Chapter Forty
Lady Phoebe
You didn’t think Arthur would forget his birthday, did you?
God, we’re getting old, aren’t we?
Oxford, of course. This year’s theme is just basic black tie because, between us, he didn’t want to have a party.
The press made him throw one. Said because he missed the last two, that he must throw one this year.
For weeks, they’ve been discussing what theme it would be, who would attend…
almost as though they’d forgotten why he missed his last two birthdays.
The papers are funny, though. One minute, they’re in full support of his sobriety. The next, they’re photographing him with Connie and saying how they must be doing drugs together because why else would they hang out? As if they haven’t been friends for their entire lives.
Whatever.
We don’t read nor listen to them anyway.
Seems like they did get the better of Arthur on this occasion, though, which is a shame. But then, I wonder if his family also played a part in this? Something big for everyone to talk about for a few weeks. Maybe.
“Do you think they’ll be alcohol?” Digby asks as we walk up the driveway.
I give him a bit of a dirty look. “He’s sober, Digby. What do you think?”
He looks away from me as we get patted down by security and check our names on the guest list.
“Yeah, I know but—”
“But what?” I look up at him as we get closer to the front door. “The theme isn’t coke whores and hookers, Digby—Jesus.”
He rolls his eyes, opens the front door and we’re greeted by a server holding a tray of champagne. Surely not.
I take one, hold it in my mouth for a second, tasting it.
Non-alcoholic, obviously.
Digby stands in the foyer like a lost puppy so I leave him there, go over to the others who I spot in the dining room.
I regret bringing Digby. I know that’s bad and that I’m being quite horrible to him but the worse I am, the less it will sting when I do finally call it quits.
If I get really lucky, he might even break up with me first.
Arthur spots me as I walk over to them. He looks so perfect—he always does.
But it’s something different, like, being here on his birthday knowing how the past ones have gone.
He looks so healthy. So happy. I’ve never seen this version of him before.
Never thought I would and I think that makes me want him even more.
“Happy Birthday." I lean in, kiss his cheek, brush his hand and let it linger for a second too long.
He pulls back, grins. “Is now that you’re here.”
My stomach dips and I sip more of my faux champagne.
“Is your mum here?”
“No, couldn’t make it,” he says quickly, too quickly and then turns around for a second to greet someone who just walked past us.
“Here you go.”
I look round, Primrose comes over with two champagne glasses, hands one to Connie.
I glance over at Spencer, she shakes her head, walks off. I frown over at Connie, he shrugs, puts his hand on Primrose’s back and leads her off.
Arthur’s just about to say something to me, I think, but I walk off, looking for Spencer. I spot her in the very far end of the garden—very long legs, that one.
“Spencer!” I call after her as she storms further and further away. She stops, turns around, and I jog over to her.
“What?” She huffs, face red, eyes glassy as though she’s about to burst out into tears.
“What’s wrong?” I pant and then frown. “Did you really love him?”
She looks away, swallows, slumps her shoulders. “What do you think?”
I take a deep breath, straighten myself. “Why did you never tell him, then?”
“What was the point?” She yells. “He was always in love with Primrose—since the beginning. I was just his distraction.”
“That isn’t true,” I shake my head. “Connie sleeps with loads of girls. He wouldn’t have kept you for so long if he didn’t feel the same.”
“No!” She shouts, her voice cracking. “That isn’t true! Connie has slept with maybe three people, Phoebe! What I was to him was the equivalent to a prolonged one night stand.”
“What?” I frown.
“Yeah,” she nods, quickly wiping away a rouge tear she thinks I didn’t see.
“Three people, maybe four. It’s all a show.
Besides Arthur he is probably the most broken person I know and I understand why but he didn’t need to break me, as well.
” And then she collapses, the tears start falling freely and she crumbles. “It wasn’t fair!”
“No, it wasn’t,” I say quietly, holding her up.
I’m not sure what went on between them. I only know what you know.
I wasn’t there, in their house when they lived together or when they snuck off in school or when they kissed for the first time at Arthur’s party.
You can show people whatever you want but those moments, behind closed doors that no one sees are what makes up the story.
Without them, we’re just the shell we wear when we leave the house.
I didn’t know it went deeper, I didn’t know Spencer was capable of loving Connie the way she does but then again, how was I supposed to know?
She wore what they had around her neck in a little locket until one day it was ripped away from her and opened, for the whole world to see.
“I didn’t know she was here tonight,” Spencer mutters into my chest.
“Neither did I.”
“Bliss was invited,” she says, lifts her head to look at me.
“What?”
She sniffs, wipes her face. “I only know because Arthur told Connie and he told me. It wasn’t a secret. I was going to tell you anyway but I don’t think Arthur would’ve told you.”
I pull back, hand her a tissue from my clutch. “What do you mean?”
She dabs at her face, sighs. “He invited her to ambush you, I suppose. Maybe he thought it was the right thing to do, I’m not sure.”
“Well,” I glance around. “Is she here?”
“I don’t think so. We would’ve seen her by now.”
“He wasn’t even there when we fell out! He doesn’t know what she said!”
“I know,” she nods.
“I don’t know if I want to make up with her right now.”
“I know, but,” she chews her lip, looks away from me. “She was like a sister to us.”
I give her a look, sort of squinting, unsure if I heard her correctly. “You know what she said to me that night—no ‘friend’ would say that. She was probably just jealous all along.”
