Page 111 of The Grosvenor's Ghost
Despite what you may believe, some secrets are way better off being kept away, locked, bolted, in that special box in your mind. There’s probably a ring box size in my mind, the rest of it has already been bared to Phoebe.
The old IPhone 6 sitting on the coffee table vibrates, Albie picks it up, nods at his brother and I get up and leave.
I take the stairs up to the main floor of the club. Not really my scene anymore but there’s no denying there’s always an atmosphere in here there’s pretty much unbeatable. I mean, I’ve been in near enough every exclusive nightclub you can think of and yet, I always find myself back here.
I go to the bar where it’s most quiet and without even acknowledging me, the bartender slides me across a glass of Coke, a Stratton embroidered napkin sitting underneath it. I take a sip without smelling it because I reckon he values his life more than anything. Maybe at another club I might’ve hesitated but not here—never here. Red hot on any kind of date rape or spiking. A scandal like that is the last thing this family needs.
It clocks after a second.
The temptation that comes with a sober person sitting at a bar simply just isn’t there. I start thinking about it—the fact I’m not even interested in giving into the thought of there being no temptation. Thought there’d be something. A slight twinge, a breath of a whisper, a gentle blow in my ear, a quiet ringing in my head but there’s nothing at all.
Then again, even if I wanted to challenge myself, I’d never get served alcohol in here.
It is strange, though—staring at the tables I used to be nose deep in coke at, the bathrooms where I’d find myself for half the night, the walls I used to hold myself up, the bar top I used to crouch behind when everyone else told me I’d had enough—being sober here. All these memories that you might think are bad ones actually put a slight, small smile on my face. It’s almost bittersweet. I could say that those times were my peak of loving Phoebe but the reality is my entire life has been at the height of loving her. No down moments, no overly high moments—it’s all been one steady ascend of loving her.
I wonder if it’s like that for everyone.
Does everyone look at their partners and feel as though they’re chugging up a rollercoaster, waiting for the inevitable dip in your stomach as you go free falling only for it to never come? You know, every time I look at Phoebe I almost feel myself going up for the first time. I can’t pinpoint a singular moment where I fell in love with her—it’s just always been like this.
I wonder if this is how Digby feels and if that is the case, then I can’t say I blame him. Getting off that roller coaster might just be the most difficult, painful, tricky thing someone can do.
It’s then, when I’m picturing this roller coaster in my mind that a pair of long tanned legs comes bounding up to the bar.
“Another round of shots!” She calls out, pushing past everyone else waiting.
The bartender nods, gets right to it.
Phoebe doesn’t spot me but I see her so I grab her wrist as she goes to leave. She spins towards me, a smile, and then shock, and then confusion until she pulls her hand back.
“Knew it wouldn’t take long,” she remarks, nods at my glass.
“It's Coke.”
She scoffs, rolls her eyes. “Your favourite.”
I wipe away my smile and hold the glass out to her.
She frowns, takes a sip, looks surprised.
“You’re drunk again,” I note, tilt my head at her.
“Like you’re one to talk.”
“I’m not.”
“So, what’s your point?” She raises her eyebrows, impatient.
I shrug. “No point, just an observation. I heard what happened at Ascot.”
Phoebe rolls her eyes. “Get your nose out, Arthur. You weren’t even there.”
“I heard you wanted me to be, though.”
Her jaw tenses for a second. “What are you even doing here? Spying on me? I have a boyfriend,” she hiccups. “And before you think about going and running your mouth to him, he knows I’m here—you little tell-tale.”
“Okay,” I nod.
“And,” she points at me. “I love him, Arthur.”
