Chapter Twenty-Four
‘Oh my god, are you okay?’ I’m barely in the front door, my stomach sloshing with acid, sick with dread, when Sam is on me.
‘Yeah, sorry, I was—’
‘Oh mate.’ She gathers me up in an unsolicited hug for the first time in living memory. ‘I’ve been really worried, you poor thing.’
‘Whoa!’ I say, feeling suddenly afraid as she squeezes me. Why is Samira hugging me? She can’t know what just happened with Edward, can she? Surely she can’t. Maybe I just looked that miserable.
‘Why am I a poor thing?’ I squeak from within the embrace. She pulls back, studying my expression.
‘Crap, you haven’t seen it,’ she says quietly. I stare at her, and she stares back. After a second she continues, ‘I’m really sorry, Liv, but there’s another TikTok video. Another one from that night in the restaurant with Justin.’
‘No!’ I cry out hoarsely. ‘No! They can’t do that! The madness and hate has only just started to die down! They can’t!’
‘I think some horrible idiot was holding onto it for that very reason,’ she explains softly.
‘To start it all up again as soon as interest started to wane. It’s filmed by the door – by the cloakroom – as you were leaving.
When you…’ She looks awkward. ‘… when you put your coat on and sat back down on the floor.’
‘No!’ I wail again. ‘It’s not fair! I’ve done my time; I’ve served my punishment.
I’m on suspension, I’m having the therapy—’ I stop myself there, knowing with certainty that I won’t be able to have any more sessions with Edward.
Not after that stupid thing we just did.
We’ve only had four rounds – I’m not even sure that fourth session will count since it was cut short – and there’s no way we’ll be able to get through two more sessions together.
Not after what just happened. So even if this new video wasn’t enough to end my career for good on its own, Spencer will be able to use the fact that I’m not completing the six-week course as an excuse to sack me.
This is all that little arsewipe needs to terminate my employment for good.
It isn’t fair. My life was slowly returning to normality, and now… this. Why? It’s not fair, it’s not.
‘Come and sit down.’ Sam leads me into the living room and runs to fetch me a glass of water. She hands it over, then frowns. ‘Or do you want something stronger? There’s some leftover red wine or pink tequila in the fridge from Friday?’
I shake my head, feeling numb. What’s going to happen?
How much more can that one night upend my life?
And how many more videos are out there, waiting to ruin everything?
Every time I try to get back on my feet, will some spiteful restaurant goer be ready with yet another humiliating video? Are there more out there?
I take a big gulp of the water. I’m too numb to be able to taste much of anything but I can feel its coldness travelling down my throat.
To be honest, it doesn’t really matter if there are any more videos of me anyway, because there’s no way my career is going to recover from this now.
I’m done with Morning Tea. I’m done with the book.
The therapy collective will have to kick me out.
I’m done, finished, finito. That’s it. Everything’s over.
‘Do you want to watch it?’ Sam asks, examining my face.
‘No,’ I say simply, then shrug my acceptance. ‘Okay, yes.’ Why not watch the horribleness? Why not lean into this sick feeling; this pit in my stomach. Why not self-flagellate and self-harm. Everything is over. ‘Show me,’ I add, and she pulls out her phone, taking a seat beside me.
On the small screen, I watch myself in the dim light of the restaurant, stomping over to the cloakroom in that special dress I’d chosen so carefully.
I hand over a ticket with resentment. There is cheesecake on the front of my dress and some in my hair.
I can just about make out the broken nail on my right hand.
There I am, angrily yanking on my coat. And then I see a change come over my face.
I remember that feeling of fury as what had happened hits me all over again.
I remember that sense of injustice at the world.
At everything. I remember how fucking angry I was.
How unable I was to shut it down like I usually do.
And there I go. There’s me, sitting down on the floor, where I start to rant. It’s all coming back to me now.
‘I can’t watch anymore,’ I say, pushing Sam’s phone away. I can hear myself chuntering embarrassingly away on the device, probably insulting Justin’s poor mum some more and talking about the joys of cheesecake. Sam jabs at the screen, trying to stop the video and, at last, silence descends.
‘Are you okay?’ she asks nicely, and I raise my eyebrows.
‘What is okay?’ I reflect back. ‘My career is over. My life is over.’
‘No, it’s not!’ she says fiercely, putting another arm around me.
Her alien affection is making everything seem that much more terrifying.
‘This will blow over. Things will get back to normal soon. Everything will be boring again in a few weeks.’ She tries to smile.
‘It’s not even that bad. You make a really great speech in the video. ’
‘Sure.’ I roll my eyes. ‘I think they’d probably run out of cheesecake by then, so nothing could shut me up.’
‘It’ll be fine,’ she says again. ‘You’ve got a couple more weeks of therapy, right? By the time you’re done, everyone will have forgotten about this and Morning Tea will be pleading with you to come back.’
I stare down at the floor. ‘I don’t think I’ll be continuing with the therapy,’ I say quietly.
‘What?’ She frowns. ‘I thought you were feeling much more positive about it all? I thought it was helping?’
