Page 19 of The Retreat
‘What’s wrong with Alex?’ Imogen asked.
Talia snorted. ‘What?’
‘You’re asking me to be the perfect woman. That’s a tall order. So just give me one thing I can be normal about.’
Talia shrugged. ‘I don’t know…’
‘There has to be something.’
‘I really don’t…’ Talia paused. ‘OK, why don’t you give her your own flaws?’
Imogen paused. Was that a jab?
‘I’m serious. If it’s hard to be someone else, don’t be. Not completely. You’re not a robot, I get that. Do what I’ve asked, and the rest is up to you.’
Imogen didn’t respond right away. She was stuck on the idea of her own flaws. As though they could be cherry-picked and slipped into someone else’s life like accessories. But maybe that wasn’t the thing to focus on. Maybe the only thing to take away from this was that she could be herself, essentially. If she’d become a doctor and liked hiking and was good at talking to people. And her parents had named her Alex.
Piss of piss.
‘Fine. So, do you want to rehearse or something?’ Imogen asked flatly.
Talia shot her a look. ‘I think we’ll be OK. I just need you to know what the broad strokes are. How to behave generally. Let’s not make it weird.’
Imogen let out a dry laugh, but it was sharp. ‘Don’t make it weird? I think we’re a bit beyond weird. Weird is in the rearview mirror.’
Talia paused, her lips pressing into a tight line. It was clear she wasn’t happy with the sarcasm, but she didn’t push it. ‘I’m trusting you with this.’
Imogen raised an eyebrow. ‘Are you?’
Talia’s eyes flickered, but she said nothing.
Imogen didn’t want to drag it out. So she just pushed off from the couch, muttering, ‘I’ll figure it out. But you need to understand this can’t be perfect. I’m not an actress, Talia.’
Talia didn’t answer for a long moment. ‘I think that’s all we need to talk about for now.’
She walked Imogen to the door. ‘Pick you up Saturday at 7.30.’
Imogen’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Hold on, you forgot something.’
‘What?’ Talia asked, irritated.
‘People are going to ask how we met, right? So, how did we meet?’ Imogen asked.
Talia groaned. ‘Leave it with me. I’ll come up with something and text you.’
Imogen nodded, and the door was shut in her face without further pleasantries. She headed down the hall.
It was OK. It would be OK. They had a plan now, or at least they were pretending to. But Imogen couldn’t shake the feeling that, no matter how well she played the part, something would go wrong.
Thirteen
The morning air was crisp as Talia pulled up outside Imogen’s flat, her car’s engine ticking over in the quiet street. She looked up at the shabby building and felt a knot twist in her stomach as she sipped her second coffee of the morning. She’d barely slept. Again.
But that was fine. Expected, even. She was used to the acid stomach and the 3 a.m. wake-ups. That was the cost of ambition, and Talia had always been willing to pay it. Career progression didn’t pair with a functioning nervous system. That was what antacids and industrial-strength concealer were for.
Talia just hoped she was as prepared as she could be for this weekend. But what more could she do? Imogen knew the brief and seemed willing to follow it. And Talia had done what she’d vowed and pushed down any lingering thoughts of the past, any remnant of the mess with Flora. It was locked away and would remain so until she dropped Imogen off on Monday morning. Then she could go to the nearest uninhabited area and scream till her voice box gave out.
She let out a long, anxious breath, rubbing her forehead. She glanced in the rearview mirror, looking herself in the eyes to check for signs of madness. If it was there, Talia couldn’t see it—which was as good as it would get.
