Sofie was glad when her shift at the café came to an end. A night out with Lauren and Jessie, the chance to let her newly styled hair down, was exactly what she needed after a long day. She wiped down the last set of tables, mopped the kitchen floor with a disinfectant that stung her nostrils and said goodnight to the other manager on duty, who’d offered to stay late and cash up.
‘Night, Kate!’ he called, not looking up from his calculator.
Sofie rolled her eyes. Her colleagues had spent the day joking that she’d morphed into ‘Kate Middleton with tattoos’. Not that you could see them any more. She had continued wearing long-sleeved roll-necks and today she’d added a new floral tea dress over the top. No more jewellery that jangled as she walked either, that was all gone, and she was making an effort to enunciate her words in the same way Henry and Jessie did. She’d been trying hard to win over his mother since the start of their relationship, and if it was to go the distance, Sofie knew how important it was to get her seal of approval. Henry wasn’t perfect – he could be loud and a bit boorish – but when it was just the two of them, he was softer. He listened to her opinions, asked sensitive questions and made her laugh harder than anyone else. She loved him, and apart from her dead-end café job, their relationship was all she had. Sofie would do anything to make it work. Anything.
Henry’s mother, Mrs Goldsmith-Blume, on the other hand, was a sickly and quick-tempered woman who spent most of her days lying on a Chesterfield sofa in what they all referred to as the ‘big sitting room’. She’d made it very clear on numerous occasions that she thought her son could do better than ‘a pink-haired waitress’. Their family set-up was a complex one. Mr Goldsmith-Blume was often away on long business trips, which seemed to aggravate Mrs Goldsmith-Blume’s already fraught mood. It was plainly obvious that he was having an affair and had minimal regard for his ailing wife.
Sofie tried her best to be understanding of the unusual dynamics and kept a low profile whenever they stayed at the family’s countryside manor, where Henry’s bedroom was bigger than the entire kitchen-living room at Maver Place, and the place smelled of old wood and fresh laundry. Henry continually tried to mediate any awkward interactions between Sofie and his mother over the breakfast table in the mornings, cracking one of his cack-handed jokes to break the tension, but she often left feeling as though she’d said or done the wrong thing. She was glad to have the option to retreat back to her own flat sometimes too. Maver Place wasn’t perfect, but she liked her cosy room, and now that Jessie had moved in she had someone to study. Someone whose looks, manners and movements were exactly what Henry’s mother would approve of. She was sure of it.
After opening the front door, Sofie darted straight up the stairs and into her bedroom. She pulled a blue lace dress out of her wardrobe and zipped it up. She smoothed it down and admired her reflection in the mirror. It was an exact replica of one she’d seen in Jessie’s wardrobe, that day she’d left her room unlocked. Sofie had learnt to be more careful after that, having almost been caught snooping when she forgot to put Jessie’s laptop back on the dressing table. It was fascinating, living in such close quarters with the exact person she’d always dreamed of becoming.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
‘He sounds nuts, Jess. A lucky escape in any case.’
Sofie had been brought up to speed on Rob’s hit-and-run.
‘Did this Rob guy really not give any sort of indication that he might have a screw loose before this?’
She couldn’t believe that somebody could steal from a person they’d been dating, especially not Jessie of all people.
‘Nope, nothing at all,’ Jessie replied, pouring a glass of Prosecco and passing it to her. ‘Which is pretty scary when you think about it. I guess you never really know if someone has a bad side until you’re on it. Especially when you meet them on an app.’
The three of them sat quietly, contemplating. Lauren stared at Sofie’s dress.
‘It’s definitely easier for people to pretend they’re someone else,’ agreed Sofie. ‘I think we’re quite similar you and me, Jessie. We’re both very trusting.’
Lauren could feel the atmosphere threatening to wane. They needed music. She pointed the remote at the TV and searched through the radio channels, settling on one playing an Ariana Grande remix. Something upbeat and poppy.
‘Where’s Henry tonight then?’ Lauren asked, not really interested in the answer.