‘I…’ I stutter, trying to get the words out. ‘I fucked up, Sam.’ My voice breaks a little. ‘I… kissed Edward.’
She audibly gasps. ‘You what?’ Her eyes are wide. ‘You kissed your therapist?’
‘I know,’ I whisper. ‘It’s so messed up.’
She frowns, conflicted. ‘It kind of is, Liv, sorry.’
I feel a spike of defensiveness. ‘You’ve been following Arshiya around like a lost puppy,’ I point out and she shrugs.
‘Sure, I know that. I’m super curious about her, and maybe I wanted to impress her a bit,’ she concedes. ‘But getting off with your therapist? That’s really over the line.’
‘Great, thanks for your support,’ I snap sarcastically, and we fall into a strange silence.
‘Would it help to do some Justin stalking?’ Sam offers hopefully, and I tut.
‘No.’
‘Oh come on!’ she goads. ‘It’ll distract you from kissing the wrong people.
And it’ll be a laugh.’ She smiles widely.
‘Orla posted a new picture of them together earlier. I think they were at a museum, can you even imagine Justin at a museum? Didn’t he once say he’d never actually read a whole book? ’
‘Sam, don’t!’ I snap again. ‘I’m trying not to get sucked into that kind of thing anymore. Why are you pushing this?’
‘What are you talking about?’ she teases. ‘You love this stuff. Don’t be boring. C’mon, you know how tedious my life is. I need you to bring the fun.’
‘I’m not here to be your live-in entertainment.’ I sit up straighter, feeling a bubbling up in my stomach. ‘It’s unhealthy – bad – for me to be constantly obsessing over my ex and over Orla. You must know that. Why are you encouraging it? Do you just enjoy seeing me make a fool of myself?’
She makes a face. ‘It’s not that deep,’ she says, and the throwaway comment makes my fury notch all the way up to ten.
This is our generation’s way of saying, ‘Calm down, dear,’ and I cannot stand it.
I’ve had a lifetime of men telling me I should laugh things off, that I shouldn’t take offence, that I shouldn’t take cruelty so seriously.
It’s just a joke, babe! It’s not that deep.
Somehow it hurts even worse coming from my best friend.
‘It is that deep, actually, Sam,’ I say loudly.
‘I think you see me as some frothy idiot who can keep you amused in your boredom. We laugh about you and your narcissistic main character energy, but I’m not the supporting character either.
The sidekick in your own personal box office smash.
The sweary Bridget Jones-y best friend, just there for the comic relief.
Just because you’re unhappy in your life, doesn’t mean I’m here to amuse you.
You seem to enjoy my drama, even when it hurts me! My pain is your fun.’
Sam’s nostrils flare. ‘That’s total bollocks,’ she retorts, but I don’t shut down and placate. I say the things I want to say.
‘It’s not bollocks,’ I reply hotly. ‘You’ve been loving all this awful drama surrounding me lately.
You found it hilarious that I went viral as Tiramisu Girl and you found it hilarious that I got obsessed with Justin and his new girlfriend.
You encouraged me to follow them around, to stalk them, to press pause on my life so I could obsess over it.
You should’ve stopped me going to Orla’s podcast event, not joyfully joined in!
You should’ve stopped me making a fool of myself.
I was a wreck after that; it messed me up! ’
‘I was trying to help you!’ Sam says, looking furious. ‘I was trying to cheer you up and make you feel better. I wasn’t going to shame you for your unhealthy impulses. If I’d said don’t do it, you probably would’ve done it anyway, but just been on your own, feeling a lot worse about it.’
‘Rubbish!’ I retort as she nods frantically, her expression livid.
‘It’s true. Look at this ridiculous new fuck up with Edward! I was nowhere near that, was I? You made all that happen without any enabling from me.’
‘Yes, thanks so much, Sam,’ I yell. ‘Thanks for pointing out that I fuck everything up and ruin everything all on my own. I really appreciate it.’
‘You’re welcome!’ she yells back. We glare at each other crossly for another few seconds, then I stomp away in the direction of my room.
I hear Sam doing the same, her bedroom door slamming loudly a few seconds later.
As I throw myself onto my bed, trying not to cry angry tears, my phone vibrates in my pocket.
I pull it out, hardly able to see through my white-hot rage. It’s from Edward, and it’s the most formal message I’ve ever received from a person under the age of sixty.
Olivia,
I apologise wholeheartedly for my unprofessional conduct and lapse in judgement earlier today.
My mother is home safe and well now, thank you for the support.
I’m sure you’ll agree that it’s not a good idea for us to continue our sessions together going forward.
Today was a clear case of transference and I will take full accountability with Morning Tea when I let them know we’ve stopped our sessions prematurely.
I shouldn’t have agreed to it initially, given our existing professional relationship.
I can, of course, refer you to someone outside the collective, if it’s of interest.
All the best,
Edward
I throw my phone across the room, hearing the screen crack as it hits the corner of the bookcase. And then I throw myself into my pillows and scream and scream and scream.