Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Zara
“I ’m sorry, you want me…”
“To come to Morocco with me next week. You do have a passport, don’t you?”
“Uh, yes, I do.” I did. Eloise had insisted on going to Greece for her hen do and I, as maid of honour, had arranged it all for her. I’d renewed my passport just before we left.
“Great. Then it’s settled. You can take Scott’s accommodation– you’ve arranged it all, anyway.”
I gape at him. When I arrived this morning, I hadn’t been surprised to see him in the office. Myles often came in early to work. But this? I feel as though I’ve been hit by a brick.
“Is there something else?” His dark brows draw together. “You are free, aren’t you?” His frown deepens. “I’dprefer you to come along if you can, to keep things running smoothly.”
“Um, actually, I have something on next week.”
“Can you not rearrange it?”
Rearrange a proposal? Oh God. Something in me does not want to tell Myles I’m going to be seeing my boyfriend and that, hopefully, he’ll be popping the big question. But he’s still frowning, his eyes like a dark storm. I swallow. “Uh, I’ll see what I can do.”
I can’t do anything. But, somehow, saying no doesn’t seem like an option.
Maybe I can fly out on Thursday morning or something and meet him there, if he’s so set on me coming with him.
There’s a strange flicker in me at the thought of going away with Myles.
I know it’s for work, but again there’s that tension between us, that feeling of push and pull.
“Good. Because I need you with me.” There’s an odd inflexion to his tone, and his gaze leaves mine for a moment. It feels hard to breathe.
“So, shall I arrange flowers for Scott?”
“He isn’t dead.” The words are snapped out. I can almost see the effort it takes Myles to pull himself back. He might be trying to be nicer, but it’s hard for him to hide completely how much he doesn’t like me.
“Yes, of course. What would you like me to do?” Aside from the complete spanner it’s thrown into my plans with Dean, I feel terrible about Scott’s injury. He’s a genuinely nice guy, plus I know how much he was looking forward to the trip with Myles.
“Just leave it. I’ll arrange a gift.”
“I can sort out a card from the rest of the office.”
“Fine. And let me know when you’ve rearranged your plans. We leave Wednesday morning, early.”
Oh yes, of course, master. My life plans mean nothing if you want me to come on a trip with you. I resist the urge to salute. Instead, I leave his office, wondering how the hell I can make this work.
I still have no solutions later that evening, when I head out to meet Georgia.
I’ve looked into flights on Thursday, and there’s one I can take to meet Myles.
But I haven’t been able to summon the courage to tell him that’s what I’m going to do.
I’ll have to do it tomorrow. After all, what’s hegoing to do?
Fire me because I can’t come on some trip he’s sprung on me at the last minute?
I hug my bravado to me, trying to ignore the suspicion that he might do exactly that.
I decide to get off the Tube a stop early, needing some fresh air. I emerge onto a crowded street, lights sparkling everywhere, bars and restaurants busy despite the cold weather. It’s a glorious wintry London evening, and my spirits lift. It’s going to be fun tonight. I might even sing.
I walk along, smiling at the entwined couples coming the other way. That will be me, soon enough, wandering along hand in hand, stopping for a kiss. An arm slungaround my shoulders, and that feeling of being safe and warm, with someone who loves me. I miss Dean so much it hurts.
Gosh, the guy coming towards me, his arm around a gorgeous brunette, looks a lot like him. My brain must be short-circuiting with longing, because he’s not supposed to be in London until next week.
Then the guy stops, kind of staring at me, with his mouth open. The resemblance is uncanny. I stop too.
“Zara?”
Cold crashes over me, like a wave. It is Dean.
Or I’m having a stroke. But my body seems to still be working, and people are walking past us, not stopping to help me with a medical episode.
I look from Dean to the brunette whom his arm is around.
Maybe it’s his sister. Or a work colleague.
Or something. Anything other than what my brain is trying to tell me is actually happening.
“Who’s this, babe?” The brunette has one of those posh drawling voices, and she looks at me as though I’m a not very interesting puzzle she’d possibly like to solve, but won’t be devastated if she doesn’t.
Babe? My brain is actually screaming at me now, but it’s also in a punching match with my heart, which is still refusing to believe what I’m seeing.
“Uh, this is Zara.” Dean is paler than usual, despite his Dubai tan. He looks like a man desperately in need of an escape route. I am not going to give him one. “Zara, this is Saffron.”
Saffron. Of course she has a posh name as well. I’m surprised he didn’t say Bubbles or something. I find my voice.
“How… how are you in London already? You said you wouldn’t be here until next week.”
Posh Saffron is now giving me a pitying sort of look. Iwish I had a drink so I could throw it on her. “Oh, Dean, is this who you were telling me about?”
Who he was telling her about? “Yes, I’m Zara. Dean’s girlfriend. Though I’m not sure who the hell you are.”
Saffron shakes her head, looking from me to Dean. “I thought this was all sorted? Last year?”
