Chapter Seven
Millie
T he door flies open almost immediately after I ring the bell. Chloe's beaming face drops when she sees my outfit, folding her arms across her dressing gown as she takes my clothes in with a look of horror. I look down at myself. Roisin and I had spent all afternoon putting together my look, styling my hair, and applying my makeup. Obviously, I'd wasted my time.
“You better come in. We've got a lot to do.”
She sighs dramatically and, with a flick of blonde hair, spins around and back into the house. I linger awkwardly on the doorstep for a moment before following her in and out of the chilly autumn air. After shutting the door, I turn to take in her house. It looks different, or at least I could tell they'd redecorated it, probably a few times over, since I'd last been here. Everything is painted in modern shades of grey, and a series of small, sparkling chandeliers hang from the ceiling. The walls are filled with family photos, the black and white shots blending stylishly with the dove-grey walls.
I feel scruffy and out of place.
As Chloe walks up the stairs, Rachel pops her head around the front room door. Her blonde hair, the same shade as Chloe's, is styled into a sleek bob, her lips thickly painted in a rosy-brown hue.
“Millie, sweetheart. It's so good to see you.” She walks into the hallway and pulls me into a tight hug before waiting for a response. Chloe is watching from the top of the stairs. I can see her hands impatiently gripping the bannister. “I've been thinking about you ever since the funeral. How have you been?”
“Mum. We need to get ready,” Chloe hisses.
“Just a sec.” Rachel pulls back from the hug but never takes her eyes off me. Her head dips in that angle people use when they're trying to look caring and sympathetic. My smile sits stiffly on my face. I try to look grateful, but I'm not. Instead, a small pool of anger bubbles in my belly. Rachel looks very pleased with herself. And I know she'll bask in the warm glow of it later on, at what a good person she is, at how considerate she's being to an old friend's unfortunate daughter. She hadn't contacted us the entire time Mum was sick.
“Are you OK, sweetheart?” She smiles, and I feel nauseous.
“I'm fine, Rachel, I uh … I better get ready.”
I pull away and walk up the stairs towards Chloe.
“OK, sweetheart. Have a wonderful night!”
I nod politely, and she turns to look at Chloe. They exchange a meaningful look, and then Rachel walks back into the front room, flicking her hair as dramatically as her daughter. Chloe is still rolling her eyes when I walk up the stairs towards her.
“She's so embarrassing. Honestly, living at home is saving me a fortune, but sometimes it's so not worth it. Come on, something in my wardrobe should fit you.”
Chloe turns a corner and is out of sight, but I don't need to follow her to know the door she's walking through. I'd spent half my childhood in that room. I walk in, gently nudging the white door that still has the wooden letters spelling out 'Chloe' in bubblegum pink. Faded and half-torn stickers, with boy bands and cartoon characters, surround it.
The room is how I remember it, but it is also completely different. The cherry blossom wallpaper and white furniture are all the same, but the posters, piles of make-up, and jewellery that coat her dressing table and chest of drawers are all new. So are the photos she has pinned across the room. The ones she had of me and her are gone. Instead, the photos are of the dozens of friends Chloe has made in my absence. Marnie appears over and over again like a bad joke.
“OK, I think this one should fit.”
Chloe is bent over, deep into a messy wardrobe so stuffed with clothes that there's as much on the bottom as there is hanging up. She turns to look me up and down, measuring me in her mind. I find myself self-consciously tugging at my clothes.
“What's wrong with what I'm wearing?”
Chloe gives me a 'how long have you got?' look and hands me a black scrap of sparkly fabric.
“I mean, you look nice … like you're going to visit your nan or something nice. Those boots, though …” She looks down at my feet like I've dipped my toes into raw sewage.
I hadn't expected to keep up with her crowd, but I didn't think my outfit looked that bad. I was wearing jeans, a tank top, and Roisin's chunky black boots. Mum's leather jacket was thrown on top for good measure.
“What are you wearing?”
