DIANA
Yes.
The one-word message is emblazoned in my mind, branded on my heart.
Yes. Yes. Yes.
I opened it hours ago, but now, sitting here with Lizzie at a restaurant on Kensington High Street, I keep glancing at my bag as if I expect my phone, hidden deep inside it, to burst into flames of hellfire.
I’m racked with guilt. A strange kind of double-layered guilt; I’m lying to her, and to her dad, and he and I are both, sort of, lying to her.
I fucked your dad when I didn’t know who he was.
I kissed him when I did.
Maybe my father was right. I really am a bad person.
I pushed Rafe to that yes by taking his finger in my mouth. Stupid, stupid. I crossed the line and threw him into the arms of another woman. The silver lining is that the other woman also happens to be me.
There is no way I am going to get out of this in one piece, but I am, it seems, hell bent on self-destruction.
“Will you let my dad help you move out?" Lizzie’s voice slips through my web of guilty thoughts. “If he doesn’t have time to help you himself, he definitely has staff who can help you pack up all your stuff.” She pauses to spin spaghetti around her fork.
“Are you sure you want to go to Brixton? It’s so far away. ”
I laugh. “Far from what? You’re going to South America, which is pretty far away from Knightsbridge and Brixton.”
She points her spaghetti-loaded fork at me and smiles. “You know what I mean. It’s… you know… far from where you’d want to be.”
Far from your dad. I clear my throat, wishing these intrusive little thoughts would fuck off.
“Where you’d want to be, you mean,” I reply. “It’s actually not that far. I can take the Victoria line to Central London in no time. But I’m working from home anyway. It’s not like I need to commute to an office.”
Lizzie chews her spaghetti, swallows, and chases it with a sip of water.
“True.” She emits a soft sigh. “How weird, to be finally running your own business and bringing in your own money. Dad paid me well when I was working in his office, but it’s not nearly the same as doing it on your own. I can’t imagine it. How does it feel?”
I think about the money I’ve been making, the books I’ve read and the content I’ve made.
The online course is ready for launch, and I’ve been busy promoting.
There have even been offers of promotional tours and book events too.
I used to get them all the time, and while I’d go to the events, I never did the big money promotional gigs.
Don’t get me wrong, the money would have been great, but I was busy at university.
At least, that’s the excuse I gave myself.
Looking back, saying no was about more than that.
I think I felt guilty about earning money when Dad was giving me so much already, as if my work didn’t count or I didn’t deserve to be paid for it.
Dad literally and metaphorically trapped me with that allowance. And after his reaction the other night, I know he’d still like to keep me trapped. Even after throwing me out on the street, he can’t truly let me go.
I stare at my best friend, at her pretty face, which doesn’t look like her father’s at all.
She must bear a strong resemblance to her mother, I assume.
And I’m thankful for that. It would be harder to lie to her if she was sitting there resembling the man I slept with months ago, and might sleep with again on Saturday.
But I suppose I’ve been lying to her constantly already.
I am a shitty friend. I can’t even pretend not to be anymore.
“It feels…” I pause, struggling to bring my thoughts back to her question.
“It feels good to be earning my own money. As long as I’m not beating myself up that it’s not enough or that I’m not working hard enough, it’s nice.
It’s a step towards freedom. It will grow, and I’m trying to be gentle with myself.
I know from experience that I can’t make anything work if I’m being cruel to myself about it. ”
She narrows her eyes. “Do you need more time to get fully established?”
“What do you mean?”
“I can talk to my dad if you want. I’m sure he’ll let you stay longer if I ask him. I can see how much he’s helped you. I reckon he likes it too, you know.”
The hairs on my arms stand up, and I try not to react. “Maybe.”
“It’s crazy for you to have to leave just because I am. There’s so much space.”
“I don’t want to trespass on his generosity much longer.
He’s already done so much for me, and I can’t afford to pay him back.
Not yet anyway.” I rub my temple, wondering what his hourly rate for business consultancy is, if that’s something he even offers to anyone else.
“Probably never, actually, if I wanted to pay him for his time.”
Lizzie smiles. “Probably not, but Dad’s stingy with his time.
He always says it’s your most important asset, so don’t give it away freely.
Know who you’re giving it to and why. Even as a little kid, he made me ask myself that question.
Where is my time going?” She gives a little laugh.
“He wouldn’t have helped you if he didn’t want to. I can promise you that.”
Talking about him stirs up my stomach, making it flutter and bubble. I can’t eat, so I push my plate aside and redirect the conversation to Lizzie’s hopes and dreams for her trip abroad.
Later that day, I say farewell to Lizzie before she climbs into a private car to the airport.
Rafe is in the back, waiting for her, and the glimpse of him through the tinted window is enough to make my heart race.
I don’t get too close, not wanting to draw attention to myself or distract him when all his attention ought to be on his daughter and her departure.
But once they’re gone, all I can think about is him and the fact that we’ve arranged to meet at Delirium tomorrow.
I could come clean. I could tell him everything. I could lay it all out and let him choose. Do you still want the woman from Delirium if she’s me and I am her?
Or I could avoid the potential rejection and have sex with him again without telling him.
I ponder my options for all of thirty seconds, but it’s not even a choice.
I can’t risk him finding out and not choosing me.
And to think I would contemplate not going to Delirium is crazy.
I’ve never wanted to go to a sex club this much in my entire life.
I’ve never wanted to have sex with anyone this much.
I’ve never wanted another person so much that being around them and not being able to kiss them or touch them is physically painful.
There’s no way I’m coming clean.
I’m getting really fucking dirty instead.