Page 49 of We Used To Be Magic

‘Not by yourself. I’ll come with you. Or we can call Marika?’

‘No,’ she says quickly. ‘I don’t want to bother her. And you can’t leave – it’s your party.’

‘Mac’ll keep an eye on things. Or you can stay here tonight. It would give me a great excuse to kick everyone out, at least.’

She looks up at me, then, eyes wide and watery.

‘I’d take the sofa, obviously,’ I add quickly. ‘Either way, not a problem.’

Then I get to my feet, moving to dispose of the contents of the bin for her. She looks up at me with very real panic, clutching it tighter.

‘Um, no thank you,’ she says quietly. ‘I think I might need it again.’

Mac and Dominic, now forgiven, help me clear out the remaining stragglers with surprising efficiency. When I check back in with Audrey, she sheepishly asks me if she can take a shower. I understand the impulse – showering after being sick feels like a baptism. I fetch her spare towels and fresh clothes,my narrowest tracksuit bottoms and a soft white T-shirt, plus a new toothbrush. And then I get to work, throwing my bedroom window open and frantically changing the sheets just in case she does decide to stay. I’m wiping dust from the nightstand with an old sock when there’s a tentative knock at the door.

‘Come in,’ I say, tossing it in the hamper. Audrey steps inside, wet hair tucked behind her ears, face flushed. The apartment is silent, so she must know that everyone else has left.

‘I feel better,’ she says, hugging herself slightly. ‘Thank you.’

‘No worries. Uh – do you want to head home, or … ?’

‘I’m really tired,’ she says quietly, dropping her gaze. ‘If you meant what you said about me staying here …’

‘Of course,’ I say quickly. ‘No problem.’

‘I’ll sleep on the sofa. You don’t have to give up your bed.’

‘No, you’re all good. I love the sofa. The sofa and me go way back.’

‘Okay.’ She nods. ‘If you’re sure. Thank you.’

‘Right. Um – phone charger next to the bed, if you want to message Marika – let her know you’re crashing here, maybe. Water from the taps, obviously. Painkillers – there’s some on the dresser, there.’

She nods, says nothing.

‘Right,’ I say again, stepping around her, through the doorway. ‘I’ll be in the living room if you need me – or anything else, you know.’

‘Okay. Good night,’ she says quietly. I nod, shut the door behind me.Fuck, I think.Fuck.

It took me way, way too long to realise that something was wrong with Audrey tonight. She did seem slightly subdued when she showed up, but I figured that was because she was tired. Then, when she shut down the question of her being interested in Mac within a second of me posing it, I even wondered iftonight might be the night when I muster up enough chutzpah to ask if she’s interested inme.

But then – I don’t know. There was that weird moment in the kitchen where she honestly acted as though she’d seen a ghost, and immediately after that she started pounding back her drinks. I guess that the alcohol must have softened and smeared whatever she was feeling, because she seemed more relaxed after that, but—

My alcohol. My fault.

I pad into the kitchen as quietly as I can, the floor sticky beneath my socks as I pour myself a glass of water, catching my reflection in the shiny black door of the fridge.

‘You prick,’ I say aloud. My voice sounds strange in the empty room.

AUDREY

THE DISTANCEBETWEENEZRA’S APARTMENTAND MINEFEELS SOmuch further this morning. I walk quickly with my jacket pulled tight around me, head throbbing, stomach crying out for something hot and carb-heavy. I can’t believe how much I drank last night, or how stupid that was – how stupid Iam. I wasn’t thinking about my pathetic tolerance, or the fact that I’d barely eaten in days – I just feltgood, after that second drink, and I wanted to keep feeling good. But I got what I deserved, because emptying the contents of my stomach in front of Ezra didn’t feel very good at all.

I almost wish that the alcohol had blotted out my memory as well as my sense, but I remember it all, including how kind Ezra was. He was still sleeping when I left, sprawled out on the sofa with a tangle of hair obscuring his face. TheTVwas on, a quiet drone of early morning infomercials. I lingered before I let myself out, watching the rise and fall of his chest for a moment. Then I realised how completely deranged I must have looked and promptly left.

It felt awful, sneaking out like that. I tidied by way of apology and left a note, hastily scrawled on the back of a crumpled receipt from my jacket pocket. I’ll make amends, I’ve decided, and that starts with laundering the clothes and towels he lent me. It felt rude to leave them there, all damp and crumpled, so I put them in a bin bag and took them. It dangles from the crook of my elbow as I let myself into the apartment – I need to getchanged and get my wallet before I can drop them off at the laundromat below.

I’m surprised and a little relieved to discover that Marika isn’t here. She’s probably gone for an early jog, which gives me plenty of time to get my stuff together without being grilled about last night. I change quickly, stuffing yesterday’s clothes into my laundry bag and tugging on a warmer outfit. It’s not until I’m shrugging my jacket back on that I hear the voices, hushed and low, coming from the hallway. Laughter, too. I freeze, not sure what to do.

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