Pictures of You

Chapter 42

42

Evie

It’s formal night. Drew is picking me up from Bree’s in an hour and I’m still curling my hair. It’s naturally curly, but in that way that looks like you have no control over your life, and I want it sleeked up with perfect Elizabeth Bennet curls and a ribbon.

Even with the fancy dress theme, Bree thinks I’m brave wearing the Regency dress, but this feels like my one chance to pretend I’m living in the fairy tale of a different age.

Ripples of our parents’ laughter float down the hallway while they sip champagne. Dad has gone overboard and brought the camera and a tripod, which is majorly embarrassing, but Mum said this is a key moment in parenting they didn’t want to miss and we’re going to be glad we have the photos later, as if every kid at this formal won’t take a hundred photos of their own.

All good for 7pm pickup? I text Drew. I’m still feeling bad about the way he was sidelined at the exhibition.

I’ll bring the carriage around then , he replies. It makes me smile, and I send back an emoji, which isn’t very Regency of me, but I’m sure Jane Austen would have embraced social media, given the opportunity. She’d have owned social media, actually.

My phone rings. It’s Oliver.

“Just checking all’s okay,” he says when I click the speaker button and get back to my hair.

“My hair is not okay,” I reply. It really isn’t. I am not a hair person, and whatever I’m trying to do here is actually making it worse.

“I’m sure it’s gorgeous.”

Bree is the one who is stunning. She is in an amazing slinky black dress, absolutely rocking it. I’m a bit nervous about how it’s going to go with Oliver and Drew, but Oliver promised it would be fine from his end.

Forty-five minutes later, my nerves have skyrocketed. This whole formal scene is just like the parties that make me so uncomfortable, but on a much grander scale. I’m so anxious I’m inhaling the scent of the jasmine plant in front of Bree’s house. I read that it’s as powerful as Valium for calming anxiety. In fact, I grab the secateurs that I use for my plant propagation, chop some off, and stick it in my hair.

Oliver arrives first. Looking like his usual self, except even more incredible, if that’s possible. As he gets out of the car, grabs his jacket from the back seat, and walks toward me, I honestly want to chop every single branch of jasmine from the plant and smother myself in it to calm down. He and Bree are going as some sort of glamorous James Bond and Bond girl pairing. It’s off script for Bree to choose a theme in which she is not the main character, but there’s enough weirdness around this formal already without me questioning that.

“Look at you,” Oliver says, standing back and taking my outfit in. “Wow.”

I’m hoping it’s a good “wow” and not “wow, I can’t believe my girlfriend is going out in public looking like a Mr. Collins magnet.” It’s hard to tell what he’s thinking, until Bree emerges and I notice a bit more “wow” in his tone when he sees her dress.

I smooth down the silky blue fabric of mine, over the high Empire waist that suddenly feels frumpy beside Bree’s Bond girl sleekness. There’s no way around it, the black dress with its plunging neckline, and low-scooped back are showstopping. And she is his date, technically, but wait till he sees the whole picture with Drew in his outfit. Where is Drew? He should be here by now.

Seven o’clock passes.

Seven-fifteen.

Seven-twenty.

I’ve messaged him twice, with no reply. “You two should go. I’m sure he must be on the way,” I tell Oliver and Bree.

“We’ll wait,” Bree protests.

But we’re meant to be at preformal drinks already. “It’s fine!” I say. “I’ll see you there soon.”

They get in the car and I hover near the jasmine, obsessively checking my phone every five seconds. Still nothing from Drew. I try to call but it goes straight to voicemail.

Oliver messages me a few minutes later. Any sign of him?

Not yet. And he’s not picking up.

I’m a ball of nerves as Oliver types and deletes and retypes his message.

I thought this might happen. He’s just unreliable, Evie. He misses class a LOT. Want me to turn back?

I can’t do that to Bree, who has been longing for this night for months. I’ll give him ten more minutes and then I’ll … what? Go by myself? Do I dare walk into a formal in period costume alone ?

Maybe I should change into the other dress. It’s still “me,” but not quite this unconventional. Or I could just not go. It doesn’t take much for me to pull out of a social event.

The phone bursts into life and I’m so nervy I drop it. It’s him. Drew.

“Where are you?” I burst out.

“Evie, I am sorry to do this,” he says, his voice strained. “I can’t come.”

Can’t come? At ten to eight he tells me this?

“Why can’t you?” I say, trying not to sound as angry as I’m starting to feel.

“I really can’t explain it,” he says. It’s totally insufficient. He owes me a proper explanation. Is he on drugs? What could possibly have come up in the hour since he put a smile on my face telling me he’d bring the carriage around?

“Is it your mum?”

“Sorry, I can’t tell you.”

I don’t have time for this. I hang up on him. Furious.

He’s not coming , I text Oliver.

I’m on my way , he types back.

I have a flash of the expression on his face when he first saw me in this dress. And I walk upstairs and change.