Page 17 of We Used To Be Magic

‘Don’t you have work to do?’ I ask, carefully rinsing a soapy glass. ‘Potatoes to peel? Onions to chop?’

‘I’m the chef de cuisine, Ezra.’

‘Am I supposed to know what that means?’

‘It means that I’ve done my time peeling potatoes and chopping onions.’ She smiles. ‘You could, though.’

‘Sure thing. Let me just pop to culinary school for a year or so and then I’ll get right on that.’

‘You don’t need to go to culinary school to work in a kitchen. I sure didn’t. As long as you’re eager to learn and willing to work hard—’

‘See, you lost me at “work hard”.’

‘You might be good at it.’

‘Nah. Thanks, but – I don’t think it’s for me.’

‘Then what is?’

‘When I figure it out, you’ll be the first to know,’ I say – a little too curtly. Romy cocks her head and I drop the sponge in the sink, turning towards her.

‘Sorry,’ I say quickly, meeting her eye. ‘Just – my dad grilled me about doing fuck-all with my life yesterday. I’m still a little touchy about it, apparently.’

‘Do you want to talk about it?’

‘No. Thank you, though.’

Romy nods. I’m grateful that she isn’t the type of person to offer vague, cheering platitudes like,you’ll land on your feet, or,I’m sure he means well.But she’s looking at me like there’s something else she wants to say.

‘What?’ I finally blurt out.

‘Nothing,’ she says smoothly. ‘You’ve got something on your face.’

And then she dips her hand into the washing up and claps a handful of suds into my face. I blink in disbelief, letting out a splutter of laughter as she saunters off.

I’m guessing that that was the point.

AUDREY

‘ARE YOUSICK?’

I start, glancing up – Marika is standing in front of me, hand on hip, face stony. I’m perched on the edge of a sink, phone in hand. I didn’t even notice her come in.

‘Sorry?’ I reply, startled. It’s a pretty blunt opener to a conversation, even for her.

‘I just can’t imagine why else you’d be holed up in the toilets,’ she says flatly. ‘Especially seeing as I personally know a dozen girls who would have killed to be invited here tonight.’

‘Well – I don’t feelgreat,’ I offer weakly. Marika scoffs, turning towards the mirrors and popping open the clasp on her bag.

‘I haven’t eaten refined sugar in a week, I’m averaging four hours of sleep a night and I’m pretty sure there’s blood in my shoes,’ she retorts. ‘Join the club.’

I open my mouth, but before I can even attempt a rebuttal a glamorous-looking attendee in a gold dress crashes through the door and stumbles into a stall, gagging. Marika and I both wince at the unmistakable sound of vomit hitting tile.

‘Are you okay?’ I call out tentatively. The reply, a muffled ‘Fuck off,’ is punctuated by more gagging.

I guess this kind of thing is inevitable at any event with multiple free bars. They cleared out an entire hotel for tonight, this incredible old building in the heart of the city, which we’re free to drift around as we please. It’s overwhelmingly beautiful, which is maybe why I’m a little overwhelmed.

‘Whatever,’ Marika mutters, leaning in to her reflection to touch up her lipstick. ‘I’m not here to give you a pep talk. I just think it’s really weird that you’re deliberately wasting this opportunity.’

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