Chapter 20 #2
I squirm in his arms. I don’t know why, but I just don’t want to be alone with him.
I extricate myself, fanning my face and pleading tiredness.
I skirt the dancefloor and return to the sofa where Euan and Becca are lounging, taking a break.
Across the room, Alex watches me, his eyes glittering. He looks lost. Conflicted. Angry.
On the dancefloor, Jameson is spinning Kimmy, and I feel his absence acutely as I sit alone.
Becca takes my place in Alex’s arms, and they move seamlessly together, like it’s natural for them to be in each other’s embrace.
I glance at Euan to see if he minds, but he’s not watching. He’s looking at his phone.
Jameson dances with Kimmy only as long as politeness demands, then drifts back to me.
One by one, everyone returns to the sofas, exhausted.
Alex switches the music again – smoother, more mellow and modern – and we pile onto cushions and sofas and splinter off into smaller conversations.
The boys shed jackets and waistcoats, and loosen ties, we girls kick off our shoes and curl our legs beneath us.
Kimmy, Leo and I discuss art – about which I know absolutely nothing, and Leo very little, but Kimmy is knowledgeable enough for all of us.
I talk about books with Euan for a bit, telling him about mine and Gen’s little book club.
I almost tell him about the copy of Looking for Alaska on my nightstand upstairs but stop short.
That’s private – not even Jameson knows about it.
Euan listens with interest, tells me that when he was a teenager he was in an accident and spent time in hospital.
Fantasy novels were his only company, his salvation.
I hadn’t really taken Euan for a reader and judge myself harshly for the assumption, like so many conclusions I have jumped to about him.
Back as a big group, we talk about all the things we thought we’d do with our lives, and how close or far we’ve stuck or strayed from those paths: Leo didn’t become a pro-golfer, but still has a decent handicap.
Jameson hasn’t climbed Everest, but he’s not far off bagging all the Munros.
Becca achieved the fame she chased, but found it wanting and has left all that behind to circle back to her family fold.
Alex gave up football after a brutal knee injury and though he spins a good tale about overcoming adversity, after what Jameson told me last night about his job, and the rehab, I’m not sure it’s true.
I’d like it to be true; I’d love for him to complete his redemption arc before it’s too late.
Happy-drunk, I tell them I’m doing my dream job, I even tell them about the book.
I brag a bit – just a little – about how I use my knowledge and ability to get under people’s skin, figure out what makes them tick.
They all listen to me, hanging on my every word like I’m interesting too, and it feels good.
For a while it’s all perfect, and I don’t notice the moment the pendulum starts to swing, the scales tipped. It must be there – a fault line, a turning point. The difference between one glass of wine and the next, perhaps. Drunk, our truths are more likely to spill out.
When it’s Kimmy’s turn to tell us about her childhood dreams, she folds one long, slim leg over Leo’s, and says airily, ‘This is bullshit. I mean who cares how we thought our lives would turn out when we were kids? I thought I’d be a prima ballerina, but go figure.’
Leo pats her ankle. ‘We’re just making conversation, babe.’ There’s a warning in his voice, as if he, like me, doesn’t want anything to spoil tonight.
Doesn’t want things to degenerate the way they threatened to yesterday. The night teeters, febrile and frangible.
Kimmy’s liquorice-dark eyes sparkle with malice like they did in the kitchen last night, and I start to fear what’s coming. She jerks out from under Leo’s hand. ‘This is just another roundabout way of getting back to her.’
Leo’s eyes narrow. He forces a laugh, but it doesn’t fit. ‘Kim …’
She throws up her arms and the gesture is clumsy. She’s drunk, I realise. Very drunk. ‘Poor dead Genevieve, drowned before she could pursue her dreams.’ Animosity drips from her tongue. Leo reaches over and not-so-subtly takes the glass from her hand.
‘That’s enough of that.’ He tries another laugh, but it dies on his lips.
Kimmy snatches her glass back. ‘Arsehole.’
‘Leo …’ Becca says warningly. ‘That’s not cool.’
Jameson plays peacemaker. ‘All right, everyone, let’s just take it easy.’ Sitting beside Becca, still toying with his phone, Euan sighs. He must be so sick of this, of us.
Kimmy downs the rest of her drink and stabs a finger towards Jameson. ‘I’m done taking it easy, pretending.’ She turns to Becca. ‘You get it, don’t you? Genevieve Learmonth was a toxic bitch and everyone here knows it, even if they won’t admit it.’
Becca blinks, but says nothing. No one contradicts Kimmy. Not Leo. Not even Jameson.
Then Kimmy pins me with her glittering eyes. ‘And as for you … You claim to have loved her best but you got it worst of all. And everyone just goes along with your little charade.’
I’m confused. Like last night in the kitchen, I don’t understand what she’s getting at.
Alex clears his throat and I expect him to weigh in on my behalf, defend me. I jumped in a fucking swimming pool fully clothed to save his life earlier. Jameson’s silence hurts me. I’d rather it was him leaping to my defence, but I’ll settle for Alex.
‘She’s not wrong,’ Alex says, staring so intently at me I feel like he’s trying to peel away my layers and get right to the heart of my secrecy. ‘I wonder if you believe in the sugar-coated version of her yourself, Eilish, or if you’re just scared to face the truth.’