The Love of My Afterlife(58)
The audience claps heartily, and I don’t know if it’s the adrenaline or just the chaos of the last few days, but I suddenly feel a bolt of energy through me. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever felt before, making the hair on my arms prickle and my heart pound in my ears like a heavy drumbeat pumping me up for battle. How dare she? How dare she? I march towards the stage. I want her to see me. To see that I know what a liar she is. That not everyone here is taken in by her false sweetness and saccharine voice.
Gen spots me, her eyes widening. She nudges Ryan, and when he catches sight of me, he narrows his eyes as if trying to place me.
How dare they stand up there and talk about being kind when they made my life hell on earth? How can they pretend so easily?
Fury worms its way through my body, so hot that I’m sure my eyes must be crackling with it like something out of a sci-fi movie. I walk up to the platform and face Gen.
“Delphie Bookham?” Her jaw drops as she looks me up and down. “I can’t believe—”
“Oh fuck off, Gen.” My heart surges. The energy running through my limbs makes me feel like I could lift a truck. My head is filled with flashes from school—a grim montage like the one from Merritt’s video.
“Delphie!” Gen hisses. “What are you—”
“I thought I told you to fuck off,” I blurt out, the nearby microphone making my words reverberate around the ballroom. My voice, combined with a spine-tingling shriek of feedback, means that the bubbling chatter of the gala immediately stops, an uncomfortable hush settling over the room. My eyes mist with tears. I squeeze them away. I will not fucking cry in front of them.
“You say bullying ruins lives.” My voice is trembling despite the champagne that has dulled my nerves. “You bullied me! You ruined my life. My crime?” I shake my head. “I still don’t fucking know.” I step closer to Gen and lower my voice. “What did I do to you? I was your best friend. And you treated me like you hated me. Why?”
Gen steps towards me to move away from the microphone that’s catching our entire conversation. But for a brief, terrifying moment, I think she’s going to push me or trip me or stick something in my hair. Instinctively, I lift one of the full glasses of champagne and swish it in her face. It’s a pre-emptive act of self-defence, one that I immediately realise was not necessary. Gen just stands there blinking, liquid sliding down her face, marking her dress. Her lips curl with fury. I place the glass on the floor, open my mouth to say something else, but the angry, alcohol-boosted adrenaline that filled my veins just a moment ago has trickled away, all used up. I have nothing else to say.
I turn to see that every person in the room is watching us. Cooper is right there in the middle standing next to the Elizabeth Taylor woman. His lips are pressed together in a gloomy line.
And then behind him, I see the dazzling blue eyes I’ve been thinking about since the day I first saw them. He’s dressed in a black-and-white-checked flannel shirt and khaki chinos. It’s clearly a costume, but I don’t know who he’s supposed to be. Even in such an ugly outfit he’s still ridiculously handsome, hair perfectly neat, shoulders pleasingly broad. He’s peering at me curiously, head tilted to the side. Merritt said that memories are wiped when accidental visitors arrive at Evermore. I need to tell him who I am.
I go to him.
29
I’m with him. Standing in front of him. The two of us in a small storeroom, just off the main ballroom. He looked surprised when I asked him to come with me but did it anyway. To his mind, I’m a complete stranger. My stomach sinks.
He looks around the room, I do the same. It’s lined with shelves stocked with candles and candlesticks, lightbulbs of every size and shape, and a couple of chandelier pieces in need of repair.
“A whole room just for the light-related paraphernalia,” I remark, my voice a little shaky.
“How the other half live,” he adds, resting his attention on me.
“My name is Delphie,” I say.
“Jonah.” He holds out his hand to shake mine. I do and a swoosh of heat warms my stomach as I recall the first time he touched me, how we just stood there holding hands like it was the most natural thing in the world. He smiles. He doesn’t much seem to mind that I’ve dragged him away from the party. I wonder what he thinks is happening right now. I should probably explain myself.
“Are you here tonight to dance?” I ask instead, putting off the conversation I actually need to have. “For a gig?”
He frowns slightly. “How did you know I was a dancer?”
“Oh! Yes so…Someone mentioned it out in the ballroom. Some guy? He said you shared an agent…”
“There’s another Alabaster Disaster here tonight, is there?” He laughs. “Sorry. In-joke—my agent’s a little less than effective these days. No. I’m here off the clock. As a plus-one.”
Oh! Maurice must have had the Post-it note not because Jonah was hired here tonight, but because he wasn’t available to be hired anywhere else. “Who are you supposed to be?” I ask.
Jonah laughs and brushes a tiny bit of lint from the chest of his flannel shirt. “It’s a bit of a niche reference, to be honest. Have you seen the film Beetlejuice?”
I shake my head.