Page 104 of We Used To Be Magic

‘I’m sorry,’ she says. ‘Did – do you want to talk about it?’

‘I don’t think so,’ I say. Then – ‘Do you? I mean, your …’

‘No.’ She sniffs. ‘No, I think- I think maybe we should talk about what’s next, instead. Is that okay?’

‘Sure.’ I nod. ‘I know that this’ll change things …’

‘The campaign will be pulled,’ she says briskly, wiping her eyes again. ‘It doesn’t matter – there’ll be others.’

‘No, um – I just meant that if you recognised me in the article, other people might too. If I stop getting jobs …’

‘Why would that happen?’ Imogene asks, sounding genuinely appalled. I falter, wondering if I should tell her what really happened during my coffee with Miranda.

‘I don’t know,’ I say instead. Demi mentioned that there were other stories about Miranda – with everyone talking about Julian, it might not be long before one of them reaches Imogene’s ears. Today isn’t the day.

‘No. Don’t even think that,’ Imogene says firmly. ‘You’ve got an incredible career ahead of you, if you want it.’

And in spite of it all, I think I do. The world feels wider than it did two months ago. My life feels so much bigger, so loaded with possibilities, and Miranda and Julian can go andfuckthemselves for trying to make me think that they could take that from me.

I have one last thing to tell Imogene, though.

‘I think I need to go home,’ I say. ‘Not forever, but – for a little while, at least.’

‘Oh, sweetheart, of course,’ she says softly, attempting another smile. ‘I can book your flight for Monday, if you want – you and Marika can leave for the airport together. Is that soon enough?’

Monday. Monday is two days from now, and it somehow feelstoosoon. Just like Marika, there’s a part of me that’s scared to go. Scared that the time I spent here will fade away into nothing – a story that I’ll be telling at parties ten years from now, always wonderingwhat if, what if, what if—

‘Monday is good,’ I hear myself say. ‘Thank you.’

EZRA

‘JESUS.FREEZING,ISN’T IT?’

‘Mm,’ I say, hunching into my new coat. It’s navy wool, long and sharply cut – it was among the clothes that Maggie bought for me, so I know it must have been eye-wateringly expensive. I feel vaguely guilty about liking it as much as I do.

‘What a time to quit smoking,’ Caroline continues with a huff. ‘I’d kill you both for a cigarette right now.’

‘Love you too,’ Maggie says, voice muffled by her scarf.

‘I smoked my first cigarette on a day like this,’ I tell them. ‘I thought it would warm me up.’

Caroline snorts with laughter. Maggie frowns.

‘I don’t know if it’s appropriate to laugh in a cemetery,’ she says. Then, after a pause – ‘It is fucking cold, though.’

‘Come here,’ Caroline says, throwing an arm around her. Maggie stiffly accepts the gesture, brow furrowed. I know that she’s probably struggling the most today, but she’s here anyway. We all are.

This is a nice place, against the odds, on the edge of a quiet Downtown neighbourhood. It’s gated and shrouded by trees, rust-coloured leaves carpeting our path as we watch Dad tend to the grave, replacing wilted violets with fresh ones. He looks strangely at ease amongst the headstones, head bowed, gently sweeping loose petals aside with his hands – he comes here every week. Both Caroline and Maggie knew that, I’ve since learned, but today is the first time that all three of us have joined him.

It’s not at all like I’d imagined. I’d been picturing rain, actually – a slate-coloured sky and black umbrellas, the perfect backdrop for some tearful, snotty catharsis. But the sky is a crisp, cloudless blue, and I don’t feel her here. Not like when I’m reading a book or watching a film and there’s a line or a joke that I know she’d like so I make a little mental note to mention it to her before I remember, and then …

In the back of my mind she’s alive, sometimes.

‘Need any help?’ Caroline calls over to Dad. He turns and looks over his shoulder at us, then offers a hesitant thumbs up.

‘He can’t hear,’ I murmur and start walking towards him. Dad gets to his feet as he sees me approach, wiping his hands on his trousers – he’s wearing khakis and a jumper underneath his waxed jacket, a very different ensemble to his usual get-up of crisp suits and tasteful ties.

‘She was asking if you need any help,’ I tell him once I’m in earshot.

---