The waitress pops down a fresh caramel latte in front of me. I didn't bother ordering Hannah another just so she could waste more of my money. As I lift the cup to my lips, a fucking miracle happens.
‘So, what are you going to do about your flat then?’
I almost choke on her words. Is that really all she’s fucking bothered about, my stupid flat? She has always adored my little palace; calls it her second home and spends most of her time there, even when I'm not home, but I just can’t believe that’s what she is so upset about here.
Although mortified, I take a deep breath as I sit my cup back down without taking a drink and decide to try and cut her some slack. I know she's desperate to escape from the clutches of her family home. Her parents are strict and old, not forgetting senile. Their early signs of Alzheimer’s means that they forget how old Hannah really is. They treat her like a child and not the hot tempered, twenty-seven-year-old fiery red-haired siren that she is. I have to admit though, it's always been a little hard for me to sympathise with her. She could have done something about it for herself. Created a life of her own years ago, one where she was happy. But again, it was her own sulky lack of ambition that failed her.
Fortunately for Hannah, and being the excellent friend that I am, I had already decided not to sell my flat right away for two reasons. Let's be honest, it would have been completely irresponsible of me to uproot my entire life to London without keeping a backup plan in place. Secondly, I know that Lauren might want to get away for a while after Jacob kicks her to the curb and the flat would be perfect for her. I’m sure she would love it and would be grateful for the respite. Until then, I would let Hannah hang there for as long as she could.
I take a sip of my coffee, savouring the sweetness of the sticky caramel that had dribbled onto the rim and then rest my cup back down on the burnt oak table.
‘Well, I was thinking you might like to move in and look after it for me - If you wanted to, I mean.’
I watch her face change shape into something more familiar and much more like my best friend. Her previous scowl melting as she realises that she has landed on her feet here. I'm aware that this corroborates everything I say about her expecting things to just be given to her, but I am a good friend to her and know that she needs this.
The muggy, tense air begins to clear as she starts to chat more freely now, appropriately asking me more questions about my new job and where I will be staying. It's taken her getting something she benefits from for her to be happy for me. Ridiculous really. I manage to think on my feet quickly to create solid and believable answers for all of her questions. I think I might have preferred it when she had forgotten how to speak.
I don’t make a habit of lying to Hannah. She’s usually the only person I am completely honest with – about everything – but I know that she would try her best to stop me if she knew what I was really doing and I really can't be bothered with that. I know I'm doing the right thing for me here. Well, for us – Jacob and I. That's why when she asks me to answer her next question honestly, I lie straight to her face, and don’t feel the slightest bit guilty about it.
‘I promise you. This has nothing to do with Jacob, or even Lauren for that matter. You were right all along – it is time for me to move on. I only wish I had listened to you sooner. You have my word. Jacob is no good for me.’
She gives me a single nod which I take as a silent understanding that I am telling her the truth. She wouldn't think otherwise because I have never lied to her before. If anything, throughout our entire friendship I have been a little bit too honest when it comes to delivering a message. I’m blunt with my words, I know this, but I mean well in what I say. When the dust has settled in London after the upcoming chaos, and things are as they should be once and for all, I will tell her the truth and apologise sincerely for lying to her. She will forgive me, I know it. We’ve been friends for far too long to hold grudges. Our friendship has developed so strongly over the years that I no longer see her as just a friend, but family. She's the only family I have and for all her faults, I do love her. And anyway, by then she will be able to see how happy Jacob and I are together, just like I always told her we would be, and she will admit that she was wrong and understand that I did the right thing. Until then though, it is imperative that she doesn't know the truth.
I sit cross legged on the shaggy pink rug in the middle of my bedroom, staring at the largest sized suitcase I have. It’s now full to the brim with my favourite shoes, clothes and accessories; everything I just couldn’t do without. It would have been impossible for me to take everything I own in one go. I have clothes spilling out of every cupboard or drawer available and that doesn’t include the vacuum-packed bags that I have stored away under my bed. If I get there and realise that there is something that I desperately need, I will just ask Hannah to post it to me. Now that I have fully packed and am ready to leave tomorrow, I feel a little unsure of what to do with myself. An unexpected pang of sadness encourages my eyes to water as I take in my surroundings: my cosy bed, my shabby chic dresser and my perfectly pleated curtains. I jump up from the floor and grab my empty wine glass, taking it into the kitchen to refill with sweet rose wine.
My eyes scan over every item I see in here too, acknowledging everything I have worked hard for. It might have been granny’s money that helped me with the foundations, but I built my empire entirely on my own. I put my heart and soul into every detail; choosing every scented candle to match the mood of each room, every patterned strip of silver wallpaper hanging on my feature wall, right down to the perfect shade of white oak furniture. I have never been unhappy here, but there has always been a part of me missing. I wasn’t supposed to be on my own in this flat. Both of our clothes were supposed to hang in the matching his and her wardrobes that I bought, and two empty wine glasses were supposed to be abandoned in the living room from the night before. The empty dresser at the left-hand side of my bed should have been full of his socks and boxers. Even his soggy towel was supposed to be lying at the foot of the shower for me to collect and wash. I wouldn’t have had to give up my job or travel so far away from my best friend. I take a gulp of the tangy mixed fruit liquid and sigh.
