Page 73 of The Love Hack

‘Right. And what happened?’

‘Nothing,’ I lied desperately. ‘Well, hardly anything. They had a couple of drinks. They looked like they were friends. Having a good time, you know? I watched them for a bit then I left.’

Amelie shook her head and folded her arms, her hands buried deep in the sleeves of her jumper. ‘Does not compute. They kissed, didn’t they? Or she was all over him like a rash. Or they left together, or something. If you hadn’t seen anything, you wouldn’t be giving me chapter and verse of this letter that whoever it was wrote to Adam.’

‘Okay. They kissed. I saw them. Amelie, it was probably nothing. It was probably just?—’

‘And what’s this about following Adam’s advice, anyway? You are Adam. You decide what advice he gives. It was you telling yourself that the right thing to do was come out here and stalk my husband.’

‘It wasn’t!’ I blurted out. ‘It was the bot. The AI Adam.’

‘The what?’

‘I’ve been using one of those generative chat things to help with problems when I’m stuck,’ I said. ‘Just to give me ideas. Because I kind of understand men a bit now, but sometimes I think I still don’t understand them at all. So I don’t always know how to answer their questions. You know that. That’s why I needed your help. But then when you couldn’t help any more, I had to find another way, and that was it.’

‘So let’s get this straight.’ Amelie fixed me with her clear, hazel stare. Her eyes were still red from crying and it made the irises look brighter, almost green by contrast. I could feel my own eyes beginning to sting with tears, and I wondered if they looked a different colour from usual, too. ‘You’re just blown my marriage apart on the basis of some AI-generated nonsense. You’re telling me I need to leave the father of my child because of fucking GenBot. Nice work, Lucy.’

‘I’m not telling you you need to leave him,’ I protested. But it was hopeless. There was no point trying to justify what I’d done, or convince Amelie that she needed to focus her anger on Zack, or Brooke, or anyone but me.

‘Damn right, you don’t understand men,’ she went on. ‘Or you’d know that this stuff happens. It doesn’t mean anything. Once I tell him about the baby, he’ll kick this Brooke to the kerb so fast she won’t know what’s hit her. I’ll see to that. I might never forget it, but I’ll probably forgive him, if he begs hard enough.’

‘But what about…?’

‘You?’ she shrugged, a weary movement of her thin shoulders under the cream cashmere. ‘I don’t know, Lucy. You’ve done enough damage for the time being, don’t you think? You should probably go.’

‘Amelie, please. I’m sorry. I didn’t want to damage anything. Forget I ever came. Forget I ever saw anything.’

She looked at me coldly and got to her feet. ‘Don’t be stupid. How can I ever forget this?’

I stood, too, desperately reaching out to hug her, but she shifted away like she was made of smoke, and my arms closed around nothing.

‘Goodbye, Luce,’ she said.

Blinded by tears, I turned and left the apartment. By the time I made it out into the street, I was sobbing so hard it felt like I’d never stop.

TWENTY-EIGHT

All the way back to Brooklyn, my mind refused to allow me to think clearly about what had just happened – how badly everything had gone wrong. What an utter, clumsy fool I’d been. I should have talked to Amelie first, before embarking on my stupid espionage campaign. Or I could have talked to Zack, long ago, when I was first worried about her, and perhaps he would have listened, spent more time with her, given her the opportunity to tell him she was pregnant.

And then not snogged his ex. For fuck’s sake.

In spite of the horrible weight of guilt I was feeling, I was aware that, however idiotic I’d been, however badly I’d mishandled the situation, ultimately Zack was to blame for this, not me. I’d been rash and foolish – he’d cheated on his wife. I’d come rushing out to help my sister without thinking through the possible consequences – he’d abandoned her in an unfamiliar city while she was homesick and vulnerable.

But that didn’t change the outcome. My sister wasn’t talking to me, and it felt as if she might never forgive me.

We’d had rows before, of course, like all sisters do. But never one as awful as this. The epic fall-out of 2018 when I’d borrowed her Fenty Beauty lipstick to wear to a festival and it had melted in my handbag was nothing in comparison. The night before my A-level maths exam when she’d come home late from a party and stayed up until four in the morning playing music and chatting to her friends and I’d called her a selfish bitch seemed like a minor tiff next to this.

This felt terminal, and I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t ask the AI version of Adam, because I no longer felt like I trusted it, after the mess it had landed me in. I couldn’t confide in Ross, because after what had happened in Katz’s Deli he must suspect that I had feelings for him that he could never reciprocate.

I should have known better. I should have known that I wasn’t cut out to be the cool girl, the sexy, daring girl. If Kieren had taught me one thing, it should have been that.

The relationship – thing, situationship, whatever it was – between us had lasted six months. A whole half a year – the tail-end of summer, all of autumn and into February. After the second time in the office, he acted totally normal. Again, there was no note under my keyboard the next day. But this time, I wasn’t tortured by doubt about having done something wrong – and I was no longer worried that it wouldn’t happen again.

And it did. The following week, when we’d been working late on a deadline, he did message me – a brief note over email.

Want to stay here with me when we’re done?

I’d replied with just one word – Yes. A small word, but it had meant more than that – it had signalled a willingness to continue doing what we’d done. And we did continue. A handful of times, I went back with him to his flat after work – but not often. Mostly, we had sex in the office. It wade me cringe, now, to remember it, but at the time it had felt illicit, thrilling, powerful. He must really want me, I’d rationalised to myself, to take such risks.

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