Chapter Twenty-Five Clara
Chapter Twenty-Five CLARA
I climb into my glittery jumpsuit, immediately getting tangled up. I’m too excited for complicated clothing – I can’t focus or keep still enough.
This afternoon was great, hanging out with Jemma – dropping off her latest note – and tonight’s going to be even better. I yank at the jumpsuit’s sleeve, which I realize now is a leg, sending a spray of glitter across the floor.
If I can somehow get into this outfit-contraption, me, Jemma, Salma and Harry are heading to a fancy hotel rooftop bar that I’ve always wanted to check out. It’s going to be wall-to-wall glitz and glamour, not to mention there’s a guestlist that features my beloved Milo Samuels.
I’m also hoping tonight will put paid to any remaining weirdness with Harry.
I think he’s been avoiding me since our stupid drunken snog almost a week ago.
We are on the same page of pretending it never happened, but we have undeniably been a little bit awkward.
There has been a lot of uncomfortable staring at the ceiling and nervous laughter when we’re in the same room.
And oh god it was mega awkward last night, when we all watched episode eight of Book Boyfriend .
The whole thirty minutes was basically just one long sex scene – which would usually be totally Mia cup of tea, but when you’re watching your future husband having fake sex with someone else, while sitting next to a lad you snogged the week before, while also sitting near your sister who clearly fancies that snoggee…
well, it was a tiny bit bananapants confusing.
I couldn’t concentrate on the action at all, I was so worried about pulling the right facial expression and putting out the right body language.
I didn’t want to seem like the show was bothering me, like I’m some kind of prude, but I also really didn’t want to look like I was aroused in any way.
Thank god for Salma being there. Halfway through, she started telling us about the last person she’d had sex with, and how she snorted a snot bubble in their face halfway through having an orgasm.
That definitely helped break the ice. And then Jemma said her anecdote was like something out of a Jane Austen novel, and so I said, ‘Or its TV adaptation starring Keira Knightley,’ and we all started laughing.
It got a lot less weird and tense after that.
‘Are you ready?’ Jemma pokes her head around the door.
She looks lovely, in a yellow dress and cardi combo I recognize from some Great-Aunt wedding years ago.
Before I went to America. How does she always make old stuff look good?
All the clothes I own feel dated and ugly halfway through their first wear.
‘Just about.’ I grimace, throwing another sleeve in the wrong direction. Jemma laughs and comes in, adjusting my outfit around me and doing up the zip. ‘Thanks,’ I tell her with genuine relief. I was starting to panic there.
She looks stern. ‘Just don’t be dragging me into the loos every twenty minutes to help you go for a wee.’
I hold up a hand in the Brownie promise. ‘I swear I won’t. I haven’t drunk any liquids all day in preparation for wearing this jumpsuit.’ I pause. ‘To be honest, the main reason I’m wearing it is because it feels like a safe segue from the onesie I’ve worn for two months straight.’
She laughs and I study her. She looks relaxed .
I’m surprised – I thought she’d be all over the place after leaving that note for her pen pal earlier.
I mean, I’d be freaking out if I were her.
Three solid months of chatting to this mystery guy and it’s all about to be revealed.
I mean, maybe. I suppose he could tell her his name is none of her business or ghost her.
To be honest, I thought Jemma would also be having a meltdown about going to an actual party for basically the first time in her life.
She never goes out to stuff like this. But, taking her energy in now, she seems…
excited? Maybe my predictable, rut-loving bookworm sister is finally learning to embrace the unknown – embrace an adventure …
An hour later, and I’m slightly missing my predictable, rut-loving bookworm, adventure-averse sister. She’s had three shots, two large gins and is now draining her second large glass of wine. She grins sloppily at me now, her face red, her teeth and lips already purple.
‘This is a fantastic party,’ she stage-whispers at me, turning several heads with her loudness. ‘Where’s your man from the TV? Is he here?’ She looks around, almost losing her balance, and I reach out to steady her. I feel a bit jealous. I want to be that drunk.
‘Not yet, I don’t think,’ I say, shaking my head and scanning the room’s occupants.
But then – ohhhh – there he is! He’s here.
He enters the room from a side entrance that barely looks like a door.
His publicist and definitely-not-his-girlfriend Katiezzz is right behind him again, annoyingly.
But this time he’s here to schmooze. It’s a party.
She can’t drag him away – or glare me away – not this time.
We’re going to chat, and by the end of this night, that man is going to ask me out on a date.
‘He’s there!’ I whack Jemma on the arm and she stands up straighter. Or at least, she attempts to.
Harry and Salma are suddenly upon us, fresh from the bar, drinks in hand.