With real love comes great sacrifice and choosing to abandon my perfect little bubble is mine. It's strange to think that very soon my life here will be nothing but a distant memory.
Chapter 12
I had initially planned on going back to bed for a couple of hours when I arrived at my hotel this morning. I didn’t sleep much last night and I wasn’t looking my best because of it. Dark shadows circle my blood shot eyes and no amount of concealer was helping me out here. To make matters worse, when my flight landed, I turned my phone back on to find Lauren had already sent me a text with plans for our first day together. In the end, I didn’t have time to shut my eyes for more than half an hour before I needed to get a move on, and it made me feel worse than I did before.
Her great idea for today was to attend “High Tea”. That's what they call it down here, not afternoon tea like we do back home. She called it a gift, from her to me; just to say thanks again for coming to her rescue at such short notice. It might not have been an expensive pair of shoes or my favourite perfume, but it was a really nice gesture.
I’ve begun a turbulent battle in my head with regards to my feelings towards Lauren. I don’t hate her; definitely not. In fact, I've come to realise that I don’t even dislike her. I’m actually quite fond of her. Sometimes it’s quite easy to get lost in the realms of our new found friendship because we genuinely get along so well. I’ve never had another best friend - only Hannah, but Lauren seems to appreciate me in a way that Hannah never does and quite frankly it's refreshing.
I know that I haven’t known her very long but in this short space of time that she has been in my life, I have enjoyed most of it. I've loved having someone reply to my messages almost immediately; day or night, and I've loved being someone's go to person. The person that springs to yo
ur mind first in your time of need. I've never been anybody's first choice, not really. Sure, I've always been invited on work nights out and things like that, but it's always been out of courtesy, not necessity. Sometimes I even think Hannah only hangs out with me when she doesn't have better plans or somewhere else to go to distract herself from her family.
My head spins at all these different thoughts whooshing through my brain. I don't know how to feel. I shouldn't be feeling this way at all. Lauren isn't my friend. She's Jacob's wife. The niggling nauseating feeling I have sucks me right back down to earth like a filthy leech as a familiar knot forms in the pit of my stomach. It’s that same feeling that gives me the strength and encouragement I need to carry on with what I came here to do; and it wasn't to make friends.
A couple of short hours later I find myself sitting in a busy tearoom in the middle of Soho, London. The large magnolia walls are filled with framed pictures of iconic celebrities that include the likes of Frank Sinatra and Marilyn Monroe. Behind the service counter, a shimmering golden wall has been carefully speckled with glitter set to grab your attention. The furthest away wall is also a little bit different. That one is dedicated purely to colourful illustrations and photographs of vintage transport. My favourite is the hand painted one of old but classic motorbikes; lined up in a row outside a shop front. The bikes tilt slightly but happily on their side. They are amongst friends of kind, none of them out of place or unwanted. It's beautiful.
The temperature has started to gently rise now that it's after mid-day and so I remove my black leather jacket and fiddle with the intricate gold coins hanging from the chain around my neck; making sure they are sitting as they should be. I keep my hands above the table and clasp them gently in an attempt to stop myself clenching them into painfully tight fists in my lap.
Once again, I find myself waiting patiently for her to arrive. She’s eight minutes late. Punctuality doesn’t seem to be Lauren’s strong suit. The waiter has brought over a beautiful little pot of freshly made tea and so I pour myself a cup whilst I wait for her to arrive. The strong brew fills my nose as I drop two white sugar cubes into the little white porcelain cup followed by a generous amount of milk – ‘builder’s tea’, some people call it.
I feel nervous as hell sitting here by myself. I feel way out of my comfort zone. Other customers appear oblivious to the empty seat across from me but I’m convinced that someone is laughing at me for being sat here on my own. Maybe they think I have been stood up. I look around me cautiously, desperate to find an unfamiliar face staring at me, just to prove that I’m not going mad. There isn't one though. Nobody is interested in me from what I can see. Well, at least not inside the tearoom. I just can’t shake this feeling that someone, somewhere is watching me. Could someone be watching me from outside? I have a perfect view of the busy street outside and nobody is acting oddly or out of sorts. I don’t recognise anybody, but then why would I? I wrack my brain as I struggle to remember the name for something like this. I read it in a book once; the name behind an irrational fear of someone watching you. As hard as I try, I’m unable to grasp it, so I try to laugh off this feeling of unease as I shake my head and take a small sip of sweet tea.
A further infuriating five minutes later, the door swings open and a sharp gust of wind blows some napkins from the tables closest to the door on to the floor. She spots me almost instantly and I watch her intensely, as if she is moving in slow motion. As she approaches me, her smile widens. I cock my head to the side in curiosity. She looks different today. Her hair is tied up in a sleek ponytail and a pair of silver hoops hang from her earlobes. Her outfit is admirable; faded black skinny jeans paired with a plain white top and a silver studded black leather jacket similar to my own.
