by Helly Acton
‘Anyone fancy a top-up?’ Al asks, staring at him.
‘Aperol Spritz for me, please,’ Ben asks. ‘How about you two?’
‘All good, thanks,’ June says, pointing at their bottle, looking at Millie, amused by his order.
‘Oh, I’m sorry – two seconds,’ Ben says, getting up from the table and putting his phone to his ear.
‘He’s cute,’ Al comments, winking at Millie as she tucks her pen behind her ear.
‘Is he joining us?’ June asks in a stage whisper, leaning across the table.
‘I don’t know!’ Millie hisses, and shrugs. When she fluffs her hair, June lifts an eyebrow.
Ben sits back down and grins at them both.
‘Cheers for the invite!’ he says.
‘Who are you here with?’ Millie says at the same time.
Ben’s face falls.
‘Wait, what?’ June says.
‘Amazing,’ Al comments.
‘I’m here with you. You invited me!’ He laughs awkwardly, staring into Millie’s eyes so closely that she could count his eyelashes. The entire right-hand side of his body is pressed against her left. It feels familiar, warm and firm. Millie has a brief thought that she could sit here for hours, just being next to him. She strokes her neck to hide the heat rash moving up it.
‘Did I? I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s great that you’re here. But I don’t remember inviting you,’ Millie says.
‘This is all a bit cringe,’ Al says quietly.
‘Not being a dick, but aren’t you supposed to be getting the drinks?’ June laughs. Al sticks her middle finger up at her and leaves the table.
Millie is certain she didn’t invite Ben because if she had, she’d have washed her hair and bought chewing gum. And maybe wouldn’t have drunk quite so much.
‘Well, this is extremely awkward,’ he says, picking up his phone and scrolling the screen.
‘No, it’s not, at all! We’re so pleased you’re here!’ Millie cries. ‘Aren’t we, June?’
‘Of course!’ June replies.
Ben lifts his screen to show Millie.
Millie Jones:
At Buddies. Are you coming hot stuff? x
A few hours later, Millie and Ben are walking the circumference of the pond in Battersea Park, which is lit up silver by a bright full moon. Shortly after Ben arrived, June abandoned the idea of karaoke and arranged to meet the splits woman from earlier.
‘I mean, I don’t know what’s more humiliating. Sending a message by mistake like that to me,’ Ben says, ‘or boldly assuming that I am hot stuff?’
‘We’re both as bad as each other,’ Millie laughs.
‘June didn’t leave because of me, did she?’ Ben says. ‘Did I crash your party?’
‘Not at all! She’s obsessed with getting her Slide rating up at the moment. She was probably delighted, so she didn’t have to feel guilty about leaving me on my own.’
‘Good. I thought our lengthy debate about what’s harder – sudoku or cryptic crosswords – might have sent her packing.’
‘Talking of packing, are you still not going to tell me where we’re going on Wednesday?’ Millie asks. ‘I need to plan my wardrobe!’
‘Millabelle Jones, you don’t need to plan a thing. We’re going away for two nights, not two weeks. I promise we won’t be changing climates. Just wear what you normally wear. You always look nice,’ he says. ‘I mean, fine. You wear clothes.’
‘Thanks.’ Millie smiles, squealing silently inside at the compliment. ‘Sasha described my style as “comfortable” the other day.’
‘She’s a peach, isn’t she?’ Ben says, laughing.
‘Wait, we’ve gone past your flat.’
‘I’m walking you home!’ he cries.
‘You really don’t have to, it’s not far. I’ll be OK.’
‘I’m not being nice, I’m being horrible. I want to know where you live. I told you, I’m the neighbourhood creep, it’s part of my job. The other parts being . . . lurking behind trees and telling women to smile as they walk past.’
She giggles. ‘Well, you just be careful on the way back. There could be a goose with a flick knife hiding in the shadows.’
‘Nah, Goose Springsteen and I are best mates now,’ Ben explains.
‘This is me,’ Millie says with a heavy heart when they reach her steps. She has a fleeting wish that she lived further away. She isn’t ready to say goodbye. Ben stays on the bottom step, watching her walk up. As she turns around, he salutes her goodbye.
