Desperate, I scrabble for my only available option.
“It’s still so raw,” I say, putting down my mushroom and trying to look distressed, which involves biting my lip and staring at the ceiling. “So much pain. So much...aching.” I tentatively place my hand on my chest. “Here.” Then on my head. “And here.” Where else could romantic heartbreak go? “Also, a little bit in my nose.”
“Oh my God.” My sister cancels Will’s call and tosses her phone into her bag. “Of course. Shit, I’m being so insensitive. Just flaunting my happiness in your face, like a complete brute. The evening is yours. No more texting or phone calls. I didn’t realize it was still so painful. You haven’t talked about him at all, but I forgot that’s what you do when you really care.”
I nod in relief, but I’m going to need a new plan.
That was a temporary measure, but what do I do about a long-term solution? Now I’ve had time to adjust, I just want to give Artemis and Will a little more time together before I reveal this relationship-shattering news. Just a few weeks, that’s all. They’ve only had one coffee together so far. It’s still so brand-new. Fragile. Maybe if they’ve really bonded, the fact that her new boyfriend is my ex and his ex-girlfriend is her only sibling won’t be quite so bloody weird.
Who am I kidding: it’s always going to be weird.
We’re not sisters Ariadne and Phaedra, sharing the hero Theseus. There will be very few people in the world—apart from me—who aren’t grossed out by this complicated new dynamic.
“I think,” I say slowly, scrabbling for a stopgap idea, “maybe you should hold off telling him your real name for a little while, Art. Stay Diana until you see Will again. You’ve only just met him. I’m pretty sure he’ll react well, he sounds so nice, but it’ll probably be easier when he gets back from his trip.”
“Yeah.” Artemis thinks about it. “Admitting to lying about who you are is more of an in-person confession, isn’t it. Fake names tend to make you sound mad.” She coughs. “I’d imagine. Not that I’ve done it before or anything.”
“You’ve done it before, haven’t you?”
“Just a couple of times,” she admits, laughing brightly with no shame at all. “But, in my defense, those times I was working in a theater and everybody has a stage name, so it doesn’t really count.”
My brain is desperately searching for the next logical step.
Will leaves for his work trip to Mexico soon, and he gets back in two weeks. I suspect Artemis is going to keep referring to me as Sandy-pants between now and then, even though I’ve repeatedly asked her not to. That gives me time. I should have worked out how to gently break this awful information to them by then. Maybe buy them a drink—buy them a lot of drinks—sit them down and explain that they’re not related, it might just feel for a minute like they are.
“Don’t tell him your surname,” I add quickly, just in case. “Or he might google you and realize you’re lying before you speak to him.”
“I didn’t even think of that.” Artemis rolls her eyes. “Thank God for you, Cass. You always think things through properly.”
I swallow what feels like a tidal wave of guilt. For someone who finds lying so physically painful, I sure seem to be capable of doing it quite effectively. Except I’m not doing it for me, right? I’m not manipulating them for my gain this time; I’m manipulating them for theirs.
Somehow that does not make me feel any better.
“Do you want to talk about him?” Artemis leans across the table and puts one finger on top of my hand. It’s what she’s done ever since we were little because she knows I don’t love being touched: it’s our version of a hug. “The breakup? We can get into the nitty-gritty. Make a list. Rip him apart. Talk about all the worst things about him, then emphasize them, then exaggerate them, until we conclude that you’ve officially made a lucky escape and you can do so much better. I’ll start. From the absolutely nothing you’ve told me, he sounds like a total tosspot.”
I laugh and feel a flicker of what might be real sadness.
Then I get excited about feeling sad—Sadness! A little splash of heartbreak! I’m human!—and the excitement at feeling an appropriate emotion wipes it out and I’m back to square one again.
“He’s not a tosspot.” I shrug. “It just didn’t work.”