Sometimes when I see her, I am still taken aback by how much she reminds me of myself. But that's not what's chilling here. That's not why goose bumps have started to bubble on my arms. I push my chair back and stand up so that I can greet her properly, just like normal friends would. I notice that she’s wearing a new perfume. It smells muskier than her usual scent and I think I recognise it, but I can’t be sure. The annoying thing about perfume is that sometimes two people can wear the exact same scent and yet it smells entirely different on their skin. It might or might not be the same as mine, but it does definitely hold some sort of resemblance to the one I purchased at the airport before going to Tenerife.
As she drapes her jacket over the back of her chair, I notice that she is sporting large dark purple circles of her very own that hang lazily under her eyes.
‘You look amazing!’ I tell her.
It was only a little white lie. Sure, her outfit is perfect, and her hair looks quirky but her face is the problem here - it's haggard. She looks weak, completely exhausted and definitely not as bubbly as when I first met her. She shakes her head, brushing off my compliment. She’s not stupid, she knows that she looks rough around the edges but I’m sure she’s grateful for the compliment anyway. That's what a good friend would do, right?
‘I’m so glad you’re here Zee.’
She calls me that now. My new super cool nickname gifted to me after introducing myself as Zara.
I’ve only ever had one nickname and I haven't heard that for a long time. My mum's voice echoes in my head. A memory of us playing hide and seek forces itself to the forefront of my mind. I can hear her calling for me. ‘Where are you Keeks? I'm coming to find you my beautiful girl!’ It hurts to think about and I crush the image in my mind's fist as quickly as I can.
I smile at her weakly, but still kindly as she glances at my half empty cup of tea and so she picks up the white pot and pours me a new one - before herself. She is so nice to me. All these little things she does, these small tokens of affection are what complicates this whole situation.
However, as pleasant as all this is, I can’t ignore the irony of the situation we are in right now. No longer am I the one in need of saving. The roles have been flipped on their heads, and I am the hero of the story now. I've come to rescue her from the hell she's putting herself through. I’m the one she chose, and this time I find myself reaching across the table and taking her hand in mine, the exact same way she had taken mine the first day we met.
Our tea has actually been quite fun. We split the generous variety of delicious miniature cakes in two so that we could both enjoy the same ones and drank our way through three or four pots of tea. I knew my motive for being here today is not the same as hers, but I found myself wondering if there was any way I could save a piece of this little unexpected friendship when everything comes to light. I'm not entirely mad for thinking this. She has said herself that she is lucky to have me, and I suppose I sort of feel the same way about her now too.
Guilt isn’t usually a feeling I experience often. I don’t offer promises to people, so if I do happen to let anyone down, that’s their problem – not mine. I definitely didn’t expect to feel guilty about this. It’s not that I’m changing my mind about wanting to be with Jacob, it’s just that I didn’t expect to find myself caring about his bloody wife so much. She wasn’t even supposed to be likeable, not to me anyway. I expected her to be plain and boring, someone who lived their life completely vanilla. No flashy colourful aura, just boring old black and white and yet she seems to hold all of the same vibrant crayons as me.
I know that I need to try much harder to push these feelings to the side. It’s absolutely vital that I don’t allow my emotions to get the better of me. To remind myself why I came here, I pull my phone from my bag and unlock it quickly; opening my photos and clicking on one of Jacob. My Jacob. His beautiful face is exactly what I need to see. My heart flutters, his gaze grabs hold of my heart and refuses to let go. When I look back up at Lauren, she is innocently taking a sip of her tea and my blood boils to the point of blistering heat. You are still in my way right now. You've always been in the way.
Chapter 13
I twist my hair into a tight bun and secure it on the top of my head w
ith a scrunchie and then take a seat at the dressing table. I squeeze a drop of creamy cleanser onto a white cotton pad and circle it around my face in smooth motions as my make-up from today disappears without much effort. I stare at my reflection in the large oval shaped mirror and let out a heavy sigh. I make a conscious effort to relax my shoulders and unclench my jaw as I release the abundance of tension that has been trapped inside me since arriving here this morning. I don't know how to feel right now. There's a part of me that feels intoxicated and yet I haven’t had a single drop of alcohol. It's my messy head that's the problem; heavy with conflict, buzzing around my brain like a swarm of angry bees desperate to find their source of honey before it’s too late.
After we had finished up with tea, we took a stroll through the streets of London, weaving in and out of the high paced crowds as we popped into a handful of busy stores for a leisurely browse. Before I knew it, a few more hours had passed us by and I found myself being invited back to her house to share a bottle of wine. I politely declined, claiming that I was completely worn out from my early flight and then all the walking around. I didn't particularly want to part ways with her to sit in an empty hotel room by myself but I couldn’t exactly go to her house if he could be there. And I couldn’t ask if he would be because that would sound too weird. I'm still not entirely sure, but I thought I saw the faintest of eye rolls when I turned her down; as if she was annoyed at me for it. I'm tired, and probably overthinking things so it's more than likely that I'm mistaken. She's been nothing but nice to me for as long as I’ve known her. That has no reason to change now.
The Lies She Told: A wickedly twisted psychological thriller that you cannot put down! Page 8