‘It was a pleasure to be of service, ma’am,’ he says, walking backwards. ‘I will see you in the canteen queue on Monday morning at 7.50 a.m.’
Suddenly, Ben dashes up the steps, two at a time. He wraps his arms around Millie, leans her back until her bag touches the floor and kisses her passionately on the lips. She kisses him back even harder, the scent of eucalyptus and Aperol swirling around them.
‘Millie? You there?’ Ben says from the bottom step, looking at her quizzically.
‘Yup, sorry, was just thinking of something. I’ll be there!’ she calls out, unlocking the door and pushing it open. Monday feels like ages away.
‘Remember to pack your hiking boots!’ he shouts, smiling.
‘What? I don’t have hiking boots!’ she cries, standing in the doorway.
‘I mean, your snorkel!’
‘Ben!’
‘Just kidding. But don’t say I didn’t warn you to bring your wellies,’ he chuckles, turning away and disappearing round the corner. She hears him shout, ‘Wear something comfortable!’ in the distance.
Inside her quiet flat, Millie turns round and falls back-first onto her bed, still in her coat. She feels the blood rush to her head, and the room starts to spin. But it’s not the booze, it’s Ben. Millie gets the same feeling every time he’s near her. What is it? She closes her eyes and sees his eyes staring back at her, his long eyelashes casting a subtle shadow over his freckles. In her head, she watches him walk backwards down the street. His bottom lip catches underneath his pointy tooth when he smiles. She can’t explain why she finds this quirk so attractive, she just does. Her heart races just thinking about it.
It’s called a crush, Millie. You’ll get over it.
A hot ray of sunlight wakes Millie up. She blinks a few times, confused, and twists her head away from the source. She forgot to shut her curtains, and she’s still lying on her bedcovers in her coat and outfit from last night, with her phone in her hand. Never a good sign. She rubs her dry eyes, smudging her mascara further, and looks at her last few messages.
Millie:
Did you get home safely? Xxx
She must have been drunker than she thought last night, and feels mortified by the kisses and suggestive tone of her text messages.
Ben:
I did, thank you. And thanks for not making me feel like a total arse for coming along in the first place.
Millie:
My mistake. Glad I made it xxx
Ben:
_ _ / _ _ _ _ _ / _ _ / _ / _ _ _ _ _ _ _ / _ _ _ _ _ _ x
Millie must have fallen asleep after that. At least the message was returned. What’s she supposed to do with this hangman puzzle now? Leaving it unanswered is awkward. But in the sober light of day, it’s too weird to start guessing the letters now. She opts for a subject change.
Millie:
Hey! Sorry, I was so tired last night, I fell asleep the moment I hit the pillow. I call it a wine down. Hope you manage to get out and see some of the sights while it’s sunny. I’m going to
Millie stops and deletes the entire message. There’s no need for an essay.
Millie:
Sorry, fell asleep! Have a good Sunday. See you at work tomorrow x
She deletes the kiss and clicks send.
Eleven
Vivian’s hallway is a family shrine, and it always takes Millie at least five minutes to make it past the first few steps. The wall is a sea of Millie and June photos, certificates, med
als and paintings. There’s always something new to look at with every visit. Today, it’s a framed programme from a prep school play, where nine-year-old Millie was the lead. Millie rolls her eyes and steps forward to her favourite photo of her and Nan at Christmas.
Millie loved cuddling up to Nan on Christmas Eve, snacking on sugared almonds and listening to her stories about growing up with Vivian.
Millie moves along and sighs when she sees the photo of her and June’s graduation lunch on the river. The bucket hat phase. Millie has begged her mum on multiple occasions to burn the evidence, but there she still is, in all her awkward student glory. She remembers the lunch like it was yesterday. It was the week before June joined her first law firm and Millie joined Slide, a little-known start-up that had secured millions in seed funding and was set to take the sex business by storm. Millie recalls trying to keep a straight face as she explained it to Vivian and Nan, while June’s shoulders shuddered in silent giggles beside her.
