Page 34 of We Used To Be Magic

‘Well, you left first. That means you should be the one to reach out.’

‘That’s what I thought!’ I exclaim, weirdly relieved. ‘I almost messaged but then I started to overthink what I’d written.’

‘Show me,’ she says, stopping dead and holding out her hand.

‘Uh – sure,’ I say, reaching for my phone. I hand it over and she studies the screen intently – the message I almost sent to Ezra is sitting at the bottom of our conversation, which I really hope Marika doesn’t scroll up and read – there’s nothing explicit, obviously, but I’d feel exposed all the same.

‘It’s a little wordy,’ she says finally. ‘Can I give it a go?’

‘… Okay.’

‘Don’t worry,’ she murmurs, tapping rapidly at the screen. ‘I’m good at this. Here.’

She hands it back. I read the new message, only to realise that she’s already sent it.

What are you doing tonight?

‘Marika!’ I splutter.

‘It’s better,’ she says matter-of-factly. ‘Trust me.’

‘What if he doesn’t reply?’ I ask, my chest knotting at the thought of it.

‘Then he’s an idiot. Bullet dodged.’

And before I even have time to process the nicest thing Marika has ever said to me, my phone buzzes. I blink at the screen in disbelief. He’s replied. He’s repliedalready, and –

whatever you want

‘Oh,’ I say. Marika peers over at the screen.

‘Not even a minute.’ She smiles. ‘You’re welcome. And you owe me a lap.’

Then she’s off again, ponytail swinging as she springs away. I stumble after her, wondering if my heart might now be pounding for an entirely different reason.

EZRA

‘YOU’RE SMILINGALL OFA SUDDEN.WHO AREYOU TEXTING?’

I glance up. Caroline is sitting cross-legged in her armchair, eating a slice of cold pizza and eyeing me narrowly. I’m still on her sofa – I slept here last night, lulled by the drone of television and copious amounts of whisky. Romy had come and gone by the time I woke up this morning, deeply hungover and in a crushingly low mood. Up until about two minutes ago, that is.

‘Not Edie, if that’s what you were thinking.’

‘Who, then?’ Caroline presses – she slept in her bed, of course, and looks relatively fresh-faced in an oversized T-shirt that readsITOLDYAin big black letters, strands of hair escaping a comically lopsided ponytail.

‘It doesn’t matter. Is there any more pizza?’

‘You’re deflecting,’ she says, sliding the box across the coffee table. ‘Is it a girl?’

‘Maybe,’ I say, sitting up to take a slice. I’m starving, I realise, tearing into it.

‘Not the model?’ Caroline presses, and I glance up. It’s eerie how easily she can read me sometimes.

‘Her name is Audrey,’ I reply, pausing to take another bite. ‘But – yeah.’

‘Seriously? How did you even find her?’

‘It’s a long story. I don’t feel like getting into it right now.’

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