Page 44 of I Love You, I Love You, I Love You

Returning with the towels, Jackson is not happy. ‘Ella, what the fuck? I ask you to get Bianca out and now you’re in too?’

By this point, Pixie Cut is enjoying staring me down; her spotless shoes are by my eyelashes, and I know I’m so badly in the wrong that I double down.

‘Why aren’t you ever fun?’ I shout. ‘I don’t even like parties like this but look, I squeeze out the joy! I make the most of it!’ I’m not having fun at all; I’m freezing, annoyed and feel guilty and terrible.

‘What are you on about?’ Jackson asks.

‘You’re always so boring. You never want to have fun with me or have a drink.’ STOP! My voice boomerangs the closed-in concrete and slate terrace.

‘You wonder why?’ he asks.

Bianca shouts, ‘OH, JUST BANG YOUR GIRL FOR ONCE IN YOUR LIFE, MAN, WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU? FEED THE SOUL! ELLA NEEDS TO GET PUMMELLED!’

I blink, astounded. What the fuck did she just say?

‘TOO FAR!’ Aoife scolds.

‘Sorry but it needed to be said,’ Bianca says. I mean, it did, but not like this, not by her and definitely not now.

‘Thanks for that, Bianca.’ I haul my body up the ladder, the cream silk sticking to me like clingfilm, revealing my bright-pink bra underneath and high-waisted knickers.

Jackson clenches his jaw but says nothing. Just holds out his arm and helps us out one by one, wrapping a massive thick towel around the three of us like we’ve been rescued from a flood and he’s the rescuer, even though he did nothing except shame us. His – let’s be real, our – KTPLT colleagues look on.

‘I’m so sorry,’ I say.

I wait for Jackson to say something like, Me too. But he doesn’t say anything at all, which is worse.

In the taxi home, Jackson and I are silent. I’m shivering for dear life, even with the waffle dressing gown and flimsy slippers that the members’ club gave us from the spa that KTPLT will be charged probably a hundred quid for, which I can’t even appreciate because I’m in the doghouse. Underneath I’m completely naked. My silk pyjamas and underwear, sodden, are in a carrier bag from the members’ club gift shop.

After brushing his teeth, Jackson goes straight to bed and turns off the light. I should wash the chlorine off me so it doesn’t itch but I don’t want to be any more of a nuisance. I’m not worthy of a shower. I just crawl in, next to him, where his back is turned, knowing I’ll wake up with stupid waffle squares imprinted all over my skin like an actual waffle.

‘Who was that woman you were chatting to all night?’

‘Which woman?’

‘The one you had a picante with?’

‘What the fuck is a picanate?’

‘Pixie Cut?’

‘You are literally speaking fairy at this point.’

‘Short hair.’

‘Zahra?’

That’s a cool name. ‘Who?’

‘KTPLT’s president? From the New York office.’

Ooo, whoop de fucking New York dooo. That’s mean.

‘Who often employs you, Ella?’

‘How am I meant to know that? I’ve never met her.’ Her name does sound familiar from email chains but she never writes back.

‘Are you joking me?’ he says. ‘You’re obviously still pissed.’

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