‘It’s a new company called Slide,’ Millie said. ‘I’m starting off as a creative intern but hoping to make my way up to chief creative officer one day.’
‘Hoping? Expecting, Millie. A first-class student like you doesn’t need to rely on hope. You’ll be a chief creative officer and June will be made partner by the time you’re both thirty, I guarantee it,’ Vivian replied.
‘What’s Slide?’ Nan asked.
‘It’s a website for people to find other people to meet up and have . . . get . . . be intimate with. For a night. Nothing more. Just one night of . . . passion,’ Millie explained.
‘Are you trying to say have sex?’ Nan said in her signature no-nonsense style. ‘Spit it out, Millie. Your mum and I might look ancient, but we aren’t dinosaurs. Well, I’m not, anyway.’
‘Yes. Sex. Then you can rate them afterwards, which makes it easier to find someone compatible next time,’ June added.
‘Bloody hell, that’s fantastic. That would have saved me a world of wasted time and effort,’ Nan responded.
‘Well, there aren’t any age restrictions,’ June said. ‘Let’s sign you both up now!’
‘Yeah, can we not?’ Millie replied.
‘I’d rather poke myself in both eyes, thank you,’ Vivian said. ‘I’m delighted those days are done. The only one-night stand I want is with a good book and a glass of Dom.’
‘Now that’s a ménage à trois I can get behind,’ Nan replied. ‘Or should I say from behind?’
‘Ew, Nan!’ Millie cried.
The four women burst out laughing.
Chief creative officer by thirty.
Millie stares at the photo and smiles, thinking how close she is to accomplishing her – and her mother’s – dream. But the smile fades when a horrible realisation hits her. What comes after that? If she does win the pitch, what is there left to strive for? She’ll still have at least thirty years of work to go. Her mother has always encouraged her to start her own agency, with a promise to back her financially. But Millie’s fear of risk followed by failure outweighs her ambition.
‘Millie, for the last time, I am not removing the graduation lunch picture!’ Vivian shouts from somewhere inside the flat. ‘It was your choice to wear a bucket hat, so don’t punish me for it.’
Millie follows the voice into the kitchen and finds her mum opening a bottle of champagne. As she does with every visit, she makes a beeline for her mum’s fridge, which is a treasure trove of craving fixes. Who it feeds is a mystery; Vivian eats like a squirrel on a fast and is the same size as one, too. Millie suspects her mother runs entirely on nervous – no, angry – energy.
‘None for me, thanks, Mum,’ Millie says, chewing on a slice of brie. After last night’s antics, the smell of champagne is making her quietly gag.
‘Nonsense!’ Vivian insists, pouring a second glass. ‘We have things to celebrate.’
‘Not really, I haven’t even got the job yet!’ Millie says, checking her phone. It’s blank.
The front door slams.
‘Hello, fam!’ June chirps as she swans into the kitchen, stealing the glass from Vivian and a piece of camembert from Millie. ‘Yum, thanks. Such service! Are you hung-over, Mils?’
Millie glares at June with wide eyes and narrow lips. She hates it when June talks about hangovers in front of her mum. Vivian likes her wine but would never let herself lose control, and she expects the same of Millie, too.
‘Millie!’ Vivian cries. ‘What are you doing, wasting your time getting drunk?’
‘Why?’ Millie mouths at June.
‘Losing control is not a good look,’ Vivian continues. ‘How many times do I have to tell you two that? And don’t get me started on the effect it has on your motivation levels the next day. Everyone knows the most successful people don’t drink beyond their limits. Your limit should be two.’
‘Two bottles?’ June asks.
Vivian glares at her.
‘Magnums?’
‘Mum, how do you know what my limit is?’ Millie says.
‘Because you and I are the same, and two is my limit,’ Vivian insists, before looking June up and down. ‘June’s limit is three.’
‘Yesss,’ June fist-pumps, and walks into the living room.
‘Thanks for that,’ Millie says, following her.
‘How was the rest of your night with Brian?’ June asks.