“But maybe it could,” Artemis points out. “You’re a time traveler, remember? I know I mocked you, but are you sure you don’t want to try again?”
I think about everything I’d have to give up to do it.
And I suddenly realize that my life no longer feels paper-plate disposable; I can’t just throw it away or undo it. I don’t want to discard it because it’s not perfect, or because there are flaws in my tapestry. It’s not quite there yet—there’s still a long way to go—but I want my life to eventually become ceramic: one I can wash and keep, even when it chips. A life I can use every day; one I smile at because it makes me happy, like a picture of a cute hedgehog.
“I don’t want to try again,” I say with a bolt of surprise. “I think I do love him, in my own way, but I’m not sure I love him in the way I want to love someone. Not in the way I’m waiting to love someone.”
While her sister married Theseus, Ariadne ultimately ended up with the god Dionysus, although I suspect she would have been equally happy on her own; sometimes things just work out the way they’re supposed to.
Art nods. “You’re so wise. So grown-up.”
“Right?” I laugh. “Pudding?”
“Shall we share?”
And another fight kicks off immediately.
By the time we return to London, I’m ready to be alone again. My insides don’t ache anymore, my bones aren’t hollow with loneliness; I’m craving silence and the contentment of my own company. Artemis is enormous fun, but she doesn’t have a pause button, or a volume button, or a standby button, and her batteries seem to be constantly charged, whereas mine appear to have run out.
“I probably need to head back to Cambridge,” Art says reluctantly as we get off the train at Paddington. “I’d imagine my boss is going to be a bit mad at me for skipping out.”
I stare at her. “You have a job?”
“I did.” She grins. “I’m a waitress. Or I was. I’m sure it’ll be fine. But if it’s not, I’ll just go be a waitress somewhere else. Priorities, and all that.”
We stand in silence for a few seconds.
“There’s still stuff I need to say,” Artemis starts tentatively. “Important stuff, Cass. It was just so lovely seeing you again, I didn’t want to disrupt our holiday by bringing it all up.”
I think about everything she said, all those years ago, at the funeral.
I think about all the things we haven’t said since.
And I suddenly wonder why we put so much store in words, when they can mean so incredibly little.
“You don’t need to,” I tell her, kissing her forehead. “I love you too.”
35
By the time I reach home, I’m a human firework.
I’m so exhausted that every cell in me is exploding: fizzing and screaming in a painful mess of sound and color and light. My body crackles, and every time I breathe, the sound sets off a brand-new detonation. With my eyes open, the world flashes and lurches like a boat in a storm, but with my eyes shut, it’s like being locked inside a black box while Guy Fawkes goes hell to leather with my very own private display. From decades of experience, there’s absolutely nothing I can do: all of this noise and light is coming from inside me.
Shaking, I close my bedroom curtains, ram earplugs into my ears, climb under my duvet and wait patiently for the storm to pass. Eventually, it starts to slow down, so I’m extremely irritated when there’s a faint beep, accompanied by another shooting pain and a new, blinding flare of electric green.
Emerging like a disgruntled tortoise, I grab my phone.
Hey! What are you wearing? ;) x
I stare at the unknown number.
I’ve briefly dated a lot of men over the last few years, so once they’ve evaporated, I delete their numbers to keep my phone book nice and tidy. Whoever it is, this feels like an inappropriate question regardless.
Frowning, I type:
Pajamas. Why?
A beep.
LOL! You can do better than that! ;)
This is now almost definitely a sex thing and I am so not in the mood.
Scowling, I type:
Pale blue pajamas with flying horses on them. Who is this?
A beep.
It’s Sophie! They sound amazing! But you can’t wear them to the party can you? Isn’t it black tie? <3 Xxx
I stare at my screen. Sophie from work? How did she get my number? Are we on texting terms now? We need to discuss our work privacy policy. More importantly, party? Why would I ever agree to go to a—
Shit. I hoped that was an alternative timeline.
The gala is tonight?