by Rebecca Reid
She wasn’t entirely sure what she was trying to achieve by going into hiding. It wasn’t as if she would bump into anyone from the party in such a pedestrian location as the common room or the college bar. But still, the idea of seeing anyone again, let alone risking making a fool of herself all over again, was too much to bear. She wished she had someone to phone, someone close enough who could make her feel better about what had happened. But when she went through her mental Rolodex of people, no one seemed right. All her friends from home existed in a chain. In a group, they made sense. But she felt that none of them seemed close enough individually for it to seem right to pick up the phone.
She would go to bed. There was nothing wrong with getting an early night. Then she could have an early start in the morning in order to … what? Work on her essay? Go for a run? She sighed as she pulled on her pyjamas, cleansed her face, brushed her teeth and tied her hair into a neat bun, just as her mother had taught her to do.
‘Chloe?’ A voice came from outside the door, accompanied by a knock that sounded more like a slam.
Chloe froze, feeling as if she had been caught doing something unspeakable. ‘Yes?’ she replied, hating the shake in her voice.
‘Can I come in?’ The door opened alongside the words and in half fell Zadie. ‘Oh, no,’ she said, looking horrified. ‘You were going to bed.’ Her voice was thick and her lips were tinted with dried red wine. ‘I’ve interrupted you going to bed. I’m so, so sorry. What time is it?’
Chloe pushed her alarm clock face down. ‘About ten,’ she lied. ‘What’s wrong? Come in.’
Zadie flopped on to her bed, still wearing her shoes and coat, and looked at the ceiling. ‘Can I stay here tonight?’
‘It’s your room, too. Of course you can.’
‘Thank goodness for you.’
‘What happened?’
Zadie got up and started stripping off her clothes. She shimmied off her heavy fur coat and dropped it on to the floor. Then she pulled off the dress she was wearing, a flimsy pink thing which couldn’t have been much protection against the late-November winds outside. Her skin was pink with cold. She unhooked her bra and dropped it on the floor. Much to Chloe’s surprise, she was wearing a suspender belt, which she deftly started unhooking. ‘Max and I had a fight.’
‘Oh, no,’ Chloe said, trying desperately not to stare at Zadie’s near-naked body. She was ballerina thin, with long, lean muscles. Her breasts were so perfect Chloe couldn’t help wondering whether they might have had some assistance. It was something of a relief when Zadie got under the duvet, leaving her clothes in a pool on the floor.
‘What kind of fight?’
Zadie sighed. ‘Have you got anything to drink?’
To her joy, Chloe did. Most of a bottle of red wine she had bought at a supermarket, because it felt like a grown-up thing to do. She had imagined she would drink it while reading some French poetry, but she’d actually had a glass while she watched The X Factor. Would it be the kind of thing Zadie would drink? She seemed like she had had quite a few already. Perhaps she wouldn’t notice how cheap it was. She poured two mugfuls and handed one to Zadie, who wrapped herself in the duvet and lit a cigarette, using one of Chloe’s candles as an ashtray. ‘Thank you.’ She smiled. ‘I think this might be the best glass of wine I’ve ever had.’
Chloe looked up nervously at the smoke alarm. Surely one cigarette wasn’t enough to set it off? ‘It’s only from Tesco.’
‘It’s perfect. Don’t you hate people who know lots about wine? All that swirling and sniffing, it’s such a sign of being a wanker.’
Chloe had never met anyone who knew lots about wine. ‘Yes, such a wanky thing to do.’
A pause fell between them. Should she ask again about the fight with Max? Or had Zadie not responded before because she didn’t want to talk about it? She settled on asking, ‘Are you okay?’
‘Yes, fine. I shouldn’t moan. A fight with your boyfriend is hardly losing a limb in a terrible accident, is it?’
‘If it upsets you, it upsets you. If we’re only allowed to complain about things which compare to limb loss, then we’d never say much.’
