Page 41 of Just for December

‘Gah!’ Daphne screams.

‘Jesus!’ says Evie. ‘That felt like it was coming right for me, like, ON PURPOSE! Did you see that?!’

‘At least it didn’t poo on us,’ says Daphne. ‘Wardrobe weren’t very happy at me coming out in costume, but in winter it makes you colder, getting dressed and undressed, doesn’t it? I said I’d tag them both on social later, send some followers their way as a thank you.’

‘Ahh bribery, works every time.’ Evie sighs.

‘Story of my life,’ says Daphne. ‘There are some real diamonds in this industry, but I can’t lie: there’s a lot of people who want something and everything, too.’

‘Duke’s said the same, yeah.’ Evie nods. ‘I’m sure publishing can be that way as well, but I try to keep myself to myself, living my tiny little life out in Salt Lake.’

‘The lives we call tiny can actually be some of the biggest,’ notes Daphne. ‘And also, can I just point out: you were the one to bring Duke up that time.’

Evie sticks out her tongue.

By the next morning the photos of Evie and Daphne’s walk are published – not widely, but they’re up, with several more feminist websites saying exactly what Willow-or-Dream had hoped: that no man is worth coming between two women. A few ‘anonymous sources’ are featured, saying how hilarious the two women find their alleged love triangle portrayed in the media, when behind the scenes the real love affair is between them, as friends. ‘Seriously,’ the source says, ‘outside of filming they’re normally just propping up the bar, drinking cocktails and putting the world to rights.’The Cuteven runs the headline THE ONLY ROMANTIC ROAD COUPLE WE SHIP ARE THE AUTHOR AND THE REAL STAR, and Evie doesn’t even hate the photo they’ve chosen either. She really is laughing hard and free, and it actually does look like Daphne and Evie are BFFs.

She gets sent the link by her agent, who tells her of two more foreign rights offers that have come through for some works in her back catalogue – Poland and Brazil. It’s not huge money, but it all contributes to the growing snowball of buzz around Evie and her work, the mounting total of cash her agent says is coming her way. She breathes deeply.It’s okay for all of this to be happening,she tells herself as she arranges her hair into two French braids that will fit under a hat.Isn’t it?she thinks, when she’s done.

She’s working on the self-worth thing.

‘That’s nice,’ Duke says, nodding at her hairdressing skills at breakfast. ‘You look like you should be called Heidi.’

He’s in his off-duty uniform of skin-hugging T-shirt and low-slung grey joggers. Evie’s eyes flick to the waistband, the easy-going and idle way it sits just on his pubic bone.

‘I wonder what today has got in store,’ he says to her, and she drags her eyes away quickly, ashamed at her mind in the gutter.

‘Hmmm,’ answers Evie in between chews of a pain au raisin. ‘More smouldering glares and meaningful glances for you, and more hanging about watching your smouldering glares and meaningful glances for me, I’d imagine,’ she says. ‘And maybe pasta salad at lunch.’

‘Your imagination is limitless,’ Duke quips back, finding some watermelon and loading up his plate as Evie stands and watches. ‘I can see how you’ve managed to make a career out of storytelling.’

‘Your compliments sound so sincere.’ Evie grins. ‘I can see how you’ve made a career out of acting.’

‘Ouch,’ Duke says, smiling and grabbing his heart like that’s where her sass has landed. ‘You got me.’

She looks at the clock on the wall. ‘Well,’ she tells him, popping the last of the pastry in her mouth. ‘You don’t got me. I’ve been summoned to reception for 8 a.m. by Daphne.’

‘How is it that Daphne has your number and I do not?’ he asks, faking a pout.

Evie smiles cheekily and as she’s halfway out of the door tells him: ‘Because you’ve never asked for it.’

In the lobby, Evie searches out Daphne. Her text didn’t say what she needed to talk to her about, only that if she was free, Daphne would love it if Evie could come down for a coffee with her –and it’s not a photo op. I promise!

She picks a spot in the corner: a small round coffee table with two big, cosy leather armchairs. Perfect, Evie reflects, asa little reading nook. Urgh. Reading. Thinking of reading makes her think of writing, which makes her think of her MacBook lying untouched upstairs. To some people, 65,000 words sounds like chapter and verse but to Evie, who needs 100,000 words, it’s pitiful – and haunting. She’s never asked for a deadline extension in her life. Is this book going to be the one she pleads for longer with? Her editor won’t be happy. You don’t get to publish in a regular spring and winter slot year after year if you don’t deliver your manuscript on time. And yet, despite what she’s promised herself, there seem to be so many interesting distractions that she finds herself struggling to commit to her work.

She hears somebody say,‘Oh no, don’t worry, I’ve got it,’and it sounds like Magda. Her heart pines for her friend, then – she can’t remember the last time they were apart for this long.

Evie sits back in the armchair, promising herself she’ll do it later and absent-mindedly admiring the lobby. And then she sees her, stood by the automatic doors, waiting to be noticed.

‘Magda?’ Evie says, too stunned to stand.

She waves. ‘Thought it was time for me to take a little trip,’ she says, grinning. ‘Shake this place up a bit.’

Evie squeals then – full-on, top-of-her-lungs screams, getting up and launching herself at her best friend.

‘What the hell!’ she says, excitedly. ‘How are you here? How the hell are you actually here? Why didn’t you say?’

The friends hug, and it’s so powerful, so full of love, that Evie actually manages to knock Magda to the floor, which makes thembothsqueal then, and then they’re laughing,lying on the carpet runner of the five-star hotel, just giggling and giggling. Evie turns her head.

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