Page 95 of We Used To Be Magic

‘Do you have a girlfriend?’

Edie’s spoken so softly that it takes me a moment to process the question. It’s a simple one, of course, and the answer is no. Audrey and I – we never got that far, and whatever wedidhave is over. I’ll probably never see her again. It should make all of this so much simpler – a sad ending to a short story.

‘… No.’ I manage. ‘No, she’s not—’

For the briefest moment, I think I see Edie’s features contort with something like pain. But then her face is obscured by her hair and she’s on her feet, reaching for her coat. Time is suddenly moving too quickly for me to grasp as I reach for her arm – she wrenches it back and now she’s striding away with her head held high, too proud to run, and I’m on my feet too. I could go after her. There’s still time. But I know Edie, and I know that if I chased her down and caused a scene then she’d only hate me more, because she hates me now. She hates me and that makes sense – it was only a matter of time. It’s only ever just a matter of time.

I retake my seat at the bar instead, reaching for the remnants of her wine with a trembling hand. I know that it won’t numb anything but I drink it all the same, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. It comes away wet, red.

AUDREY

SOMETIMES ITFEELS LIKEI’M PHYSICALLYINCAPABLE OFKEEPINGmy hands still when I’m nervous. I’ve shredded a lot of napkins in my time, but this restaurant is too nice to have paper ones so instead I’ve pulled an unsuspecting flower to pieces. I didn’t even realise what I was doing until it was too late – the naked stem is back in the tiny vase, but I’m sweeping the scraps of petal into my coat pocket when—

‘Audrey?’

I leap to my feet on instinct. The legs of my chair squeak against the floor as I spring upwards, quickly brushing my clammy, floral-scented hands against my jeans.

‘Oh, that’s so not necessary!’ Miranda laughs. ‘Please, sit down. I’ll need a minute to find my way out of this jacket.’

And so I do as she says, watching as Miranda Browning unbuttons a beautiful shearling coat with her long, beringed fingers. She looks considerably younger than I know she must be, her auburn hair thick around her shoulders. She smells like leather and sandalwood, her eyes a stark, clear blue behind oversized tortoiseshell glasses.

‘It’s really starting to feel like winter, huh?’ she says, dropping into her chair. ‘Thanks for coming at such short notice.’

‘Uh – no problem,’ I stammer, abruptly realising that I haven’t actually spoken yet. ‘I mean – of course.’

She smiles, sits. I force myself to return that smile, feeling completely overwhelmed. Maybe it’s better that this all came about so quickly – I’m operating on pure adrenaline right now.I have been since Imogene called me less than an hour ago, sounding uncharacteristically frantic and demanding to know exactly where I was. The prescience of her call was almost as stressful as her opener, seeing as at thatparticularmoment I’d been heading back to the apartment to pack my things and rehearse telling her that I was going back to England.

‘Um – near the park,’ I replied, not sure if it was true. ‘What’s up?’

‘What’s up is that I just got off the phone withMiranda Browning.Can you believe it?’

‘Oh,’ I said, immediately nauseous. ‘Like – her office?’

‘No! Miranda herself! And she wants to meet you for lunch!’

‘Me and Marika?’

‘Just you! If I send you the details of the restaurant then can you head straight there?’

I could. I did. And now I’m sitting opposite one of the most prestigious fashion designers in the world, which would be a dream come true for any model in the world except me.

Our waiter materialises – Miranda orders a black coffee and I do the same.

‘And do you still do that amazing salted caramel cake?’ she asks him brightly. ‘With the pecans?’

‘I’m happy to tell you that we do.’

‘One of those, please,’ Miranda says, then leans towards me. ‘You’ll love it. I know how hard you girls work, especially when you’re starting out. You definitely deserve a treat.’

‘Thank you,’ I murmur, discomfited. I still don’t know why I’m here, but Miranda seems like a genuinely nice person – kind and easy-going in spite of being mind-bogglingly important. It’s jarring. I’m torn between wanting to get the hell out of here and wanting her to like me.

‘Don’t even,’ she says, picking up her napkin and shaking it out. ‘Now – let’s get to why we’re here, because you’re probably kind of nervous, right?’

‘A little,’ I admit, and she grimaces.

‘I’m so sorry – I promise,notmy intention at all,’ she says emphatically. ‘I just wanted to get to know you a little better. You’re a representative of the Miranda Browning brand now, and I don’t take that lightly. When we showcase fresh talent, we also want to nurture it.’

‘Thank you,’ I manage. ‘It’s – I totally understand how huge a deal this campaign is. I know I’m not that experienced, and you’ve put a lot of trust in me.’

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