Page 2 of Merrily Ever After
Maybe 60.
But I definitely should have hung up more tinsel.
Somewherehasto still be open.
I open my phone again because surely the whole point of living in this city is for twenty-four-hour conveniences, and it’s at that moment a car pulls into the neighbor’s yard, its headlights sweeping into the room.
On reflection, the child-sized elf in the corner was a poor choice of decoration, and as its painted eerie smile catches the light at just the wrong angle, it resembles more of a festive demon arrived to suck out my soul than a ten-quid statue I found in the discount bin at Poundland. It’s horrifying enough that it’s like a punch straight to my heart, and I mutter a curse as I jump back and then full-onyellas I stumble over one of the extension cords and go sideways into the Christmas tree.
I drop my phone as I manage to right myself. But I’m not quick enough to save the real star of the show.
The tree. The painstakingly decorated, beautifully arranged, surprisinglyheavytree slowly tilts before crashing to the ground with a dramatic symphony of rustling foliage and chiming bells and one comedically timed bauble that rolls to a gentle stop by my feet.
For a moment all I do is stare at it. I actually think I might be in genuine shock because at first I’m not even aware of thedog once again barking his head off. I definitely hear the bang of the car door though, and I duck down, crouching among the scattered decorations as the porch light turns on next door.
The barking stops, but the crunch of gravel is unmistakable as a figure approaches the dividing walls between gardens and peers in. I freeze for so long my leg goes numb, but I don’t move until finally, after what feels like anhour, the lights turn off and they go inside.
I turn my attention to the destruction. Forget the tinsel, it will be a miracle if I can clean up this mess in time.
I heave the tree back into place, glad no one is around to see me poke myself in the eye with a pinecone, and haul as many decorations as I can into my arms, putting them on the branches with what I like to think of as chaotic artistry.
At least that’s what I tell myself as I start to fumble with the more delicate ones. The clock is ticking now, and I’m starting to get stressed, which only stresses me out more because I don’t usually get stressed. I’m the calm presence in the room. But now I’m running out of time and the dog is barking again and some of the felt stars I stuck to the wall have fallen off, which makes me worry about the tape I used.
I’ve just put the last candy cane on when headlights appear outside again, only this time they linger at the end of the driveway.
Lara.
I stash the remaining ornaments behind the tree, and step into the hallway as the engine turns off. I get a fresh bout of nerves as I wait, listening to the approaching footsteps pause outside the front door.
She’s probably looking for her house keys. In fact, that’s definitely what she’s doing. She’s always forgetting the small things. At least when it comes to herself. The woman will rattleoff a whole medical textbook and then forget to put milk in her tea. Forget to look after herself.
But that’s okay.
That’s what I’m here to do.
I look back at the living room, feeling a little calmer. It’s not perfect, but she’ll love it. I know she will.
I smile, and with a deep breath, open the door with my arms spread wide. I expected a gasp. Maybe a moment of surprise followed quickly by unrestrained joy. Mostly, I expected my best friend. What I didn’t expect was to come face to face with a tall, burly police officer standing on her welcome mat. One who looks like he’s never gasped in his life and who definitely doesnotlook happy to see me.
Chapter Two
September
Ten Years Ago
“Jump! Jump! Jump!”
Shit. Shit. Shit.
I turn my gaze from the inky black water below and glance over my shoulder as the final few people make their way up the ladder and onto the roof of the science building. At least a dozen others stand watching in a huddle behind me, filming on their phones and drinking from neon-colored bottles we bought for next to nothing at the supermarket. They’re drunk. Happily, stupidly, deliriously drunk. And so was I until a couple of minutes ago.
Untilsheshowed up.
Beside me, Tommy flexes his muscles, all two of them, and the entire roof breaks out in cheers. Or most of them do.
“This is so dumb,” Tommy laughs, and I nod, slapping him on the back even as my eyes flick to the side. To the girl who hasn’t spoken a word. Lara Stevens.
I didn’t expect to see her tonight. In the week I’ve been at this university, a week of parties and pub crawls and everything but learning, I haven’t seen her out past 9 p.m. And I’ve looked. Hard. It’s become a habit now. Ever since I first caught sight of her on moving day, I can’t seem to enter a room without checking to see if she’s there. But the only time she’s around is in those afternoon hours when we overlap and even then Ionly catch glimpses. The dinner line at the canteen. Through the windows of the library.