Chloe grins and takes off her dressing gown. Underneath, she's wearing a short pink dress with the most dramatic puffy sleeves I've ever seen. It should look ridiculous, but it doesn't. On Chloe, it looks stylish and grown-up. She gives a little twirl and another hair flick. I feel both incredibly young and painfully old looking at her. She's right; if this is what people at Worship wear, my outfit looks like I'm going to a church fete.
She's staring at me, and I realise she's waiting for a response.
“You look great,” I say finally. My eyes still linger on her dress and how different we look.
She smirks. “I know. And you will, too! Just put this one.”
I groan and look down at the black fabric, lifting it to examine it closer. It's a dress, just about, though I'm fairly sure a doll would struggle to fit into it.
“It won't fit me.”
“Trust me, it will. It's, like, super stretchy. Quick! We're supposed to be at Marnie's in, like, an hour.”
I sigh, dropping my bag and coat to the floor. Chloe sits down at her dressing table, applying more makeup to the layer she's already wearing. Her hand moves in graceful, confident brushstrokes, expertise that reminds me again of how much has changed between us.
Chloe's not paying attention, but I still feel awkward, and my cheeks flush as I undress. When we were friends, getting changed in the same room was as normal as breathing air. Now, it feels alien. Once on, the dress is a second layer of skin, clinging to every curve, bump and bone, plus the sparkly fabric is itchy. I tug to pull the hemline down. Chloe is petite, and this dress would come to her knees. I only have a few inches of fabric below my bum. Bending over is not an option.
“You look amazing!”
Chloe leaps off her chair to stand behind me as I look in the mirror.
The dress shows off every inch of my body, a body normally covered in jeans and sweatshirts. I don't look like me. I feel like a little girl trying on her mum's clothes.
“You don't think it’s too short?”
“Oh my god, no! You look great. Don't you think you look great?”
I look back in the mirror and spin around, examining the dress from the back.
“Do you have any tights I can borrow?”
She groans.
“Will you stop doing that?” Marnie snaps, rolling her eyes at the sight of me tugging my dress down for the millionth time since we arrived in the queue.
It's freezing. I'm in a dress that just covers my ass and high heels that are already giving me blisters.
We've been in this queue for nearly forty minutes. Chloe's tickets were VIP, but as we'd discovered when we'd tried to walk past the queue and into the path of an enormous and not-amused bouncer, there were several types of VIP, and we were somewhere just above completely unwelcome and trash. We'd joined the back of the queue, sheepishly hanging our heads low as the bored crowd smirked at us, enjoying our downfall. The group of girls in front of us were still shooting us smug looks of amusement.
“You look at me one more time. I'm gonna mess up that makeup even more than your face already does,” Marnie barks at a small, dark-haired girl standing in front of us.
She glares, her nose turning upward as she snaps back to her friends. Marnie keeps her eyes fixed on her as if daring her to turn back. Chloe and Samira are looking at their phones with down-turned mouths, yawning occasionally. I can feel the cool night air hitting my bare thighs, so instinctively, I pull back down the dress before I can stop myself. Marnie's dark expression snaps back to me, looking down at my fidgeting with disgust. Her long, blow-dried hair is flowing down her back, her dress red and even tighter than mine, every one of her dramatic curves on full display. Her irises are so dark they're almost the same shade as her pupils.
A day of rain has left the streets glazed with deep puddles, headlights and takeaway restaurant lights bouncing off the water. The air is thick with the cloying scent of vape smoke and cheap body spray. Walking past us, heading to some other bar or club, are groups of girls in an array of colourful dresses and boys with their arms hanging casually off their shoulders. All are having more fun than us.
I turn back to Chloe and her friends. She'd made us a few drinks before we left. The vodka I'd seen her pouring by the shot-full into our glasses was doing little to keep me warm. If anything, I was feeling tired and craving the warmth and comfort of a night in front of the TV with Roisin and the boys.
We take a few steps forward as the queue surges towards the front. We're still a good way from the entrance, and I can feel the goose pimples uncomfortably on my bare skin.
Marnie groans and moves towards the barriers, separating our queue from the busy street running alongside us. I watch as she poses for the groups of men walking by, with their perfectly coordinated outfits and almost identical haircuts. Up ahead, I watch the same group flash their Diamond passes on their phones with a laugh and a friendly pat on the bouncer's shoulder.
