Page 44 of The Layover
I’ve never told anybody that she only met Marcus because of me. He knows what happened – Kayleigh told him, and they both thought it was hilarious, but it’s not the sweet meet-cutestory they spin when anybody wonders how they got together. I’ve made a few backhanded jokes about her stealing my wedding, but nobody’s ever looked at me like Fran did, feelingsorryabout it, acknowledged that it was a really shitty thing for Kayleigh to do.
I can feel questions circling in my mind, doubts crawling out of the shadows, half-formedwhat-ifs… I know what my subconscious wants me to confront; these thoughts are nothing new. I’ve wondered plenty of times –What if I just walked away? What if I confronted her? Why do I put up with it why don’t I try to be better why—
I know the answers to those kinds of questions, though.
It’s the same kind of reason Fran is still chasing after Marcus:because he stuck around.
So I push those thoughts aside now, before I end up letting them drag me down.
Fran starts to sober up, taking the sparkly thong out of my hand to scrutinise. She looks me dead in the eye and says, ‘Imagine the chafing,’ which sends me into a fresh peal of laughter, but also chases those nasty little thoughts back into the shadows where I don’t have to mull over them, and my chest feels lighter. I’m practically buoyant.
Maybe Ishouldinvest in therapy. This is great.
We discard the sparkly thong to pick through different garments. Lurid pink scraps of underwear, lacy push-up bras, shimmering bikinis. Fran lingers on one of those – it’s turquoise, the same colour as my bridesmaid’s dress.
Actually, it’d be a really lovely colour on her.
I say as much out loud, and she snatches her hand back. ‘Oh, no, I wasn’t … I mean, I’m not really going tobuyany of this stuff.’ Her hand curls around the Chanel lipstick I picked out for her, and she smiles down at it. ‘Well, maybe this.’
‘You should. You’ll look gorge. And imagine – that, withthis?’ I hold the bikini up in front of her. The top part is essentially two tiny triangles with strings hanging off them, a halter-neck, and she laughs and pushes it away.
‘My boobs would pop right out of that! I think that goes past “seduction” and right into “‘public nudity”.’
‘I’m sure there are some topless beaches around,’ I say, but scrutinise her a bit closer. The peasant blouse she’s wearing is loose and hides her shape, and that ugly, huge denim jacket drowns her. It makes her small form look boxy and shapeless, and I remember what she said about not being sure of herself when it comes to fashion. Unless maybe she’s going for more of a Billie Eilish thing …? In which case, she’s kind of nailing it.
She moves on to a structured one-piece instead. There are little cut-outs on the side, and a diamante circle in the middle of the boobs. Even that looks too daring for Fran, though, and she quickly dismisses it. It’s only when I watch her pull down the sleeves of her denim jacket to her fingertips that I realise—
‘That’s a man’s coat.’
She jumps, flushing red. ‘Er.’
My eyes bug wide. ‘That’s Marcus’s coat. It is, isn’t it? Ohmigod. You wear his jacket.’
‘He left it at my place, that night …’ She trails off, and her fingers touch the cuff and her lips draw into a soft smile.
Honestly, you can read her like a book. I’m not sure if it’s sad and pathetic or unbearably sweet that she kept his jacket all this time andstill wears it. It’s kind of ballsy to wear it to his wedding, though, I’ll give her that.
‘You said he met Kayleigh just after he met you.’
‘That’s right.’
‘So if what you have is so special, why did he bother with her when you two had a thing going?’
It’s obviously the very last thing Fran wants me to ask her: she winces, looks sheepish and bites the inside of her cheek, screws up her nose and scrunches her forehead like she’s half debating telling me to mind my own business.
But then she says, ‘It’s my fault. That’s why I have to talk to him before the wedding. After we spent the night together, I saw him at the office and he came over to me saying, “Listen, about Friday night …” and I justpanicked. I hadn’t heard from him over the entire weekend. He looked so nervous, and I thought,What if he’s going to try to sweep it under the rug? What if he says he regretted it?I couldn’t bear that. So I just told him, “It’s fine, really! We’d had a couple of drinks, it was just a bit of fun. It’s no big deal.” I think … God, it’s so embarrassing to think now, but I was trying to play it cool. Tobea cool girl about it.’
‘Oh, sweetie, no.’
She nods, pulling a face at me before continuing. ‘I know. And we were in the middle of the office, you know? There were people around. I didn’t want to tell him in front ofeveryonethat it was the most romantic night of my entire life. So I said it was fine, and he still looked nervous and he asked if I was sure. I told him I was, and he smiled a bit and gave me this weird little …’
She demonstrates, punching me lightly in the shoulder, hardly even touching me, her whole body swaying from her shoulders with a swagger that is actually anuncannyimpression of Marcus.
‘And he said, “So, we’re all good? We’re still pals? I’d hate to lose you,” and I started to realise that maybe I’d gotten it wrong – that he wasn’t going to reject me, but nowI’drejectedhim, so he had to suck it up and pretend it was all okay. He said his phone had died over the weekend and that’s why he hadn’t texted, and … Everything just spiralled so far out of control. I’d told him we were just friends, and then suddenly he was in arelationship, so it didn’t feel like I had any right to take that back.’
‘Until now.’
‘Until now,’ she agrees.