She snaps her eyes to me. “That isn’t true. You know it isn’t. Sure, what she said was out of order but you can’t avoid her for the rest of your life. You’ve known her longer than me—”
“Excatly!” I throw my arms out. “And you’ve been a better friend to me than what she has.”
“Phoebe!” She snaps. “You’re being unreasonable.”
“Whatever.”
And then I walk away because maybe I am being unreasonable but I don’t want to hear it.
I walk up the garden, back inside, to find Arthur and ask him what the fuck he thinks he’s doing, going behind my back like that.
Maybe this wouldn’t be a big deal to other people but it is to me and that doesn’t make it any less of a problem.
I spot Arthur in the kitchen, near the island, talking to a group of people. He locks eyes on me and instantly, we’re the only people in the entire house. But there’s something different about him, the way he’s talking and blinking and moving. Not high—but maybe uncomfortable?
He takes in deep breaths, like, sharp, heavy breaths that weigh more than the world. He blinks more than usual—every few seconds—and his hand is gripping the counter like he needs it to stay upright.
He isn’t uncomfortable. He’s panicking.
Arthur looks away from me, says something to the people he’s talking to—excuses himself—and then pushes his way through the crowds in his house.
As he brushes past me, his eyes lock on mine again, this time for only a brief second. But a brief second can feel like hours with the right eyes. Especially ones that you can climb trees and swim in. There’s never small glances with Arthur. It’s always an entire adventure when he looks at me.
I go to follow him up the stairs because I think that’s what he wants but then someone touches my arm.
“Phoebe,” Digby says behind me.
I spin around. “What?”
He frowns for a split second. “I’ve come over funny—headache. I think I might call it a night.”
“Okay?”
I blink a few times.
He hesitates. “Are you not going to come with me?”
“Do you feel sick?”
“A bit, yeah—but I don’t think I will be. I just need to lie down.”
“Well, then,” I raise my eyebrows. “Off you pop.”
“Phoebe?” He hisses, leaning in closer. “What’s wrong with you?”
“You have a headache!” I stress. “Not terminal cancer. You’ll be okay.”
He scoffs. “Even if I did have terminal cancer, I doubt you’d care.”
“Oh, get over yourself, will you? I’m not a psychopath. Just go home and take some paracetamol. I won’t be long but I’m not going to leave just because you’re feeling a bit under the weather.”
He grabs my wrist, squeezes hard. “You just want to stay because it’s Arthur’s birthday.”
“Fucking obviously!” I rip my hand away from him. “He’s my closest friend.”
Digby cocks his head to the side. “I reckon he’s more than that.”
I roll my eyes. “You sure have a lot of attitude for someone who needs nursing through a headache!”
He laughs dryly, takes a step back. I look at him one last time before walking up the stairs.
His eyes stay on mine until I’m completely out of site and even then, I can feel him looking at me.
I turn the corner on the landing and stare down at my wrist. A bit red from where my bracelet has dug into my skin but hopefully nothing that will bruise.
I go to Arthur’s bedroom first because I doubt he’d be anywhere else and knock once. He opens almost immediately, spots me standing there and then moves to the side to let me in.
“How are you?” I ask quietly.
His bow tie and blazer are strewn across his bed, his shoes kicked off to one side and his shirt untucked and open at the collar.
“I’m okay,” he nods, clears his throat, sits on his bed.
He tilts his head, smiles, laughs.
“What?”
“No, just—” he shakes his head, hides his mouth behind his hand. “Just knew you’d come and find me.”
“I can go if you want me—”
“No,” he cuts in. “I don’t know,” he frowns, struggling to take a deep breath in. “Didn’t think it’d be this difficult. Having everyone here, it’s like—I don’t know—just fucking with me a bit.”
I nod, sit beside him on his bed. “It’s a trigger, Arthur.”
“Dr.Kane tell you that?” He smiles, a bit proudly.
“He tells me lots of things.” I kick my heels off, scoot up his bed and lean against the headboard.
He leans forward, rests his head in his hands. “There’s just so many bad memories here. Everywhere I look, something bad happened, you know?”
“Yeah, but me and you spent a lot of time up here in school?”
He turns his head to look at me. “Those aren’t the bad memories but we’re never going to do that again. We’re never going to be that age again and experience it all for the first time—I don’t know, Phoebs, my head's a mess.”
I get up on my knees, go over to him, wrap my arms around his back and rest my head on his shoulder. “Yeah, mine, too.”
He grabs my hand—the one Digby grabbed—gently, presses his lips to my wrist softly. “You don’t hate me for what I did?”
“No—maybe I wish I could, though,” I laugh quietly.
“Make things easier, wouldn’t it?”
My throat stings and I nod. I don’t know how he does it—folds himself into my mind, takes all my thoughts and feelings and makes them his too but when I’m with him, I feel lighter. When we’re together, just him and I, we take our clothes off and go skinny dipping in each other's minds.
Arthur angles his face up to mine, brushes his lips against my own and then we spend the entire night wrapped up inside one another. Literally, metaphorically, in all the ways you can think of because he and I, we’re one of the same.
“Oh my god,” I mutter into the night a lot of hours later. “We spent the whole night up here, Arthur.”
He laughs against my head, the fireworks go off in the garden, the seconds of light flickering through his window.
“And it’s been the best birthday I’ve ever had.”