Page 47 of Love and Loathing

They were only the leaky kind. She wasn’t red and swollen. He wouldn’t be able to tell. But he frowned, catching sight of her sitting there. “Everything OK?”

“Yes,” she lied. “Fine.”

Then she hopped down, tucked her phone away and the message she’d just sent to Zig.

I can’t do it. Tell FTP I’m sorry. I quit.

Aubrey only took minutes to pack, collecting his suits from his room, then sitting on the bed again with his laptop while Evie hurried around her room, unable to find basic things. Her mind was still a blur of buzzing adrenaline from finally getting hold of Aubrey’s laptop, spiky nervousness all whirring together with guilt over failing, guilt over trying.

Her phone was muted in her pocket, but it kept vibrating, Zig probably sending her a cascade of increasingly irate and confused messages. She flinched every time Aubrey looked up from his screen, thinking he somehowknew, that she’d somehow left some trace on his laptop, guilty fingerprints all over it.

It was only some emails. Why,whyhadn’t she been able to do it? He wouldn’t have ever known. It would all be over by now. Job done. She could have made some excuse for not going back to London with him, said goodbye, wouldn’t ever have to see him again… She paused, staring blankly at her open bag, no idea what it was that she needed to pack.

“Do you really live at that flat you went to after Roscoe’s? Is that where you’re going back to?”

Evie jumped, looking up, finding Aubrey regarding her from the bed, his laptop now closed and pushed to the side.

“For now.” Clothes, underwear. That’s what she needed. She hadn’t brought enough when she first came to London, not knowing where she was going to be staying, or for how long.

“Is it yours?”

“No. I’m just staying with friends. Crashing on their sofa.”

“You’re sleeping on a sofa?”

She glanced up from her chest of drawers at the incredulity in his voice. “It’s a small flat.”

“You’re Evelyn Blackton. You could rent a penthouse. Live in a hotel. Buy somewhere.”

“I already told you I don’t get an allowance.”

“So what do you live on?”

“Well…” She flushed, shoving a handful of underwear in her bag. “My grandmother left me a bit. Though I donated most of it, and the rest I keep for emergencies.”

“But day to day…?”

She flashed him a grimace. “My mum gives me a clothing budget. I donate most of it, but…” She kept throwing handfuls of socks and pants into her bag, forcing them down. “It still all comes from my dad, I guess, and I hate using it, but she puts it in my account no matter what I say, and…well… Like I said, I donate most of it.”

“Why not get your full allowance and donate all of it?” Aubrey smiled. “That would irritate your father no end.”

“That’s what Zig says I should do. Siphon off the evil gains and use them for good.”

“Zig?”

“The guy I’m staying with. He’s an old friend from university.”

Aubrey stood up, put his laptop in the bag, buckled the leather straps with slow, careful precision. “An old friend,” he repeated. “I suppose he’s like you, thinks and feels all the same things. Vegan. Knits his own organic houmous.”

“More or less.” Evie zipped up her own bag, all the guilt and anxiety flooding back. She didnotwant to discuss Zig with Aubrey. It was a topic far too close to her secret for comfort.

“That’s your type, is it?” Aubrey said casually, slipping his phone from his pocket as he spoke and checking the time.

Evie gave him a look, starting to smile to herself. “Yes. Why? Are you jealous?”

He shoved his phone back with a withering look and a curt, “Come on,” snatching up his suits and leaving the room with his bag on his shoulder. Evie’s smile grew, and she followed him, feeling a little lighter, secure in the knowledge that Aubrey would probably never bring up the topic of Zig again.

It started halfway to London, sitting in the passenger seat of Aubrey’s sleek silver Audi.

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