‘What a nice thing to say.’ Zadie sat up straighter. ‘But, honestly, it was mostly my fault. He said he’d be back at six. I got all dressed up – the whole lingerie-clad seduction, you know?’
She paused, apparently waiting for Chloe to nod, like this was something she had done before as well. Only it wasn’t, because she’d never had sex, let alone dressed up in expensive lingerie to seduce someone. She shook her head weakly.
‘No?’ said Zadie. ‘Good for you. You’re clearly far less of a sap than I am. So anyway, I waited for him to come back, and he was two hours late. Didn’t call or anything. Then he came back, happy as Larry, and told me he’s been picked to go and play rugby for an Australian university next year. Can you imagine? I’m there in all this complicated underwear and he’s talking about whether the change in climate will affect his sprinting speed. I started crying, he said I wasn’t being supportive, I said of course I’m not supportive, I don’t want you to move to Australia, and then he got angry, and he can be so awful when he’s cross, so then I stormed out and realized that I didn’t have anywhere to go. So I came and spoilt your lovely quiet evening.’
Back at home, when someone had a fight with a boyfriend Chloe usually knew what to say. Her mother had lined most of the shelves in their house with self-help books, books about how to find love, books about how to keep love, books about how to cope with lost love. Chloe could recite chunks of Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus and He’s Just Not That Into You like some children knew nursery rhymes. But this was entirely outside her area of expertise. How could anyone who was party to Zadie’s obscene beauty want to do anything other than be with her? How could Max want to move to the other side of the world?
‘Why was he late?’ she settled on.
‘Rugby. It’s always rugby. Until the spring, when things ease off a little bit, and then, before you know it, it’s pre-season and all about rugby again. He loves it more than he loves me.’
‘I’m sure that’s not true. Maybe he’s just worried about being successful at it.’
Zadie snorted. ‘Max doesn’t worry about anything. He knows he’s the best. And even if he wasn’t, his father has dozens of restaurants.’
‘Restaurants?’
‘Yeah. His father started Mangiamo.’
There was a Mangiamo in almost every town. Enough of a treat that it was exciting to visit, but not so prohibitively expensive that it was beyond the likes of Chloe’s family. Mangiamo was where Chloe had been taken for her eighteenth-birthday dinner. Greg had made a big deal about how they could order anything they wanted, even though he and her mother had entirely joint finances. Her mother had liked it, playing the little wife, as if she didn’t work five days a week at a call centre and pour all her money into their shared bank account, which Greg without any compunction used to buy golf clubs and rounds for his mates. She couldn’t decide what to say. She wasn’t gauche enough to express that she was impressed, though she was, undeniably.
‘My parents hate his parents,’ Zadie went on. ‘That’s why they don’t want us to live together. They think Max is spoilt and his parents are nouveau riche, which, as far as they’re concerned, is the greatest sin a person can commit.’
This comment wasn’t any more use. Chloe still wasn’t sure what to say. Admittedly, she wasn’t nouveau riche, because she wasn’t riche, but she couldn’t imagine that Astrid or Bob would have much time for her parents. Or her. But that was okay. Even if the single benefit of their friendship, in the eyes of Zadie’s parents, would be that she was a ‘good influence’, that would be all right. She’d spent her entire teenage years with other people’s parents saying, ‘Why don’t you spend time with that nice Chloe girl?’, rendering her as unappealing as it was possible to be. So perhaps she was going to have to be here tonight to make sure Zadie didn’t choke on her own
vomit. Was that really who she wanted to be? The sensible friend who stood in the background making sure nothing serious happened? She shook her head, trying to stop thinking about it. She was making friends with her room-mate. Nothing more complicated than that.
‘How was the rest of the party?’
‘Oh, it was fine. The same as always, really.’
‘Did, um—’ She broke off. But she’d started the question now. She would have to finish it. ‘Did your friend Rav say anything about me?’
Zadie finished her wine. ‘Are we out? And who’s Rav?’
