Page 54 of We Used To Be Magic

A lot of things. But grateful, mostly.

To have Marika in my corner. To realise that she’s let me into hers.

EZRA

TURNS OUTTHAT IT’S DIFFICULT,DRESSING FORAN EX-GIRLFRIEND.

I seriously considered wearing a jacket and tie tonight, just to give the impression that I’mdoing great, thanks for asking, just stopping here on my way to something more important. I also thought about wearing jeans and a sweatshirt to let her know thatyeah, I figured it’d be nice to catch up, but I don’t actually care about being here. Or you.But all of that is total bullshit, of course, so I finally settled on some grey trousers and a gnarled-looking jumper that she’s seen a hundred times before. There’s not much point in pretence where Edie is concerned.

I drain the remnants of my drink, swivelling on my stool to scan the room. This is a nice bar, I suppose, but definitely not my kind of scene. I wouldn’t have thought that it was Edie’s, either – it’s too showy for that, brightly lit with velvet furnishings and tropical-print wallpaper, all the fixtures in burnished gold. Maybe she’s been here before and knew they wouldn’t ask forID. Or maybe I just don’t know what she does and doesn’t like any more.

By the time I swivel back my empty glass has been whisked away, a fresh drink placed in front of me. On second thoughts, maybe I love this place.

‘Ezra.’

I recognise the voice before I recognise my own name. My traitorous heart leaps at the sound of it.

‘Edie,’ I say, turning. And there she is, looking exactly the same and totally different. I can’t quite process the full picture.

‘Could I get a glass of rosé, please?’ she asks the barman, gracefully mounting the stool beside me and tucking a curtain of hair behind her ear. It’s lighter than I remember, longer. Her neat blue dress looks like the type of thing that Maggie would wear.

‘Sorry I’m late. How are you?’ she asks, inclining her head towards me.

‘Good,’ I say, overwhelmed by the banality of the question. Edie and I spent years locking eyes across classrooms and stealing kisses in storage cupboards. We shared the same tiny world – one of dust motes and damp grass, scuffed wood and rumpled uniforms. Now we’re three thousand miles across the ocean, making stilted small talk over post-work drinks. It’s surreal. Jarring.

‘How did you know I was in New York?’ she asks bluntly – that’s the small talk exhausted, then.

‘My sister knows your boss,’ I say, straightening slightly. ‘Why? Did you think I’d been keeping tabs on you?’

Her mouth becomes a hard line, and she glances away. An unequivocal yes.

‘You would have told me anyway, apparently.’ I point out, a little less offended than I probably ought to be.

‘I wanted to get settled first.’

‘How long did that take?’

‘I moved into my apartment in August.’

August. She’s been here a month already.

‘Well, that’s great,’ I say. ‘If this is what you wanted then I’m glad you got it.’

‘Don’t be a dick,’ she says flatly, which is fair enough. Out of all the Edie-centric feelings that I’ve been repressing, resentment has risen to the surface first.

The bartender sets her wine glass in front of her and she immediately picks it up, only to put it down again and turn to look at me, lips pursed.

‘And if you’re annoyed about me being here, you can take it up with Eleanor,’ she adds curtly. ‘Okay?’

I stare at her, uncomprehending. Eleanor is Edie’s older sister, who I’ve never actually met. She’s also a minor celebrity, ever since she started dating a wildly famous actor at the age of twenty-one – a famous,marriedactor. The news broke when they were photographed leaving a hotel together while he was in London for the premiere of his wife’s latest film, and the fallout was predictably explosive. Edie was thirteen then, and life as she knew it was over. We had that in common – that, and being sent to boarding school as a result. Unlike me, Edie was relieved to go. She told me that photographers used to camp outside their house, shouting awful things at anyone who came or went to try and provoke a response. A portion of their interest lay in the fact that Edie’s parents just so happened to be extremely wealthy and vaguely aristocratic – ideal tabloid fodder. They’re also very nice people, but that’s beside the point. The story dragged on long after the relationship itself ended, by which point Eleanor had converted the attention into a sizable social media following. She’s been steadily producing content ever since.

I’m genuinely surprised Edie’s even uttered Eleanor’s name – I remember trying to bring her up once and Edie shutting it down with shocking efficiency. This wasn’t long after we’d first gotten together, actually – we were on a ‘date’ at the time, which back then meant sneaking out to the tennis courts after lights-out with a bottle of peach schnapps. It was autumn, and I’d given her my sweatshirt to wear when she’d started shivering. It swamped her, of course, but seeing her wear my clothes had lit up my heart like a floodlight.

‘You can keep that.’ I’d said, watching her. ‘It suits you.’

‘Nah.’ She replied, scrunching her nose. ‘That’s so … couple-y.’

‘… We’re a couple.’

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