Brian? June is spiky today. Either her slide didn’t live up to her rating, she’s hung-over or Millie has done something to upset her. Sometimes June has to be handled with care. It isn’t surprising, considering her shitty early start in life. When Millie gets tired of treading on eggshells around her, she has to remind herself that June must still suffer from abandonment anxiety and a fear of being unloved – despite all her bravado and confidence.
‘You know his name is Ben,’ Millie corrects her. ‘And yeah, fine, we didn’t stay that late.’
‘Really?’ June frowns. ‘Because you texted me a picture at 1.30 a.m.’
‘Did I?’
‘Wow,’ June says, laughing, taking out her phone and holding up a picture. ‘I knew you were tipsy, but I didn’t realise you were blackout drunk.’
Millie leans forward and squints. It’s an arty picture of her and Ben posing by the lake. The message reads ‘Millie and Ben: Pond Life’. Then she has a flashback. As they passed the pond, they decided it would be funny to create an album cover to launch the start of a new friendship. Millie starts giggling.
‘Yeah, hilarious, Mils!’ June laughs, but with an edge. ‘Extra funny after the tenth one, when I was right in the middle of things with Erica!’
‘Sorry!’ Millie grimaces. ‘We didn’t ruin the moment, did we?’
June stares at her across the sofa then breaks into a childlike smile. ‘Hell no, I still got a four!’
‘A four what?’ Vivian asks, wandering through with the cheese platter that Millie has been picking at from the fridge.
‘Nothing, Viv,’ June says.
‘You two peas in a pod with your secrets. Just like Nan and I,’ Vivian says, and smiles. ‘I miss her. Now, Millie, tell me about this new role. More money? More responsibility? Will you learn more about how the company runs day-to-day?’ Vivian speaks at the speed of light.
‘I’m guessing yes to all the above,’ Millie says.
‘You need to find out these details, Millabelle. It’s important. Being a chief creative officer isn’t just about the big ideas and the fun stuff. You need to know the commercial side of the business. Especially with your ambitions for your own agency.’
‘Your ambitions,’ Millie says under her breath.
‘Millie doesn’t even know if she’s got the job yet,’ June says, coming to Millie’s rescue. ‘Perhaps we should just take things one step at a time. We don’t always have to plan things ten years in advance.’
‘Five years,’ Vivian corrects her, automatically, ‘and of course she’ll get it, why wouldn’t she get it?’
‘I know, she’s a shoo-in, righ
t?’ June replies.
‘It’s a competitive pitch,’ Millie replies. ‘I’m up against another creative at work. On the Oxytoxin project I told you about.’
‘Oh yes, remind me again. It’s some kind of pill that’s meant to stop people falling in love or something, isn’t it?’
‘Two pills, two weeks and it’s game over,’ Millie says, checking her phone again.
‘More like level up, if you ask me,’ June interjects.
‘Incredible, if it works.’ Vivian sips her champagne. ‘I suppose it will be a godsend for people who can’t control their emotions. I don’t see it being particularly relevant to any of us. But I’m sure it could help a lot of people find true happiness with themselves.’
‘Have you ever had a boyfriend, Mum?’ Millie asks, pushing her phone back into her pocket, aware of June watching her from the other side of the sofa. There’s still no message from Ben, which is making her feel a bit sick. Was she a twat last night?
Her mum sniggers. ‘No, of course not! It’s not in my DNA. Our DNA. The only “love at first sight” moment I’ve ever had was when I saw you for the first time. This tiny little doll of a girl with a shock of bright red hair. I’ve never felt anything like it. In that moment I remember looking at you and thinking, “It’s you and me, baby. Together, we’re going to conquer the world”. Then along came June, and our tiny team of two turned into a triple threat!’
‘Careful, Mum, you might shed a tear,’ Millie smiles.
‘Oh please, it’s a statement of fact, not emotion,’ Vivian scoffs.
‘You didn’t know Millie’s donor, did you?’ June probes, as she has a habit of doing.
‘No way. Traditional anonymous-donor-and-implant route. And with Nan living down the road, she was your honorary co-parent. Who needs to fall in love when you have your friends by your side?’
‘Amen!’ Millie sings.
‘Who needs a boyfriend, when you can have a toyfriend?’ June says with a comedy wink.