‘Another stag do. There seems to be one every week; it’s like all the guys from the rugby club proposed to their girlfriends at the same time last summer.’ Sofie kept her tone deliberately neutral. ‘Except him, of course. So what’s everyone else wearing tonight? What do you usually go for on a night out, Jessie?’
Jessie described a dress hanging in her wardrobe that she’d bought months ago and had been desperate to wear ever since: she’d been waiting for the right opportunity. It was a fitted lace number in navy, that finished well above the knee and had three-quarter-length sleeves. She planned to team it with chunky black wedge sandals and bare legs, despite it being cold outside.
‘It’s quite similar to what you have on now, actually,’ she realised, properly taking in Sofie’s outfit for the first time. ‘Maybe I should go for something else.’
‘Oh no! Please don’t change on my account,’ Sofie implored, shaking her head. ‘We’ll have different shoes and make-up on anyway.’
‘You’re welcome to borrow something of mine, Jessie,’ Lauren offered.
Jessie mentally rifled through her wardrobe. She didn’t really have any other clubbing-appropriate clothes and she doubted she’d be able to pull off any of Lauren’s. Maybe it would be okay to stick with her original plan and just make sure her hair was styled differently to Sofie’s. Although now that she had a fringe too, that’d be easier said than done.
After topping up their drinks, the girls retreated upstairs to their separate bedrooms to get ready. It was actually sort of freeing, not having a phone, Jessie decided, now that she was getting used to it. Perhaps it’d be better to never replace it and just remain uncontactable to the outside world. As she teased her hair into curls, something different to Sofie’s poker-straight do, she could hear Lauren rapping along to the tinny noises coming from her laptop in her room across the landing.
Lauren had left her door very slightly open, which was unusual. She usually kept her space private. If Jessie ever knocked on the door to see if she fancied a cup of tea or watching something on Netflix, the response was typically: ‘I’ll be out in a minute, meet you downstairs!’ Her curiosity bubbled up. She put the curling tong down and took the few steps over to Lauren’s room, then pushed her head round the gap. Lauren was jumping up and down, wriggling herself into a pair of tight PVC trousers. Her top half was kept simple, with a silver, sequined vest. As always, she looked like the type of woman the lead singer of a band would pick out of a crowd and take back to his hotel room – if that sort of thing actually happened in real life.
Lauren’s room matched her nonchalant, cool aesthetic too – her bed consisted of a mattress laid across wooden crates, with orange-tinged fairy lights twinkling underneath. At first glance, it almost looked as though the bed were on fire. The white wall next to it was covered in photos from disposable cameras, most of which seemed to have Lauren herself in. A pink and red hand-painted canvas, showing a distorted woman crying, was drying on an easel in the corner. Jessie found it unnerving; not only the bright colours depicting a scene so distressing, but there was something about the woman in the painting that seemed familiar. She couldn’t quite put her finger on why. Still, she wasn’t exactly an art critic and Lauren was obviously very talented.
‘You look nice, Lauren.’
Jessie didn’t have more than a few seconds to study the room before Lauren pulled on her trademark red leather jacket and ushered her towards the door.
‘Thanks! Let’s head back to the kitchen?’
Lauren switched the main light off, leaving her
bed glowing like a spaceship in the dark.
‘I’ll be down in a minute, just need to finish my eyeliner,’ Jessie replied, watching as Lauren took a key out of her purse and locked her bedroom door.
Jessie stared in the direction of Lauren’s room for a few more seconds, then headed back to her own. That interaction had been a bit off. In fact, it was bizarre, given that Lauren was always coming into her room and sitting on the end of her bed for a chat. Perhaps it was just something that came with being an artist and not wanting people to see your work until it was finished. Jessie could barely draw a stick man, so figured it was a concept beyond her understanding.
She heard Sofie call from the bottom of the stairs, ‘The taxi will be here in a minute!’ and then ask Lauren, ‘I don’t own any heels yet; will these pumps be okay to wear?’
