Page 32 of The Grosvenor's Ghost
He cocks his head at me. “Do you still like blue?”
I stare down at my blue dress.
“I’m still me,” he smiles, nudges me. “Just sober.”
“Have you been home yet?”
He grimaces. “Yep, didn’t go down too well, though.”
“Because of Sebastian and Mia’s thing?”
He nods.
“Do you remember that time we caught them in Oxford?” I try my best not to laugh but I can’t help it, I giggle a bit.
“Yeah,” he sighs, raises his eyebrows. “I mean, how fucked up is that? Two timing your own fiancée? And I was the one painted out to be the most scandalous, can you believe it?”
“I can, actually. Remember that time you and Connie stood on the sidelines of the London Marathon offering keys of cocaine and pints?”
Arthur rubs the back of his neck, cheeks flushed. “Can’t believe no one but us found that funny.”
“Remember you going for a piss down a few alleyways, too.”
“Yeah…but, who hasn’t?” He shrugs mindlessly with a small smile like he misses being that way which scares me slightly.
We both lean over the edge, staring at the same buildings. “Have you seen Connie’s paintings?”
“No.”
“Yeah,” I cringe. “He takes acid and then spends weeks doing these absolutely dreadful paintings—they really are so bad, Arthur—and then sends them off to actual galleries. People love them. Apparently it’s all abstract modern but if you asked him, he wouldn’t even remember which day of the week he painted them on. I think he’s just bored now that Primrose is at Uni.”
“Christ,” Arthur sighs and then nudges his finger with mine. “How comes I haven’t seen Bliss?”
I swallow, take a deep breath. “We fell out.”
“What?” He pulls back. “Why?”
I continue staring out while his eyes are fixed on me. “That summer—the first one while you were gone—we went toIbiza. She said something I didn’t like. Haven’t spoken to her since,” I shrug. There isn’t much more to tell.
Arthur tuts. “What? You’ve fallen out with her over a drunken comment? You and her have been best mates since primary, surely it’s got to take more to end a friendship.”
I shake my head, don’t want to talk about it. If I do, I’ll have to tell him what she said and I’m not ready for that yet.
“I should probably go back down, Digby will be wondering if I’ve run off with you.”
He puffs out a little laugh. “How is he?”
“Fine.”
“Just fine?”
“He drives an offensive car but other than that, yeah, he’s fine.”
“Yeah,” Arthur nods knowingly. “Heard about that car of his—does he, like, does he treat you well, though?”
I think about it. He isn’t a bad person, Digby. Just got a really dickhead-y name and an ugly car.
“Yeah, sure.”
