Chapter 46 #3
‘ The green one she couldn’t fit into after university.
She had been on a diet for a month in a bid to squeeze herself into it.
She didn’t want to become a cliché – the young temp having to put her breasts on display to be noticed – she wanted her talent to be noticed.
But no one was listening to her. “Thank you,” she said to the bartender as he passed her the lukewarm glass of wine.
As she did, their fingers touched. “Oh, sorry,” he said, smiling toothily.
There was no electricity. No spark. He wasn’t awful to look at: he had a few spots across his cheeks, but his eyes were kind.
He seemed quite... Young was the only word she could use to describe him.
“How much?” she said. Perhaps it was time to start flirting.
“I’ll get it.” Jessica turned to see a man stood behind her.
She had noticed him earlier, amongst the melee, making a crowd of people laugh.
She had watched them, enthralled by his every word.
But here, now – up close – he took her breath away.
He was, in short, beautiful. There was something rugged about his features, but the way he held himself was almost ethereal.
Otherworldly. His eyes were like two pools of light. ’
I want to disappear. There is nowhere to go. The kitchen remains silent – so silent that I cannot bear it. I keep reading.
‘The man’s voice was warm and inviting. “What brings you here?” he asked.
“I am here to lose all dignity, apparently,” Jessica mumbled.
She didn’t think he had heard her, but he laughed.
“God, it’s bleak, isn’t it?” he said, tapping his phone on the card reader that the bartender was holding out.
There was a look of embarrassment and awe in the barkeep’s eyes.
Not jealousy. This poor boy was so much the opposite of his current punter he couldn’t be jealous.
“Yes,” Jessica said. The man continued, “So what is it you are losing your dignity over... Sorry – what was your name?” “Jessica.” “Jessica. That’s lovely.
” “I always thought it was kind of basic.” “It depends on who’s wearing it, I guess,” he said.
He then looked down at the floor, sheepishly.
There were equal amounts of confidence and modesty in this man, Jessica thought, that made her feel slightly off balance.
A rare blend. The thing she noticed was that she did not feel anything but pure joy.
She felt alive again. The pain was gone.
Here he was. This man. Her anaesthetic.’ I look up. Silence. ‘That’s it,’ I say.
Ronan starts to clap slowly. ‘Well done, Mal. It’s genius.’
I want to throw the laptop at him. I feel my cheeks burning and my eyes stinging. I minimise the document on the desktop, to see my email thread with Stanley, and the attachment of Slay. I quickly push the laptop shut.
I can’t look at Mum. I don’t want to see her face.
‘What do you think, Stace?’ Ronan says, eyes wide. I can see the laughter in them.
‘Very intriguing,’ she replies quietly, her back to us, still wiping the dishes. ‘Very good.’
I want to scream.
Ronan’s eyes bore into me. ‘You’re getting back to yourself. It’s so nice to see.’
‘Thanks,’ I mumble.
‘I love you,’ he whispers. ‘I really do.’ I look down at the top of the island, attempting to disappear inside it. ‘Right. One of the shows I worked on premieres on Netflix tonight. Maybe we could put on the first couple of episodes? Would you like that, Stace?’
‘Oh, that sounds exciting.’ She’s tipsy now. I can hear it in her voice. ‘What is it?’
‘It’s a family drama. A dark thriller. We adapted it from a memoir – no one has really heard of it – but we bought the rights years ago. Added to it. It’s about a man who is murdered, but it’s more of a whodunnit – which member of his family killed him. It’s got a cracking cast.’
‘Oh, I love a family-drama thriller.’
‘We all do. Shall we go through?’
I leave the laptop and go with them into the living room in a dreamlike state. Once again, I feel like I am underwater.
I sit on the couch next to him as Mum takes the armchair. My writing chair.
Ronan takes the controller and turns on the TV, bringing up the news channel that Mum was watching last night. Still on mute, with subtitles.
‘Go on, then, Ronan,’ Mum says, making herself comfortable. ‘Give us your pitch.’
‘Netflix wanted something gritty, brutal, but something real, truthful, so it’s shot in a handheld form. It feels almost like a documentary.’
As he talks, I squint at the TV.
I can see the subtitles.
The newsreader talking.
Words flashing beneath her on the screen.
An update on the body found in Regent’s Canal earlier today...
Oh my God.
The man has been identified as Monty Jackson – known to his friends and family as Mo.
It wasn’t Leo.
Thank God.
Leo is alive –
Wait.
Mo?
The police are looking for a young man who was with him that night, and anyone who might have any information about his whereabouts.
It disappears. Turns into the Netflix symbol.
‘Wait...’
‘Are we all ready?’ Ronan says, pointing the controller at the TV. He sounds so excited.
And as he presses play, and the opening scene begins – aerial shots of a crime scene with police tape – I feel myself slip. Again.
What did he do?
Where is he?