‘No, there’s still a little bit left.’ She went to tip the remainder into Zadie’s mug but stopped herself halfway, saving a good glug for herself. She watched the dark red splash into the white mug and felt a little thrill of pride.
‘Tall. Handsome. Plays rugby with Max.’
‘Could be any of them.’
‘He’s—’ She stopped, trying to work out whether she was about to say the wrong thing. ‘His parents are Pakistani. He studies Engineering.’
If she had accidentally sounded like a small-town racist, then Zadie didn’t seem to have noticed. ‘I don’t know him,’ she said. ‘But I can ask Max. Did you like him?’
‘I did, but I fucked it up.’
‘How?’
She weighed the possible answers in her head. It was a funny story, really, however much it made her burn with shame. And it made her sound interesting, or, at least, it didn’t make her sound boring. ‘I accidentally stole someone’s spliff, and then I smoked it too fast and threw up on his shoes.’
Zadie laughed a surprisingly inelegant laugh and twisted her hair up into a cloud of a bun. The duvet slipped down, re-exposing her left breast and a small tattoo of three stars on her ribs. She followed Chloe’s gaze. ‘Oh, don’t. I got it on holiday in Turkey when I was fourteen, then had to wear a plaster over it every time we went on a family holiday. Max says it’s hideous.’
‘I like it.’
‘Do you have any?’
Chloe shook her head. ‘My parents take a similar view to yours.’
‘Parents are the worst. So, does he have your number?’
‘Rav?’
‘Yes, Rav. If he’s any kind of interesting person, he’ll be desperate to go out with you and see what you do next.’
‘I gave it to him when we were talking, but I don’t think he’s been in touch.’
‘Don’t think?’
‘I turned my phone off after the party.’
Zadie put her head to one side. ‘Shame is an entirely pointless emotion, and is almost exclusively experienced by women. It was a party. At least fifteen people vomited. Trust me, I know. It’s my house. We’ve had to start paying the cleaners double. Also, turn your phone on. I texted you and you didn’t reply. I was devastated.’ She took a long breath and stretched. ‘I’m exhausted. Literally can’t remember the last time I went to bed at a sensible time. Can I borrow your toothbrush?’
Chloe thought Zadie was joking initially. Then, ‘Yes, of course,’ she said weakly as Zadie went to the sink in the corner of the room.
‘You’re an angel. No matter how wasted I am, I can’t sleep without doing my teeth. Can you?’ Zadie climbed into bed. She turned her light off, turned to face the wall and, within moments, was breathing in a slow, even pattern.
Chloe took her phone from the top drawer of her desk and held down the ‘on’ button. It took a few minutes to wake up. She watched as the screen began to buzz. Two messages from her mother, telling her to call. A text from Lissy asking if she wanted to take part in a charity netball match. And two messages from Zadie. ‘Did you have fun last night? So hung over I wish I was dead,’ read the first one. ‘Come over tonight if you’re not busy. Having another bloody party,’ read the other. It was a confusing feeling, the delight of Zadie’s attention mixed with the bitter disappointment that there was nothing from Rav.
10
Now
Chloe placed the glass jug carefully in the sink. It was heavy and intricately designed, probably worth hundreds of pounds, so she really mustn’t drop it. Rav would inevitably insist on replacing it if she broke it. She felt Max’s breath on her bare shoulder.
‘Having fun?’
‘Where the hell did you get that ring?’
Max looked confused. She didn’t believe it for a second. ‘It was my grandmother’s. Verity told you that.’
‘Don’t play games. You know exactly what I’m asking.’
‘On the contrary, I’ve got no idea why you’re so upset about my fiancée’s engagement ring. Jealous?’ He grinned and Chloe bit into the inside of her lip, trying to contain her rage.
‘Zadie was wearing that ring the night of your twenty-first. She was wearing it when I found her.’
Max went to the fridge. ‘Was she? I don’t remember. Let’s not do this again, Coco. If you still think I’m guilty of something, why the hell did you come here?’
