, Lizzy, we both know we weren’t talking about grappling that night. Your bridge-and-roll has always been perfect, and my ground game is nearly as good as yours, and that’s saying something.’
His words punched me in the gut. The shock of them made me freeze with my fork halfway to my mouth. My brain scrambled for a way out of this, a witty comeback, a retort, something . . . But there was nothing.
I needed to stay calm, in control, despite the fact that that sentence had knocked the wind out of me. The fork slipped out of my hand and hit the floor with a loud metallicclang. ‘Shit!’ I quickly ducked under the table to grab it – too fast – bashing my head on the underside as I came up. I rubbed it hard to get rid of the throbbing, stinging sensation radiating outwards from the impact site.
‘You okay?’
‘I’mgreat,’ I said, shooting to my feet. ‘I have to go anyway. I have a thing . . . spa thing, with Amber now, in the spa.’
My composure was slipping with each syllable. I felt like I was being sucked through some emotional wormhole and pulled backwards in time. It was suddenly six years ago, and I was lying in his arms desperately wanting him to tell me he loved me so I could say it right back to him.
‘I’m going,’ I said. It was terrifying how intensely I could still feel it all, even after so many years. The feelings had not been dulled by time; they were just as bright as they’d ever been. Or maybe, like in some episode ofStar Trek, I’d never actually left that moment. Some version of myself had always been living in it in a parallel universe.
I turned sharply and started walking for the door, but halfway there, I realised I was still clutching the fork. I made to go back to the table, but when I saw the look on Cam’s face – he was watching me intently, elbows on table, face in hands, stupid smile plastered across his features – I knew I wasn’t going near it.
‘Here, you dropped this,’ I said, dumping the fork on someone else’s table before power-marching out of the restaurant as if my life depended on it.
It kind of did.
A chink in her armour. The way her composure slipped.
I hadn’t seen her this rattled in years. She never let people see her like this. I’d only glimpsed it once before, when she thought no one was looking. When she went to the bathroom after she’d broken my finger.
She didn’t know I’d seen her. I would never tell her either.
And yet here she was, rattled again. And if she was rattled, that meant I was getting to her . . . which meant maybe I still had a chance.
CHAPTER 29
I was the embodiment of Amber. I was wearing the exact same shoes I’d seen her in only days ago. My neon-yellow toenails peeped out of them just like hers did as I sashayed into the spa. That was something I’d observed Amber do too; in fact I’d recorded a video of her walking earlier just so I could imitate and practise it.
‘Hi, I have a facial booked for today. Lily Swanson,’ I said to the receptionist as sweetly as possible, all upward lilt at the end of my sentences, just like Amber. I did have to admit, though, it smelt good in here. No, not good; it smelt like heaven! Not that I knew what heaven smelt like, but if it had a scent, this would surely be it.
‘Yes, of course,’ the receptionist said in a voice that sounded like the pitter-patter of softly falling raindrops. ‘Welcome to your oasis of relaxation,’ she went on, as if she was welcoming me through the Pearly Gates themselves. This place was selling Utopia. And not just selling it, but wrapping it up in a warm towel scented with lavender, lemongrass and inner peace and pressing it gently against your very soul.
The lighting was warm and soft, the air smelt of jasmine and dewy grass and everything was draped in crisp white linen and screamed of exorbitant self-care. Somewhere in the distance, a harp was playing – no, that was bullshit. There was no harp, but had there been, it would not have surprised me. Every inch of this place was designed to trick you into believing that the stress of the world outside did not exist. Deadlines . . .a myth. Bills and bank statements and bumper-to-bumper traffic . . .not a thing. Your only purpose inlife was to sip herbal tea in a big fluffy gown and let someone rub all those pesky little worries away.
It was all a lie, of course it was. But dammit, they weresogood at it. So good I was almost starting to believe it, or was I just getting high on the jasmine?