Jessie threw a make-up bag into her satchel, locked her bedroom door and hurried down to the kitchen, where Lauren was lining up three egg cups on the table. She poured a small measure of vodka into each. Sofie hovered nearby, looking smaller than ever, next to Lauren in her clumpy platforms. Jessie wondered for a moment if she ought to say something about how similar their outfits were – near identical, in fact – but thought better of it. Imitation is supposedly the most sincere form of flattery. Wasn’t that what they said? This must just be how it felt being a leader not a follower. There was no harm in Sofie trying to dress a little more mainstream, surely?
‘One for the road,’ Lauren said, with a devilish glint in her eye. ‘Let’s all cheers on the count of three!’
They winced as the liquid slipped down their throats, waiting for the split-second burn to fade into a pleasant warmth in their chests. Jessie was glad to feel the hit of it. Tonight would be about two things only: drinking and dancing.
Aware that the cab was arriving imminently, she headed back to the hallway to grab her coat, the same one she’d worn for the majority of the winter. Jessie pulled it on in a rush and noticed it felt heavier on one side, as though something was weighing down one of the pockets. Putting her hands inside both, her fingers met something hard and rubbery. A phone case. Her phone! It had been in there the whole time.
‘No way,’ she muttered to herself. ‘I definitely checked.’
The device had completely run out of battery; Jessie held down the “on” switch but nothing happened. She walked back into the kitchen, holding it up to show Lauren and Sofie, then plugged it into the communal charger next to the microwave, shaking her head.
‘You found it!’ exclaimed Sofie. ‘Where? How?’
‘In my coat pocket. But I checked in there, I’m sure of it.’
‘Calls for another shot if you ask me,’ said Lauren, quickly unscrewing the bottle of own-brand vodka once more.
Jessie thought back to earlier that morning, which already felt like so long ago. She remembered the way she’d emptied the contents of her bag and patted down all of her coats hanging on the hallway pegs, even the ones she hadn’t worn the night before. It didn’t make any sense. Lauren thrust an egg cup into her hand.
‘Drink up. Perfect excuse to celebrate!’
When a car horn sounded from outside, they all tipped their heads back and downed the second load of shots, then cackled as they made their way down the steps to the waiting car. Jessie left her sense of mistrust in the hallway.
Lauren had managed to get them all free entry to a club not far from the seafront. It was a 90s themed night and the baseline of a Tupac song could be heard rumbling from inside as the doormen nodded them in.
‘The promoter is an old friend who fancies me,’ Lauren had shrugged. ‘No biggie.’
Once inside, it seemed that every few minutes Lauren would bump into someone she ‘used to know’ or ‘used to hang around with’.
‘Let’s head to the bar,’ Sofie whispered to Jessie, grabbing her arm, leaving Lauren chatting to a man holding a fistful of flyers.
‘Have you seen Zach around lately? Is he here?’ Jessie heard Lauren ask, in a hopeful voice.
The bass thumped so hard that the floor, ceiling and walls were vibrating.
‘Are you guys, like, supposed to be twins or something?’ a thin drunk woman in her late teens snickered, stumbling into them.
Jessie laughed nervously, unsure of how to react, and kept moving through the bundle of pulsating limbs. Neither she nor Sofie came to clubs like this very often – Sofie felt more at home on a silent retreat and Jessie was more at home, actually at home, sitting in the flat.
Reaching the bar, Sofie ordered three vodka, lime and sodas, then dug around in the bum bag she had clipped around her waist for some cash. As she heaved herself over the bar, to better hear the man serving them, Jessie turned to survey the crowd. The vodka had left everybody blurred around the edges. They all looked so happy, as though they had nothing better to think about than what song might be played next. She longed to be like that, carefree like Lauren and Sofie, and felt a fraud in comparison – the events of the past day, the last few months even, had left her exhausted. She could see Lauren dancing, not caring that she was alone, her red-jacketed arms waving in the air wildly, head thrown back in raucous laughter, sequined vest catching the light as she moved.
‘Here’s your drink!’ Sofie shouted, handing it to Lauren, who mouthed a ‘thank you’ back.