“Screw this,” she mutters. Her posing against the barrier would be comical if I weren't so cold that I was praying she'd succeed. “Guys, come on.”
Samira and Chloe move next to Marnie, leaning over the barrier provocatively when the next group walks by. I stand back, letting them work. I'm not sure I could look sexy if I tried, and as no one suggests I join in, I'm guessing they're thinking the same.
A group of three guys only slightly older than us march by, and Marnie, Chloe, and Samira's posing turns extreme. They're heading to the main entrance, and they're so casual that it's clear they have no doubts about getting in. Something about the slickness of their hair and sharpness of their long coats (apparently, boys don't need to be cold to look good) tells me they're the kind of men Marnie has been waiting for.
“Hey, don't fancy helping us get in, do ya?” Marnie's lips curl into a look that's seductive but definitely not subtle. The boys stop, the two at the front smiling at her hungrily. There's no denying her power; she's a force, and something about the combination of her slim limbs, curves, and pouting lips freezes them to the spot. Their hunger for her is written clearly across their faces.
“We might be able to help you girls. What do you think, Jax?” The strawberry-blonde guy runs a hand over his face and turns to his friend hidden behind the others.
Jax moves forward, and I realise I'm just as vulnerable to beautiful magnets as these boys are to Marnie. His hair is inky silk, slicked back, and a few loose tendrils fall just slightly over his forehead. His eyes are the colour of steel and hold mine in a grip as hard as iron. Even though I'm standing behind Chloe, Marnie and Samira, he looks past them as if they aren't even there. Marnie follows his gaze, her eyes turning icy when she finds them falling on me.
He smiles at his friend and slaps his shoulder, but his eyes never leave mine. Despite my heels, he's still over a head higher than me and has to tilt his head down to look at me.
“I think we can help them out.”
His voice is deep but has this soft melodic quality to it. He holds out his hand towards me, his eyes sparkling. I hesitate. He's a stranger, but for reasons I don't understand, I trust him. It's myself surrounded by all this newness that I don't trust.
The boys next to him, grinning, hold out their hands and quickly pull Chloe and Samira over the barrier. The group of girls ahead of us turn and glare again. Marnie hesitates, her attention torn between the boy with her and the boy whose attention she really wants—Jax.
His eyes are still on me, and as I slip my hand into his, he swiftly helps me over the barrier. I stumble slightly on the other side, leaning into him for support. My cheeks blaze, but he just looks down at me, smiling. I can feel Marnie's eyes burning into the back of my head as he leads me towards the entrance of the club.
The bouncers don't even look at me as we walk toward them. All eyes are on him, and a few back slaps and small talk later, Jax, who's still holding my hand, leads us into the main building. The noise hits me first, a deep throbbing bass that's more than just sound, but a vibration that travels through the soles of my shoes and up into my body.
When we walk into the round, circular space, all I can do is stare. I'm bombarded with darkness, flashing lights, and waves of people. We're on the bottom floor, with at least four above us. Everywhere is full to bursting with people dancing or downing colourful drinks. I suddenly feel both excited and terrified in equal measure.
“Have fun, girls! We gotta go to work.” One of the boys yells above the din before heading in the direction of a dramatic circular staircase.
“Enjoy yourselves!” The others follow, and I notice the disappointment on Chloe's and Marnie's faces. Samira looks as disinterested as always.
Jax leans down, still with a mysterious smile on his lips. His glittering eyes pierce through the overload of sensations, turning the room quiet like we're the only two people here. My heart pounds so loud I can barely make out his words. His lips are close to my ear when he whispers.
“Have a good night, Millie.” He's gone, and the absence of his hand in mine leaves me cold. I take a second to work out what's wrong with his statement, but by then, he's caught up with his friends, who are joking and laughing as they bound up the stairs. He doesn't turn back to look in my direction.
I stare into the heart of the club, the fuzziness of the vodka I'd drank earlier dulling my brain and making everything feel too slow and too fast all at once. And then I realise what’s bothering me, what’s causing an itch inside my head, like a spider crawling across my skull.
How did he know my name?