Chapter 1
CHAPTER ONE
Jules
“What are you doing on the twenty-seventh?” Darius’s question immediately set my teeth on edge, making me wish I had never answered the phone. Especially since he had called at half-nine on a Friday night, which never meant anything good.
I should have known better. But I didn’t.
I sighed internally. Did I mean so little to Darius that I wasn’t even worthy of a hello?
That was a question I didn’t want to ask myself, because I already knew I wouldn’t like the answer.
“I’m not sure,” I said, wishing I could have brought myself to say something snarky or passive-aggressive, like “Good evening to you too, Darius.” But I didn’t, because I’d never been able to rock the boat like that.
Besides, despite everything that had happened between us, I still considered Darius my friend and I didn’t want to lose him.
Especially because it would mean losing so much else as well.
“Well, can you check your diary? Philip’s exhibition at Lewis & McKinnon is opening that night, and we’d love you to be there.”
“Oh, er, yes… I can check. I don’t think I have any plans.”
“Fabulous. We thought you could bring your violin, maybe play a few pieces to match the mood of the evening. Really set the tone, you know. I wanted it to be piano, because that really would have matched the vibe of Philip’s art, but the gallery doesn’t have one, and I’m not letting you bring that tacky keyboard,” Darius said blithely, casually unaware of the way he’d just punched a hole in my chest with his carelessness.
“Oh, well, that’s a little different Darius,” I said as I fought to find my words before he steamrollered me. Again. “I’m not a professional musician.”
“So? What does that matter? You’re so talented and I know it would mean so much to Philip.
This is his big moment and I want it to be just perfect, Julian.
There will be so many important people there, this is his chance to really be seen.
Get noticed. You’re not going to ruin it by being petty, are you? ”
I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose, a sharp headache suddenly forming in my temple. “No, Darius. I’m not—”
“Perfect, I knew you’d be on board! I’ll send you the details and some of the work to inspire you. We’ll need about an hour of music, but no repeats, obviously. See you soon.”
He hung up, leaving me staring at my phone screen while my heart sank faster than a lead balloon.
I didn’t know why I was surprised I hadn’t received an actual invitation, but that had always been the way with Darius, and even Philip.
You didn’t get invitations, you got a summons, and then anger, tears, or accusations if you said no.
In the thirty-two years I’d known Darius, I’d discovered it was easier just to go along with whatever he wanted.
Otherwise, he had a knack for making life difficult for you, and I already had a severe lack of friends in my life.
I didn’t want to lose the few I already had.
If that meant putting up with Darius’s demands, then so be it.
Even if that did mean providing an unpaid service at my ex-boyfriend’s gallery opening in Chelsea. The one I’d taken him to a couple of times on dates and introduced him to the owners, telling them what a wonderfully talented artist Philip was…
That stung more than I wanted to admit.
There were times I wondered whether Philip had used me to get better connections, a better social circle, and then, inevitably, a better boyfriend in Darius, but every time I thought that, I told myself to stop being so petty and jealous.
Yes, Philip hadn’t known anyone, and yes, he had very neatly inserted himself into my friendship group to the point it felt like I wasn’t there half the time, and yes, I had introduced him to a lot of people before he dumped me, arty and musical friends from university, gallery owners, wealthy donors I’d met through my fundraising work for the National Gallery. But none of that meant anything.
I was just reading into the situation and looking for reasons to be upset where there weren’t any.
Of course Philip hadn’t known anyone or had any friends: he’d not long moved to London. And our relationship had fallen apart because we weren’t compatible, suffering the same fate as so many other relationships across the globe on a daily basis.
It didn’t mean I was special.
“It’s just nice to be asked,” I said sternly to myself as I put my phone on the coffee table. “And besides, everyone else will be there. I’m sure I’ll have plenty of time to talk to them.”
I wasn’t sure I believed that though.
Ever since Philip had started going out with Darius, things in our social circle had felt awkward.
I knew Philip was charming and charismatic, it was one of the reasons I’d been so attracted to him.
And Darius was, well, Darius, and held everyone in the palm of his hand, but even so, I’d known most of these people for years.
But now, it rather felt like they’d chosen them over me, and I didn’t know how to feel about that.
Joe had said it wasn’t personal when they invited Darius and Philip places instead of me, hinting vaguely that it was easier to exclude me than deal with Darius’s tantrums. I understood, to a point, but it didn’t make it any easier.
Especially when I saw all the photos on Instagram of them all out at dinner or bars or on days out together while I was sat at home, painfully lonely.
Maybe they wouldn’t talk to me at the gallery after all. Not if I was supposed to be doing a job.
Which sounded pointless anyway. Who wanted live music at a gallery opening?
There was probably some reasoning behind it, but I was too worn out to examine it any further.