Jessie only knew half of the tracks that came on, whereas Lauren seemed to be word perfect, putting her hands over her abs and grinding her hips as she sang along, apparently oblivious to all the men staring in her direction. They remained in their trio for what felt like hours, only breaking apart occasionally to go to the bar.
‘I need the loo. Anyone else coming?’ Lauren said, when the rhythm switched to something with a slower pace.
‘Me!’ Sofie replied, raising her hand in the air, as though she were back at school.
Jessie shook her head.
‘I’ll get the next round in, meet you back here after.’
Jessie felt more confident striding over to the bar this time. She was having fun, dancing with friends, drinking her worries away for the evening. Despite her head spinning and her constant need to scan the crowd for Matthew, she was passing for normal.
‘Three vodka cokes, please.’ Her words were slurred, but the barman understood all the same.
He pulled out three plastic cups and Jessie watched as he filled them to the brim with ice. She leant against the bar and screwed her eyes up, noticing the bleached blonde hair and red leather jacket standing next to her, facing the opposite direction.
‘Lauren? I thought you went to the bathroom?’
Lauren didn’t turn around. The music was loud, so Jessie shouted again.
‘Hey, Lauren! I thought you went to the bathroom?’ She jabbed heavy-handedly at a shoulder.
The head whipped around. Those dark eyebrows and red lipstick were eerily similar to Lauren’s, but it wasn’t her. This woman had a rounder face, which lacked the textbook symmetry of Lauren’s and her perfect dainty nose. Taking a second look, she was also slightly taller. Jessie blinked with confusion, then laughed. It wasn’t just her who had a double in the club tonight.
‘I’m so sorry, I thought you were my housemate. I must be drunker than I thought but you really look like her,’ she prattled. ‘Don’t worry though, Lauren – that’s her name – is really pretty. So it’s not a bad thing!’
‘Did you just call me Lauren?’ the stranger asked. She had an accent that Jessie’s soaked brain struggled to pinpoint.
She opened her mouth to apologise again, but was cut off.
‘Do you mean Lauren McCormack?’ The woman sounded alarmed and her eyes shot over Jessie’s head, searching the throng behind her.
‘That’s right, Lauren McCormack. You know her?’
The woman’s eyes widened.
‘Did you say you’re living with her?’
Jessie realised the barman was still waiting to be paid and handed over her debit card. He returned it to her in the card machi
ne. She struggled to jab her pin code in, her coordination running on a time delay.
‘I am, yeah.’ Jessie shook her head when the barman asked if she’d like a receipt. ‘Are you a friend of hers?’
A woman with hair twisted into intricate braids moved closer and looked just as puzzled as Jessie.
‘Are you okay, Magda?’
Magda? Was this Magda the former tenant, who used to live in her room? The same Magda who’d run away, leaving the rest of the flatmates, Jessie’s friends, saddled with her share of the rent and bills? No wonder she looked panicked. Jessie felt anger churn within, no doubt fuelled by the drinks.
‘They’ve told me about you. You’re the one who screwed them all over,’ she said accusingly, clutching one of the drinks to her chest.
She prepared to collect the others and disappear back into the crowd. But as much as Jessie disagreed with Magda’s choices, she still felt she ought to mention the locket she’d found in the dressing table. She didn’t know her side of story, after all. Before she had a chance to, Magda moved her head closer to Jessie’s ear and whispered, in a low voice, something that sounded like a warning.
‘Whatever they’ve said it’s not true! It’s not how they made it out to be. You need to leave.’ She looked over her shoulder again.
It was hard to make out her exact words over the music and Jessie squinted as she tried to listen, not entirely sure she’d heard correctly.
‘I messaged you on Facebook about a necklace I found, but you never replied. It’s gold with an “M” on it. Is it yours?’
Magda’s friend made it clear she was getting frustrated at being left out of the discussion by huffing and folding her arms. It only added to Jessie’s already mounting annoyance.
‘I should get back to my friend, but can you meet me for coffee next week and bring it? Wednesday evening. I’ll reply to you on Facebook with details.’
The Wrong Move Page 13