“Last year?” I look from Saffron, who now has a sort of frowning/smirking look on her face, back to Dean. Absolute fucking ratface. I know what’s happening, but my heart is still refusing to accept it.
“When you started dating him.” Her entire tone is patronising. Forget a drink. I want a lit cigarette to stub out on her pale grey cashmere coat. My brain is scrambling, still trying to make sense of it all.
“When I started… dating him? Sorry, what the hell are you talking about?”
“You started dating Dean last summer. And he was supposed to tell you. About me.” Pity drips from her tone. “Oh God. He’s here every other week, for heaven’s sake.” She turns to him. “You should have gone to see her. You said she was on board with all of this.”
I turn to Dean. “On board with what? I don’t understand. You said you had something to ask me. Something important.” My proposal fantasies are drifting away, dissolving like smoke. But my heart is still hanging on, by its fingernails.
“I do.” He peels his arm from Saffron’s shoulders and takes my hands in his, like actually touches me.
It feels as though I’m in some sort of bizarre TV prank show, like any minute lights and cameras and Ant and Dec will appear and I’ll win a prize or something.
A prize for being the most gullible girl in London, I guess.
“What were you going to ask me?” It’s suddenly vitally important I know, as though his question might be some sort of magic equation that will fix all of whatever this nonsense is. Because it’s madness.
“So, the thing is– oh God. I really wanted to do this when it was just the two of us, but I guess you’ve forced my hand.”
I forced his hand?
He takes a deep breath, as though composing himself. “I was wondering if, whether you’d do me the honour… of being in an open relationship.”
I burst out laughing. It’s the only response that seems to fit, apart from punching him in the face.
“You’re insane.” It’s the only possible explanation. All that sun and sand has driven him out of his mind. “Like, you must be. Come on, Dean. What the hell is this?”
“It’s how Dean does things.” Saffron is frowning. “I see who I want, and he does too. But we’re also together. He’s supposed to tell his partners, once things get serious. Though,” she tilts her head, considering me, “maybe that’s why you don’t know.”
I laugh even harder. The guy I’ve spent half a year pining over, who I thought was about to propose , doesn’t even think we’re in a serious relationship?
Everything feels as though it’s crumbling around me, and I know I’m going to break in a moment.
So I draw myself up tall, restraining my emotions before I start screaming, and poke my finger at Dean’s awful smirking face.
“You can take your open relationship and shove it. Hard.”
“Oh, come on, Zars. It’ll be fun.” He gives me what I imagine he thinks is a smouldering look. An hour ago, Iwould have also thought it was a smouldering look. Now it just makes me want to punch him.
“You must be kidding me,” I hiss. I’m holding on by a thread now. Only pride is stopping me from breaking down completely. “We. Are. Done.”
“I do love you, Zara. I’ve been meaning to tell you for ages. We can make this work.”
“I don’t believe that for a second . Any of it.” Tears sting my eyes, my laughter gone. I lean close to him, for what I know is the last time. “I would have given you everything, you know. Now you get nothing. ”
Then I shove past him and keep walking, banging into people, blinded by tears. Humiliation washes over me, not just at the way he used me, but that my last words to him were so cringe. Oh my God. I should go back and rip his head from his shoulders.
Then someone grabs me by the arms. “Zara? What’s happened?”
I shake my head, wiping my eyes, unable to speak. Georgia, looking gorgeous as usual in a sparkly black fitted coat over a satin dress, keeps holding on to me, her face creased with concern.
“Zara?”
“I just… It’s Dean.” My face crumples again, and I pull myself together. Anger blooms inside me, overtaking the sadness. Screw him. It’s all so clear now, how he’s been stringing me along.
“What on earth has happened?”
Humiliation washes over me again. “I… he… it’s over. It’s all over.” I can’t bear to share any more details.
Georgia looks at me for a moment, then nods. “Right. What can I do? Do you need me to get you an Uber?”
I look over her shoulder, into a bar lit with neon, filled with people. The sound of someone singing ‘Total Eclipse of the Heart’ off-key drifts out into the busy street. I don’t want to go home. Going home will mean I have to face what just happened. “Does this place sell shots?”
“It does.” Georgia takes my arm. “And the first round is on me.”
An hour or so later, I’m onstage belting ‘Shout Out to My Ex’ at the top of my lungs, one arm around Georgia, who’s giggling too much to sing properly.
Both of us have had several shots, and more are being lined up by her friends, who are, I’m completely convinced, the best people I’ve ever met in my life.
“Screw you, Dean!” I yell into the microphone. The audience cheers and whistles, and I lose my place in thesong, coming back into it late, but no one seems to care. It’s the most fun I’ve had since Eloise’s hen party, and it’s almost enough to drown out the bitter ache in my heart.
Later still, though, alone in my room, everything spinning softly, it returns. I don’t know how I can get past this. I just know I have to. I sob myself to sleep.