Page 45 of We Used To Be Magic

Maggie laughs, though it’s a sound devoid of humour. ‘You know, I’ve just realised that I don’t actually give a shit about what you want,’ she says, getting to her feet. ‘Excuse me.’

I watch as she strides across the restaurant, jaw tight, head held high. My guess is that she’s going to go and rage-cry ina bathroom stall before eventually calming down, touching up her make-up and returning to the table like nothing happened. Then her and Caroline will pointedly ignore each other for the remainder of the meal, forcing the rest of us to make aggressively cheery small talk. There was a similar blowout two Christmases ago, and I should have known that there’d be conflict today. We’re too close to the anniversary for this to have been anything other than a disaster.

My thirteenth birthday was the last good day. Mum picked me up from school at lunchtime and let me skip the rest of my lessons. We got cannoli and coffee at her favourite bakery before going to the cinema in the Village to watch a matinee ofSome Like It Hot, the two of us laughing louder than anyone else. The whole time I remember thinking how happy she seemed. Howherself.And for the first time in a long time, I let myself wonder if everything might finally be okay.

Two days later, she was gone. I don’t see the point in pretending that it doesn’t colour the day, or that it wasn’t a mercy that my birthday used to fall slap bang in the middle of a school term. I got sent cards and presents, of course, but we didn’t have to spend it together as a family – didn’t have to sit around a table and pretend that no one was missing. Or not pretend, in Caroline’s case.

‘So, Ezra,’ Tomas begins, throwing out a conversational life-raft. ‘Do you have anything else planned for today?’

‘Just some friends over,’ I say, slightly distracted by the fact that Caroline has also gotten up from her seat. She’s heading outside, presumably to chain-smoke. Romy watches her go, expression unreadable.

‘Well, that sounds great!’ Dad says, smiling forcefully. It makes my chest hurt – I wish he’d stop.

‘Yeah,’ I manage. ‘Should be.’

‘Tomas,’ Romy interjects suddenly. ‘I’ve just realised I don’t actually know what you do for work.’

‘I’m a data analyst,’ he replies cheerfully.

‘Oh, wow,’ she murmurs, eyes already glazing over. ‘And … what does that involve?’

I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket as Tomas launches into an incomprehensible explanation of his unfathomable job. It’s a message from a number I don’t recognise.

Happy birthday, Ezra. Hope you’re doing well. Can we talk soon?

Edie x

Happy fucking birthday indeed.

AUDREY

IDECIDE TOWALK TOEZRA’S THATNIGHT.IT’S NOTTOO COLDOUTand I’m wearing my bomber jacket over a cute velvet top that Marika lent me, albeit reluctantly. She doesn’t think I should go out tonight – she’s convinced I’m getting sick, which makes sense seeing as I spent all of yesterday in bed, mumbling something about a headache when she tried to drag me out on a jog. It wasn’t true, of course, but I couldn’t face getting up. Couldn’t face dealing with the balled-up silk camisole beneath the bed, crumpled in the dust.

Julian insisted that I keep it, smiling as he spoke, and I think I might have somehow returned that smile as I stuffed my bra and T-shirt into my bag, buttoning my jacket to my throat. After that, things are blurry. I took a cab home, but I don’t remember much between leaving the studio and letting myself into the apartment. I know that I held myself together, because it wasn’t until the very second that I was alone in the bedroom, the door clicking shut behind me, that I felt my face crumble like wet sand. I practically fought my way out of my jacket, tearing off the camisole and hurling it away before crawling into bed. Then I cried, and I cried, and eventually, I slept.

I slept most of yesterday, too. Today, I woke to a message from Ezra, and Marika’s watchful gaze. I told her I was feeling better and got into the shower in the hopes of making it true, only to stand there until the water ran cold, forcing myself to recall every single second of what happened in Julian’s studio.That was when I realised that I never told him to stop. That I never said no, or tried to leave. I just stood there. I let it happen.

I attempted to try and justify it, then. Posing topless is relatively common in fashion. I’ve seen countless adverts and editorials where girls are hugging their naked torsos just like I did, lips pouted, eyes soft and coy. Maybe that’s what Julian had in mind.

Later, when we were both getting ready to go out, I asked Marika how her photoshoot had gone, watching closely to try and gauge her reaction.

‘It was fine,’ she said absently, sitting cross-legged in front of the mirror applying eyeliner. I was perched on the bed, still in my towel. ‘A little static, I guess.’

‘Static?’ I said – too quickly. ‘What does that mean?’

‘He gave me zero direction – didn’t ask me to try anything on, either, when there was that big rail of clothes just sitting there.’

‘Right.’ I said, stomach turning at the thought of the camisole, lying in the darkness just a few feet away. ‘Me neither.’

‘He’s obviously not that experienced. But he must have been hired for a reason, so …’

She trailed off, shrugging, and that was the end of the conversation. It helped, though. Julian’s inexperienced, and that’s probably why he did what he did. He was likely so focused on the shot he wanted that he didn’t stop to consider that I’m inexperienced too – that I’ve never done anything like that before. And – and it took me by surprise, is all. He’d probably be horrified, if he knew how he’d made me feel.

Afterwards, I replied to Ezra’s message about his party and told him that I’d be there.

By the time I’m at Ezra’s door I’m lightly sticky, face warm from having climbed all those stairs. I knock hard – the music is louder than last time, and I’m wondering if maybe I shouldtext to let him know I’ve arrived when he throws back the door. He’s smiling, a shiny party hat atop his unruly hair, and for no apparent reason I’m struck by a big, stupid urge to throw my arms around him. But then his smile falters –

‘Audrey,’ he says, and it sounds more like a question than a greeting. I realise why, and my hand instinctively flies to my head.

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