Page 19 of The Layover
There it is again, though. That little twist. Another knot forming in my stomach.
Then Kayleigh says, ‘By the way, you heard, right? About the job?’
Shit. I’d really been hoping to avoid talking about this. Bury it, until next week. Pretend for a couple of days that it wasn’t true.
She just has to drive the knife in, though, doesn’t she?
‘I did.’ I swallow, and force myself to exclaim, ‘Congratulations! I’m so excited for you!’
Lie, lie, lie. Can’t she hear it?
‘Ohmigosh, I’msorelieved, you havenoidea how hard it was to not tell you! But it wasn’t my place, you know? They wanted to make sure everything was all done properly, tell you themselves. Follow due process and all.’
Lie, lie, lie. I can hear it.
‘Totally.’ The word scratches out; my throat is bone-dry.
‘It’s so exciting, though! Guess the best gal won in the end, huh?’ She laughs to take the sting off, an old trick, but I only feel a total sense of numbness.
My voice doesn’t even sound like mine when I say, ‘For sure. Hey, you owe me one for setting the whole thing up in the first place for you, huh?’
Kayleigh’s laugh this time is curt. Patronising. She doesn’t say anything else.
‘Well, anyway, I’d better get back – my coffee’ll be getting cold, and you would notbelievethe line to get a fresh one. Total hell. Get the girls to send me some pics from tonight, yeah?’ I say. ‘Can’t wait to see! Can’t believe I’m missing it.’
‘Me either. Miss you, babe.’
‘Miss you too!’ I chirp, but when I finally hang up, my breath comes out in a long rush, and I sink down the wall I’m leaning against until I’m crouched on the balls of my feet, and I press the heels of my wrists to my forehead.
I wasn’t very pretty or book-smart or sporty at school, but I could be popular. Kayleigh took me under her wing, and the rest was history. I knew how to work people, and I used that to my advantage. Then at work, it was so cut-throat that beingniceandkindandcompassionatewould’ve only held me back. I know who I am; and worse, Kayleigh knows who I am. Who she expects me to be.
Sometimes, when I have a little distance from her, like right now, it wears on me.
It makes me think … that I don’t always, necessarily,likewho I am.
That’s the sort of thinking that gets you down if you give into it, though, the kind of thing that sends you spiralling into an existential crisis. So you can’t think about it too much. Just like how you can’t let yourself think too long and hard about your dad walking out, or your mum never caring, or your girlfriend breaking up with you when you thought she was going to propose … Or your best friend beating you out for a promotion, getting the guy, buying the home, and stealing your dream wedding.
It’ll bury you, if you’re not careful.
It’d ruin a better person. So, sometimes, I’m glad I’m not like that.
I can’t afford to let it fester. It’s the sort of thing you harness, channel, let drive you to something bigger and better, use it to get what you want instead of wallowing. It’s the only way to cope.
Which is why I know that in all likelihood I’ll gossip ruthlessly via text with Kayleigh about anything Fran says and does, and why I have that video on my phone. There, ready, waiting.
Chapter Eleven
Leon
Gemma can’t be gone for more than five, maybe ten minutes at most.
It’s an eternity.
Without her chattering away about the wedding and the venue and the guests, the silence swallows us, made all the more obvious by the clamour of voices and hiss of drinks machines and rattle of suitcase wheels and shouts of ‘Order number eighteen! Eighteen?’ from the food vendors.
Francesca sits quiet. She alternates between fidgeting with her empty cup or the pins on her oversized jacket and checking her phone and looking around, people-watching. She looks my way several times, like she wants to say something, but never does. It’s probably for the best.
I don’t have much to say to her.