‘Have you seen?’ Salma squeals. ‘He’s over there!’
Harry shrugs. ‘I saw him,’ he says, playing it cool. ‘I’ve met him before, we’re, like, mates or whatever.’
I laugh and our eyes meet briefly, before we both look away. ‘I saw! He looks so hot,’ I say excitedly. ‘So, do I just go over ? Just casual-like? And say hi, it’s me, Clara, the Ambrosiac? ’
‘Amnesiac.’ Even a drunk Jemma still has to be a right Jemma.
‘Ignore her,’ Salma instructs. ‘Go do your thang!’ She grabs my arm. ‘Wait, do you want us to come with you?’
I blink anxiously. Do I? Yes, maybe I do. I want it to look like I have friends, and am not just some creep, alone at this party following him around. I nod decisively. ‘Yes, please come with me.’
The four of us walk in a huddle – Jemma lolling in and out of our group – across the room, until we’re a mere few feet away from Milo. He’s waiting at the bar to order a drink and I wonder for a moment whether he will sense I’m here.
Milo , I whisper silently at him. Turn around, Milo Samuels, and see me standing here .
He doesn’t, but I try not to see it as a sign.
‘Go buy us a round,’ Harry urges, downing his gin, ‘and then, y’know, happen to notice him there, too.’ He pauses to finish the drink he just bought. ‘But also do genuinely buy us a round. I want another G&T, please.’
‘Me too,’ Jemma says. She leans into Harry and he circles an arm around her, keeping her steady.
I feel a catch in my chest. It’s not jealousy or anything – it’s excitement actually.
I’m excited that she’s touching him, that they’re touching each other.
Tonight is the night they’re going to realize their feelings for each other and embark on something special, ending in a wedding where I will be maid of honour. The note writer be damned!
I make my way to the bar, as casually as I can. Propping myself up, I clear my throat forcefully. ‘Er, HARRY?’ I say loudly over my shoulder. ‘WHAT DID YOU SAY YOU WANTED AGAIN, MATE?’ He looks at me perplexed, but it works. When I turn back to the bar, Milo is looking at me.
‘Oh!’ he says. ‘It’s you! Um…’ He snaps his fingers, trying to remember, and I squint at him exaggeratedly, as if I haven’t got a clue.
His face clears. ‘Clara! Right? Is it Clara? Or Clare? We met at the food festival thingy last week?’ I shrug, shaking my head like I don’t know and he laughs awkwardly.
‘Remember? You fell over – I pretty much knocked you over.’ He grimaces.
‘Sorry again about that. And then you couldn’t remember anything.
’ He pauses, examining my face. ‘Are you all better now? No more… anaemia?’
I nod suddenly. ‘Oh right! Yes, of course! I vaguely recall the incident now. I am indeed Clara. Clara Poyntz. And you’re… Miles, was it? Miller? Milly? Milepost? Military? Mileage—’
Behind me, I hear Jemma mutter, ‘Those aren’t names,’ but Milo looks amused.
‘Milo Samuels,’ he corrects, offering a hand. ‘Pleased to meet you properly, Clara Poyntz.’
‘You too,’ I say, chilled as you like.
I am determined that this time he will see me as a grown-up.
Last time I was a silly little girl with a bonked head.
This time he has to see me as an equal. A cool, enigmatic, mature woman, capable of keeping it together should I suddenly have reason to enter his celebrity world.
I want him to see sharp edges like Angelina Jolie, a razor wit like Emma Stone’s, a dark streak like Megan Fox.
He could date any one of those celebrities, I have to be cooler than any of them.
‘So you’re all better?’ he asks nicely. ‘No more memory issues?’ It might be my imagination but there is a hint of teasing in his voice.
I shrug. ‘Weeeeell, y’know how it is, Milo. I live a hard life and I’ve had long covid for two years.’ I pause. ‘That or I’m just tired a lot. I’m not sure.’
‘Uh-huh,’ he says agreeably. ‘That is… difficult.’
‘Can I get you a drink, Milo?’ I say breezily. ‘I’m having a, er, whisky sour’ – this is the coolest drink I can think of – ‘and I’m getting a round in for my mates here because I’m incredibly generous.’
Behind me, I hear Jemma spit out a laugh and Milo turns to the group.
‘Oh, are these your friends?’ He smiles widely.
‘Hi, everyone, I’m Milo.’ He clocks Harry and waves an acknowledgement that they’ve met.
Harry giggles with girlish delight at being recognized, unable to speak.
Milo fills in the silence. ‘Hey, everyone, let me get this round, what are you all having?’