Chapter Thirty Jade #2
A snort on the other end. ‘Very funny, babe. It’s Tori. You better not have forgotten about tonight.’
My mouth goes dry. Tori. The name rings a tiny, insistent bell from one of Bella’s social media posts – some wild-eyed blonde with a penchant for tequila and outrageous outfits, always tagged in photos at three in the morning, always with her tongue out or her arm flung around Bella’s neck like a lifeline.
‘Oh! Um. Tori. Hey. Yes. Sorry, long day. Come up.’ I press the buzzer to unlock the front door, every cell in my body screaming at me to run and hide.
I hear the entrance door click. She’ll be up here any minute.
I have maybe ninety seconds to remember how to be the version of myself that Bella’s friends would recognise.
I check my face in the hall mirror. The sight is not pretty – my cheeks are splotchy, my eyeliner smudged, and my hair has the dull, greasy sheen of someone who’s spent the day sprawled on the sofa, drinking.
I pull my hair into a messy bun and hope the dim interior lighting will hide the worst of it.
But I get the feeling that Tori, whoever she is, won’t be impressed.
I open the front door and stare nervously at the humming lift, waiting for the door to open. Come on, where’s your confidence? Where’s that Jade sass when I need it? I force myself to stand tall, shoulders back, Bella-style.
Too late, I think about checking Bella’s phone to see if there are any messages from Tori that might clue me in about tonight’s arrangements. I’ll have to sneak a look when I get a moment.
Tori emerges from the lift in a cloud of perfume and attitude, a force of nature disguised as a woman.
She’s got a halo of platinum waves arranged in a style I’ve only ever seen on reality TV stars, and she’s poured herself into a shimmering green dress that looks both absurdly expensive and half a size too small.
Her jacket is fake fur, white as aspirin, and she’s tottering on towering gold spike heels.
‘Wow,’ I say, before I can stop myself.
She does a cute little mock curtsey. ‘Thank you, darling. I do try. But what in the name of God are you wearing?’ She steps closer, squinting at my pink lounge set with the air of someone inspecting a suspicious stain.
‘Didn’t I tell you, seven o’clock? You’re not even showered.
We’ll have to move fast if you’re going to make a human out of yourself. The cab’s waiting.’
She sweeps past me into the living room, pausing only to glance at the TV.
‘What’s this cookery shit you’re watching?
’ She grabs the remote and switches the channel to a music video, pumping up the volume to levels that instantly make the floor vibrate.
‘Much better. Party vibes, babe. It’s New Year’s Eve! You know the rules.’
I follow her, feeling like a guest in my own home.
Tori turns, blue eyes impossibly wide, all mock outrage and affection.
‘Seriously, Bells, what am I going to do with you? If you were a puppy, I’d have to put you in one of those obedience classes.
’ She’s not waiting for my answer. She’s already kicked off her heels and is peering into the fridge.
She locates the prosecco and pours herself a glass without asking, then refills mine to the brim.
‘Drink up,’ she instructs, ‘you look like you need it.’
I nod and take a tentative sip, letting the alcohol burn its way down.
My hands are steadier, but only just. Tori gives me a quick once-over, then tugs me towards the bedroom with the determination of someone on a life-or-death mission.
I catch a glimpse of us in the hallway mirror as she drags me along.
She’s flawless and bright, all technicolour and sharp edges, while I trail behind looking like I’ve just failed a job interview.
‘We have, like, seven minutes to get you glittered and ready to go,’ Tori announces, shoving open the walk-in and rifling through my clothes with zero hesitation.
‘You wore the black velvet last time, so that’s out.
The red slip, maybe? No, I know you, you’ll whinge all night that you’re freezing.
Oh, wait—’ She extracts a sequined jumpsuit from the far end of the rails and holds it up.
‘This is the one. You’ll look dangerous in this. ’
I stare at the jumpsuit. It’s not my style – not Jade’s, anyway – but that’s the point. Bella’s life, Bella’s rules. ‘Okay,’ I squeak. This meekness isn’t like me, but I don’t mind admitting to myself that I’m feeling pretty out of my depth right now.
‘Go on, get changed,’ Tori urges, flinging the jumpsuit at me. She’s already dug out a pair of stiletto boots and is lining up eyeshadows on the dressing table like weapons. ‘You do your hair – you’ll need a shit-tonne of dry shampoo – I’ll do your face. We’ll make a transformation montage.’
I blurt out a laugh, surprising myself. The sound is thin, but real.
For a second, I even feel an echo of the old thrill – dressing up for a night out, the anticipation fizzing through my veins.
It’s almost enough to drown out the guilt, the feeling that I’m trespassing in someone else’s life, wearing their skin and stealing their friends.
In the bathroom, I quickly check my phone for messages from Tori, but I can’t find anything.
My hands are shaking too much, and I can’t focus.
I give it up, deciding to just go with the flow – it’s New Year’s Eve, so it’ll be a party or a club or something.
Instead, I peel off my clothes and slip into the jumpsuit.
It’s tight, but not unkind, especially around the boob area; the sequins catch every glint of light and throw it back in starbursts.
I swipe some dry shampoo through my hair and blast it with the hairdryer, hoping the noise will drown out the doubts squabbling in the back of my mind.
I use a comb to give the crown a little volume and then gather half of my hair back, leaving some face-framing pieces down in what I hope is a Brigitte Bardot look.
It’s not perfect, but I’m going for a messy, bedhead vibe.
I’m going for something that will impress Tori.
When I emerge, Tori wolf-whistles. ‘Look at you! From zero to hero in five minutes flat. Get over here, I’ll do your eyes.
’ She sits me down at the dressing table and works with brisk efficiency – primer, foundation, dark glitter-shadow, winged liner that stretches almost to my ears.
She leans in close, her breath warm and winey.
She finishes with a flourish. ‘Perfect! Red lips or pink?’
‘Red,’ I answer decisively, finally finding my voice.
She grins, delighted. ‘There’s my girl.’ She slaps the lipstick into my palm and lets me do the honours while she checks her phone. ‘Cab’s still there, but the driver’s getting antsy. You ready, or do you need to psych yourself up in the loo first?’
‘I’m ready,’ I say, spritzing on some of Bella’s perfume, and this time I almost mean it.
We pause in the hallway for coats and purses. I slip my feet into stiletto boots. They pinch, but I don’t mind the pain – the sharpness of it is a reminder that I’m finally here.
We head for the door. I flick off the lights, one by one, and follow Tori into the lift, the landing echoing with our laughter and high heels.
I’m buoyed by the fact that I’m actually doing this – a new life, new friends, new chances.
But as the lift door closes, sealing us into the small, mirrored box, I catch one last reflection of my face – half me, half stranger – and I feel a well of panic simmering beneath the surface, looking for a crack.