Page 20 of Beautiful Losers

Sometimes, I try to remember what Cillian sounded like before he went down the rabbit hole of self-improvement. Last week, he told me he was a ‘people pleaser’. The only person Cillian has ever pleased is himself. It’s not that Idon’t believe in personal growth. It’s in our DNA to want to be better, expand the limits of what’s possible. Without striving, the world wouldn’t have antibiotics or artificial limbs or those onesies fitted with mop heads to enable babies to polish the floor as they learn how to crawl. But I’m not sure what contemplating your navel or pursuing clean sleeping contributes to society at large. (That said, sleep is fairly important. There might be fewer wars if presidents got more than four hours’ shut-eye a night.)

We speak some more about Ari. Cillian agrees to come out in September to see him, ‘crazy work schedule permitting’, and tells me he saw Seth Rogen eating a burrito outside his house the other day. ‘That’s what I love about this place,’ he says. ‘Every day brings something special and surprising.’ I want to say I don’t think witnessing Seth Rogen eating a burrito outside his own home is particularly special or surprising, but Cillian’s so high on his life in LA, I don’t want to seem bitter that my big French adventure isn’t panning out.

Before I hang up, he says, ‘Hey, Fifi?’

‘Yeah?’

‘Don’t be afraid to poke the bee.’

I check my phone – balls, I’m late for Ari. Lifting my untouched coffee, I tear downstairs, bumping straight into Jack, coming out of the kitchen. The contents of the cup spill over my t-shirt.

‘Oh shit, sorry!’ Jack says, pulling a hanky out of his pocket and handing it to me. ‘Let me get you an ice pack.’

‘Thanks,’ I say, accepting the hanky and dabbing at my top. ‘Don’t worry, it’s not hot.’

It's a narrow space, the doorway between thekitchen and the hall, and I’m close enough to Jack to smell his skin – oatmeal soap and sweat.

‘Rough day?’ he says.

‘Why do you say that?’

‘You seem distracted. And you’ve got toothpaste on your face.’

I clutch at my chin, remembering the spot I tried to annihilate this morning. Typical of Cillian not to notice. They say there’s no scientific evidence to suggest toothpaste works on spots, but Yiv and I have been doing it since we were fourteen and it’s a hill we’re prepared to die on.

‘I was just on the phone to Ari’s dad,’ I say, rubbing at the toothpaste with my sleeve.

‘You’re married?’

‘No. Cillian doesn’t believe in marriage. Or me for that matter. I think. We’re not together anymore is what I mean. He lives in LA.’

‘That must be tough for Ari.’

‘Yeah, well, Cillian needs to be there for work.’

‘What does he do?’

‘He’s a life coach-slash-motivational speaker, an influencer I guess.’ I hate the word, but what else do you call someone who has ten million followers on Instagram and starts posts with, ‘A lot of you have asked about my haircare routine’? ‘You might have heard of him. Cillian Sparks?’

‘Wait, the Brain Alchemist?’

I cringe at hearing the words come out of Jack’s mouth. ‘Yep.’

‘We had him on the show about a year ago.Lauren did the interview. I think he was promoting a book or something. He’s, umm, passionate about his work.’

‘That he is.’

Cillian’s an easy target, but I’m not about to slag off my ex to Jack Hamilton.

‘Actually, he’s just taken on Gwyneth Paltrow as a client. He’s helping her with her impostor syndrome,’ I say, like it’s a shared achievement.

‘That isn’t a thing. Everyone feels like they’re faking it.’

He notes the look of surprise on my face. ‘What?’ he says.

‘Nothing. I’m off to buy ingredients for dinner. Any requests?’

‘Don’t worry about me, thanks. I have plans this evening.’

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