‘It was important to Rav. When you love someone, you make sacrifices for them. Hopefully, you’ll work that out at some point before you take that poor girl down the aisle.’
She had promised herself she wouldn’t do this. She had promised that she would say as little as possible; get in, get out. But the sight of the ring had knocked her off her axis. Chloe started moving towards the table. She would sit down. Play nicely. Pretend none of this had ever happened, then tell Rav on the way home that they were never, ever doing this again.
‘So I take it you haven’t heard from her?’
She stopped, turning on the spot, almost in a pirouette. ‘Who?’
‘You know who.’
Chloe’s heart was flickering, her blood suddenly hotter. Was Max about to tell her that he knew something about Zadie? Where she was? How was it possible that he could know? Chloe had spent hours – probably days – looking her up on the internet. She had scoured every social networking website, trying to find a profile for her. She’d searched the Births, Deaths and Marriages register. She’d read the comments sections of articles she thought Zadie would like, looked out for her in crowds on the street and searched the backgrounds of TV programmes. She’d even considered hiring a private investigator and had only been prevented from doing so because she couldn’t find the money to do it without Rav noticing.
‘Have you?’
‘I asked first,’ Max said, a challenging note in his voice.
‘This isn’t funny.’
‘It’s not supposed to be.’
‘Have you heard from her?’
Max shook his head. ‘Nothing, not since the night she left. Have you?’
Chloe hesitated. She wanted to tell him yes. She wanted to tell him that Zadie had called her, told her the truth about everything that had ever happened between them, confirmed every suspicion that Chloe had ever had. But it wasn’t true. Zadie had cut both of them out of her life in the exact same moment.
‘No,’ she said. ‘Nothing.’
She walked through and put the jug back down on the table, and Max reappeared beside her with a bottle of white wine. He kissed Verity on the neck. ‘Your favourite bottle, my darling.’
‘You took your time,’ said Rav. ‘Everything okay?’
Chloe nodded. ‘Everything’s perfect.’
Verity produced a pudding, which no one seemed very interested in eating. Rav eventually asked if he could have a cigarette in the garden, which prompted Chloe to realize that he’d clearly been desperate for one, but holding back, for most of the evening. God, he really did want Max to like him. She watched his face light up when Verity said she would join him and took a packet of French cigarettes and an engraved lighter from a drawer. Max and Chloe sat at the dining table, looking into the garden. Verity even smoked elegantly, and Rav’s shoulders seemed to drop several inches from his first drag.
‘She’s not perfect, then,’ Chloe couldn’t resist saying.
‘No?’
‘You complained about Zadie smoking all the time
.’
Zadie’s name felt good on her lips. She could almost pretend that things hadn’t come crashing down, that all three of them had remained friends and that here they were, adults, sitting together while their friend Zadie was in the next room, or unable to attend this evening because she was at home with a baby or busy at work. It was a nice little fantasy. It felt safe.
‘Did I?’
‘Yes. You said it was like kissing an ashtray, which was really unimaginative, but probably true. I don’t like it on Rav.’
‘It’s worth it for Verity.’
Chloe felt stung. Was he trying to antagonize her? For a moment she had allowed herself to slip back into friendship, forgetting why she hated him.
He had tried to get in touch before. Not many times. A text after their fight, the day after his birthday. Chloe had saved it for years, transferring it from new phone to new phone. ‘Call me. Let’s chat. I don’t want to fight. M x.’
Weeks later, another text, this time angrier. ‘If you know where she is, you have to tell me. This isn’t funny any more.’
A year later there was an email from Australia. Long and unwieldy, clearly written while he was drunk. It had started calmly, telling her that he missed what the three of them had had, detailing his life in Melbourne. But it had descended into accusations and anger, ranting about how selfish Zadie had been. Chloe had printed it out, put it in her diary and hadn’t replied. Creating a wall of silence between herself and Max felt like a scrap of control, like she was subjecting him to the same punishment to which Zadie had sentenced Chloe.
