Page 63 of We Used To Be Magic

‘Speak for yourself. I’m pretty sure I’d thrive as a trophy husband.’

‘I think I’d rather be the controversial ex-girlfriend,’ Nicole muses. ‘Sell stories to tabloids. Do the realityTVcircuit. Start a line of flavoured vodkas, maybe.’

‘Not tempted to get out there and do some schmoozing of your own? I mean – you said you’re a freelancer, right?’

‘Yep,’ Nicole says, pausing to take a sip of her beer. ‘And I would, totally. Only networking sucks and it makes me want to peel my own skin off.’

‘Oh, that.’

‘That, yeah. Have you ever noticed it’s almost exactly the same as a bad first date?’

‘I’m probably not the person to ask.’

‘Then I’m telling you. Dry questions, forced laughter – God bless the Internet.’

‘For facilitating hook-up culture?’

‘For social media.’ She smiles. ‘It’s how I book most of my gigs. And I mean, the apps are fine too, but I prefer an old-fashioned meet-cute.’

‘You and me both,’ I say mildly, and her smile becomes a grin.

‘I know. Marika told me you met Audrey in a back alley.’

‘Well – that makes it sound a lot seedier than it actually was,’ I begin, and Nicole cackles with laughter. I’m resisting theurge to ask her what else Marika’s said about me, now. I’m not actually convinced that she likes me all that much, but given her emotional (and literal) proximity to Audrey, I’d prefer it if she didn’t totally hate my guts.

At least Nicole seems amenable to my presence. I found her doom-scrolling in a corner not long after Audrey got dragged off – Marika had offered us a half-hearted introduction earlier, and we’ve since bonded over our mutual desire to get out of here as soon as humanly possible.

Still, it’s taken sincere, concentrated effort to stand here and make conversation instead of trawling this party to find Audrey. I just can’t stop thinking about earlier – about that brief, shining moment in which kissing her seemed like a reasonable thing to do. No, not reasonable,right,hence my desperation to finish what we may or may not have started. What if I do track her down, though – what then? Hover behind her like a creep? Throw her over my shoulder and carry her out of here?

‘I might head outside for a cigarette,’ I hear myself say then, slightly discomfited by how appealing that second scenario currently sounds. ‘Want to come?’

‘I’m good,’ Nicole says lightly. ‘I have my flawless complexion to consider.’

‘Gotcha. Uh – if you see Audrey …’

‘I’ll send her your way.’ She smiles. ‘Godspeed.’

I offer a smile in reply before I duck away, slipping through the crowds and out of the door. As soon as I’m in the hallway I make a beeline for the stairwell – this building is fancy enough to have an elevator, but I’d rather work off some of this pent-up energy. I stop dead in my tracks, though, when I see a figure sitting hunched on the top step, a curtain of pale hair obscuring her face.

‘Of all the stairwells in all the apartment buildings—’ I begin, only to have my stupid little joke cut off by Audrey looking up at me with a blotchy, tear-stained face.

‘Ezra.’ She sniffs, hastily wiping her face. ‘Hey.’

I clear the distance between us in a second, dropping down to crouch beside her.

‘I’m fine,’ she says quickly, but no, she’s not. Her eyes are glassy, her make-up smudged – there’s goosepimples standing up on her arms. I move to pull off my jumper – Mac’s jumper, actually – but she puts out a hand to stop me.

‘I’m fine. I just – I want to go home,’ she says stiltedly.

‘Okay.’ I nod. ‘We’ll get you a cab. I’ll go with you to your apartment.’

But fresh tears are brimming in her eyes and she’s shaking her head, face crumpling.

‘No,’ she says, voice breaking. ‘I want to gohome.I want – I wantmy mum.’

And then she abruptly dissolves into sobs, hiding her face in her hands like it’s something shameful. I put my arm around her as she curls back into herself, breathing hard and ragged – the gesture feels tepid, ineffectual, but she leans into the embrace. Soon I’m holding her and I can feel every shudder, every hitch of her chest as she struggles to calm down enough to breathe.

‘It’s okay,’ I tell her, not knowing if it is. ‘You’re okay.’

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