I sighed and dropped backwards onto the sofa, sprawling out across the cushions like a starfish and groaning as my arm flopped across my face.
There was a disgruntled meow from somewhere to my left, and I lifted my arm enough to see the love of my life, Cécile, sitting on the armchair opposite me and looking at me with what could only be pity. Or maybe disdain.
“I know, I know,” I said. “I shouldn’t be so pathetic.
” Cécile meowed again, her fluffy, white tail flicking slightly.
“I wish you could talk, my love. It would make things so much easier. If you were human you could even come to the gallery opening with me, to stop me saying or doing something I’ll regret.
Mostly because I’m sure you’d say it first. You always did have much more of a backbone than me, and you never did like Philip.
Still, at least I’d have someone to talk to. ”
Cécile stared at me, then chirped softly before she began grooming her front paw. For a cat, she really did have a lot of opinions. But I valued her input, mostly because I didn’t have many other people to ask.
I reached out and grabbed my phone again, an idea niggling at the back of my mind. Perhaps there was something to taking someone with me. But whom… now that was the question.
I scrolled across my screens of apps, wondering if there was someone from the office I could ask. No, that wouldn’t work. Most of them were more introverted than me, and I also didn’t fancy humiliating myself in front of someone I didn’t know that well.
If she was in the country, I’d have asked my sister, Rachel, but she was working in Japan for at least the next six months, and I couldn’t ask her to come back for one night.
There was my brother, but his rugby season had not long ended and, according to my calendar, he would be away that week on a much-deserved holiday, so he was out.
Which was probably a good thing, because Bailey had always hated Philip. And Darius.
He’d been urging me to cut Darius off for years, saying he was a terrible friend and that I deserved so much better, but I’d always resisted. I was starting to think that maybe he had a point.
But that didn’t mean I was going to act on it. After all, surely having terrible friends was better than having no friends?
My eyes caught on the icon for an app Bailey had installed after my breakup: Heart2Heart.
I’d only ventured on to it once or twice, then I’d chickened out because I had no idea what I was supposed to do.
But maybe that would be a way to find someone.
It wasn’t as if I had to date them or anything, they just had to come with me and potentially run interference when Darius or Philip inevitably found something they weren’t happy with.
Or when they tried to be extra sweet and lovely, the way they always were when they wanted me to forget how badly they’d behaved.
It always worked too. Even though I knew they were doing it.
I tapped the app and opened it, casually scrolling through the features until I realised they had message boards. Maybe that would be somewhere to start. That way, I wouldn’t be bothering anyone.
Opening the boards, I found they were divided into different topics. I wasn’t sure where my conundrum would quite fit, but there was one for platonic connections which would do to start with. I could always repost it if necessary.
There were some rules pinned at the top, which I read through first while trying to formulate my post in my mind.
I didn’t want to sound too needy or desperate, and I didn’t want people to ask too many questions, but I also knew people were going to require information or this whole thing wasn’t going to work.
Plus, there was the very real chance they’d think I was a creep trying to lure them somewhere.
Eventually, after staring at my phone for close to an hour, I gave up trying to meticulously plan my phrasing and just started writing.
This is a long shot but I don’t suppose anyone in or near London, UK, is free on the 27th June to come with me, 35M, to my ex’s gallery opening?
(It’s a long story but they’re part of my friend group but we’re all on good terms).
I’ll happily pay for train tickets, tube/bus/taxi etc, and will buy you dinner and drinks as a thank you for surviving this.
Willing to discuss more details over DM.
It wasn’t the most eloquent message but it got the point across.
Now I just had to wait and see if anyone responded. Which I doubted they would, but at least I’d put myself out there.
Cécile hopped onto the sofa and climbed into my lap, her favourite place to nest when it was getting late and she was tired from her long day of being a lady of leisure and watching the world go by from the window seat in my office.
I rubbed gently between her ears, humming softly while she purred.
Cécile was named after the French composer Cécile Chaminade, whose work I’d fallen in love with in my early twenties, and every time I’d played or hummed it for her as a kitten, she’d always started purring.
“Maybe if I’m very lucky, I’ll find someone to go with me,” I murmured. “Maybe they won’t even be fazed by Darius’s bluster.”
Cécile purred and pushed her head into my hand, making me smile. She always did know the right thing to do.
There were no messages or comments on my post when I went to bed, but I tried to tell myself it was a bit of a strange request and a localised one too.
Nobody outside of London was going to want to respond.
It was late on a Friday night too, and most people had far better things to do than sit around and scroll through message boards.
But in the morning, when I checked again, there was a single message waiting for me in my inbox, sent at five-thirteen that morning:
Tai: If you’re on good terms with your ex, why would I need to “survive this”? I’m very intrigued, so tell me more?