“I’m also dating him.”
My mouth opens but no words come out.
She smiles again. “Well, I suppose we haven’t yet had the exclusive conversation,” she says, “but I assumed we were, seeing as I met his parents last weekend.”
“Last weekend?” I pause. “So the … the Saturday?”
She nods, frowning.
“So he slept with me on Sunday…” I’m blinking a lot and my throat feels tight “… after having introduced you to his parents the previous day?”
“You’re joking.” She rounds on me, and I notice by way of her tight dress that she has an exaggerated hourglass figure. I wonder how much pasta and ice-cream sundaes she eats, if any. “Or is that your deal then?” she asks me. “Were you actually dating?”
“Were?”
“Or were you just fucking him?”
I don’t know what to say, and I feel very small. I should own a second, taller pair of heels.
I step back. “No! I mean we are dating; we do date, we eat dinner. He makes me pasta.”
She scrunches her face, and it creases her makeup.
“We went to the cinema once.”
“Once? Oh.”
My chest burns when I realize she’s downgraded me from threat to mere obstacle.
“I’m guessing the two of you … have done more than that?”
There’s a deafening silence. The speech has stopped mid-sentence. Everyone looks at Ben, but he only looks at the two of us.
“Ahem, Ben,” says Eric.
He blinks. “Sorry, where was I? Yes, the foundation of this company…” He continues, but his eyes remain on us.
“Yes,” Sophie says. “But apart from meeting his family for dinner, nothing serious. A few gatherings with his friends, dinners out, midnight walks. Oh, God. Did he take you on that canal boat ride too?”
I just blink, and she rolls her eyes.
“Here was me thinking I was special,” she says.
She knows she is.
“Now I’m furious I gave in and slept with him last night.” She doesn’t look furious. “My own fault. My friends kept saying you can’t trust a man who wants to ‘wait until we know each other a bit better.’ I hope you’re going to give him hell for this.” She straightens her shoulders and tilts back her head. “I certainly am. No offense, Maggie, but I don’t share.”
“Excuse me.”
I leave the room with a familiar ringing in my ears. My vision’s blurred, so I can’t see the way I came in and instead keep walking down a long corridor. My stomach hurts and my chest is shrinking; I need to lie down. There’s a dark section between two doors that I melt into. There’s not much space, so I sit on the floor with my knees to my chest and my eyes shut.
I hear Ben walk past, quietly calling my name, then, “Soph, what did you say to her?”
“You were dating the two of us?” Now she sounds furious. “Tell me it wasn’t serious. I didn’t think that was your type.”
“Not now,” Ben says. “I need to find her.”
“Why?” Sophie asks. “She’s obviously gone home. You can go and see her tomorrow, to tell her it’s over, but everyone in that room is going to start asking questions if we don’t get back in there.” She clicks her fingers and holds out her hand. She has on fake nails so long they curl at the end. Ben hesitates, but eventually takes it. Hand in hand, they walk away.
I hear Ben say, “Sorry about that,” before the doors close. He may have been addressing the room or talking to Sophie. I’ll never know.
I wait in the dark for a bit longer before crawling out.
The receptionist is still there.
“Miss Wright, are you leaving already? Is everything okay?”
At least she remembers my name.
I nod, even though mascara has dried on my cheeks and I’m holding my heels. The bottom of my feet will be caked with dirt, but worse things have happened this week. I exit through the glass doors and watch the hordes entering and leaving the train station before calling for an Uber.
Thankfully, the driver’s not a talker, which explains why he’s rated so highly on the app. He takes one look at me, says, “Rough night, huh?” then puts the music on a little louder.
I sit with my head against the window watching the city’s lights and the road’s cars and London’s people, and silently cry.
Chapter Twenty-two
Dear Maddie,
Flowers and a small card to let you know how much we are all thinking of you and your family as you endure this sad and difficult time. I was so sorry to hear your news and wish you much love as you remember your dad and learn to live with this loss.
Penny and the OTP team x
Ben didn’t text that night. Just as well. I got into bed and replayed everything that had happened between us in my head. If I were watching our relationship on-screen, I would have rolled my eyes at TV-Maddie, called her a sucker and claimed to have known better, that it was so obvious. But I didn’t know any better. And was it really so obvious?
I chalk it up to yet another thing schools fail to teach us: how to do your taxes, how to buy a property, and how to tell when you’re being taken for a fool.
The following morning, a plethora of flowers and treats are delivered. They gather on the dining room table, propagating until they mimic afternoon tea in an overgrown garden, but I stay out of the kitchen as much as possible to avoid looking at them.
I’ve always wanted to be given flowers and it turns out that all I needed was for my dad to die and my apparently-not-boyfriend to get caught sleeping with someone else.
To get caught being in love with someone else?
* * *
I tell Shu and Nia what happened and they both come over. It’s weird seeing the two of them together because they’re not exactly friends. They only know of each other through me.
“Shower, please.”
I do as Shu says; I brush my teeth, scrub my face, and pull my hair up, and when I’m done, Nia’s changed my bedding and loaded the washing machine. Shu has taken the overflowing bins out and picks at the chocolates Ben had delivered. She mops the kitchen floor and I watch her. She’s had a haircut; it’s to her collarbone now and is so shiny that individual strands streak silver when they hit the light. She has on her multiple necklaces and she’s added another ear piercing to her collection. She wears an oversized jumper and bike shorts. Her eyelash extensions mean if I look close enough, they’re either resting on her cheeks or reaching for her eyebrows.
I love Shu very much.
Nia’s bought more food and lots of salad and fruit. We sit in the living room and eat on the floor.
Shu kisses her teeth. “I never liked him, you know.”
“You met?” Nia asks.
“No, but I looked him up on Facebook and he was still active on it, so that was a red flag,” Shu explains. “Facebook is now solely for stalking purposes, distant foreign relatives excused. He’s not even good-looking,” she adds, popping a grape into her mouth. “Small eyes and stretched lips. I knew you’d end up having funky taste in men.”
“Maybe Maddie’s more focused on personality?” Nia helps.
“I doubt it,” Shu says. “His was clearly shit.” She turns to me. “Were you with him because he was rich?”