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Five
BJ
“How was the wedding?” Jordan asks the next day.
We’re getting breakfast at a cafe by her house in Fulham.
She likes it here. I don’t.
The coffee’s always shit and the eggs are overcooked, but it’s across the road from her so she calls it her local.
Bit of a sad local.
Sadder for me than for her, because she drinks coffee with milk in it but I drink it black. Milk covers a lot of sins when it comes to burnt coffee.
I stir in some sugar because the brew is particularly shit this morning.
“Yeah, fine—” I shrug.
It’s a necessary level of downplaying how the wedding actually was.
Fucked. That is how the wedding was. For me anyway.
God, she’s beautiful — that’s all I keep thinking. Parks, not my girlfriend, unfortunately. And in the lilac? Fucking shit of her. Did that on purpose she did, I know it. Know her. That’s the kind of shit she’d do to pull the rug out from under me.
I’m fine finally, I’m doing good, she comes back and wears fucking lilac, the twat.
“Did you see her?” Jordan asks, watching me closely.
Makes me feel more shit.
I look up at her, try to smile in a way that will make her feel good.
“Yeah.” I shrug again. “Just for a sec—”
She asks, chin in hand. “Did you talk?”
“Yep—” I take a gulp of bad coffee then nod. “A bit. Nothing major.”
That’s a lie and I know it because that bit of conversation with Parks was the most exhilarating thing I’ve done in the last ten months and it was about the literal colour purple.
Jordan grinds her jaw absentmindedly.
“She’s leaving,” I remind her — pretend the thought doesn’t feel like a tackle.
“Right.” She swats her hand. “And it’s not like you’re going to see her again…”
I squint uncomfortably. “Actually, we’ll probably see her around a bit for the next couple of weeks. Like… at Christian’s thing in a few days.”
She sighs. “Great.”
I scratch the back of my neck. “We have all the same friends—”
Jordan shakes her head. “Yeah but she left—”
“Yeah, because I fucked her best friend.”
She shifts, uncomfortable.
