Margot is sitting in the corner, sipping a cocktail. She’s wearing an icing-sugar-white dress which brings out her natural tan.
I weave between tables, making my way across the roof to her, telling myself to smile, to be positive, and not to focus on the very real possibility I have tossed away a career and moved back to my hometown for nothing. When she sees me, she gives me her movie-star smile, and I feel a rush of love for her. Margot pulls me into a hug; I breathe her in – English pears and freesia, her favourite scent from Jo Malone.
‘I ordered you a drink,’ she says as I slide into my seat.
‘Thanks.’
‘I almost had to cancel. I’m dealing with the bitchiest bridezilla. She has zero respect for my office hours and just calls me in the middle of the night with stupid questions about imported silk. I’ve seriously considered slipping Xanax into her tea. She wanted me to drop everything and drive down to Newquay tonight to look at some candlesticks.’
‘I bet her fiancé’s happy he put a ring on it.’
Margot laughs. Even though she complains, she loves her job; she’s always wanted to be a wedding planner. Her mother told me when Margot was little, she used to sit and watch her parents’ wedding video over and over. Just like a Disney film. ‘How was your meeting? I’m dying to know!’
I absolutely do not want to talk about the car crash meeting I just came from. ‘We’ll get to that in a minute.’ I give her a huge grin so she doesn’t zero in on my misery like a scab and pick at it. ‘First, I have to tell you about my stalker.’
The distraction goes down as smoothly as melted chocolate, as all thoughts of my book immediately disappear as Margot tries to grapple with what I’ve said. ‘What?’
‘It’s this guy who lurks outside the library late at night or sits in the park watching me run laps in the morning.’
Her expression is a mixture of horror and delight. ‘Seriously?’
‘He comes into the coffee shop at least four times a week. He’s so still it’s eerie and he has these black, round-rimmed glasses that make me think of serial killers.’ I lean forward; I am spinning with the thrill of telling a story; it’s the same rush I get when I sit down at my laptop to write, and though this tale is true, it feels like it happened to someone else. ‘He always wears dark clothes and combat boots and when he’s near, I feel him, you know? He has this stare, like he wants something from me.’
‘Elodie …’
‘The other night, he followed me home.’
She pales. ‘He knows where you live? He’s been to your house?’
My delight at having derailed the previous conversation starts seeping away at the concern that thickens her voice.
‘Elodie, have you called the police?’
And just like that, the thrill is whipped from beneath my feet. I expected her to laugh it off, tell me this guy was odd, but it was nothing to dwell on; instead, she’s reacting with the same worry as Jack.
‘I mean, calling the police seems dramatic. He hasn’t actually hurt me, has he? He hasn’t even tried to talk to me.’
‘You still need to call them.’
I roll my eyes like it’s no big deal. ‘He probably just has a crush.’
‘Crushes slip love letters in your bag or buy you a coffee – they don’t follow you home. That isn’t normal.’
‘Love letters in your bag?’ I try to lighten the mood. ‘I didn’t realise we’d fallen through a crack in time and landed in the 1930s.’
‘I’m worried.’
‘I’m not,’ I quickly lie because Margot’s reaction has brought all my fears rushing up to the surface, like dirt dredged up from the bottom of a pond.
‘You live alone.’
‘Thanks?’
She sighs impatiently. ‘I mean, you’re vulnerable because you live by yourself. What if he breaks in?’
I sip my drink, playing for time. This is a thought that keeps me up at night, wide-eyed and jumping at every little noise in the house; pipes creak overhead and it’s him scuttling around the attic; the window rattles in its frame and it’s him trying to shake it open; the fridge drones and it’s him humming as he climbs the stairs. ‘That’s ridiculous. Besides, I’m not alone. Jack comes over most nights.’
‘Does he know about the stalker?’
I nod. ‘He basically let me move in for a while after I was followed home. He wanted me to stay longer but I really don’t think I’m in danger.’
This seems to ease her worry. ‘Jack will take care of you.’
‘He always does.’
‘Jack,’ she says, rolling his name around on her tongue like a sugared cherry. ‘And how is Jack?’
I smile, relieved we’ve moved on. ‘Fine.’
‘I still can’t believe you two have never done it.’
‘I’ve told you before, he’s like a brother and even if he wasn’t, he doesn’t do relationships. I don’t want to be another notch on his bedpost.’ Not wanting to encourage her, I’ve never admitted that as a teenager I was completely in love with him, but after one kiss which ended horribly, I was forced to adopt a different kind of love. ‘I don’t want sex to ruin our friendship.’
‘If sex ruins a situation, you’re doing it wrong.’
I laugh.
‘I just think you need more time,’ she offers, referring to Noah.
Desperate not to talk about him and sink into a misery hole, I look away. She takes the hint.
‘Anyway,’ she says, brightening, ‘if you don’t want Jack, can I play with him?’
‘Absolutely not.’
She smiles. ‘Fine, keep him. You’ve ruined him for the rest of us anyway.’
‘Aren’t you monogamous now?’
Her dark eyes glitter. ‘Monogamous, not dead.’
The waiter comes over and we order another round of drinks. Margot reads through the menu, trying to decide. She looks happy. Like there’s a light beneath her skin, giving her an ethereal glow. I’m about to ask what her new skincare regime is but then I remember the answer is probably just: ‘I’m in love and living with my boyfriend and having tons of hot, sweaty orgasms.’ And no matter how much money is in your account, you can’t buy that and rub it on your face. Not even from Space NK.
‘How’s Gabriel?’ I ask.
Her smile is wide, the way it always is when he’s mentioned. ‘He’s back from Paris tonight. I’ve missed him. I’ve missed him so much.’
I smile back, happy she’s happy. February last year, with the champagne gold of the winter sun spiralling in through the high arched windows of her apartment, she said, ‘Elodie, I’ve fallen for him. I think I’m in love.’ She stressed the word like it was woven by magic, but I’d heard it a thousand times before; Margot changed her lovers as often as she changed her underwear. Give it a few more weeks and she’d be over him and under someone else.
That was almost sixteen months ago.
‘Sure you don’t want to exchange him for Jack?’ I tease.
‘We’ll see.’
The waiter returns with our drinks order. When he’s gone, she says, ‘I actually have some news.’
I’m at the age now where this statement usually means one of two things. I glance down at her left hand but there’s no shiny engagement ring there. Then my eyes flicker to her stomach and I wonder if she’s pregnant.
‘I’ve got a book deal!’
Chapter Four
26 Days Before