“Yeah. I saw him when I went over to my dad’s to pick up some of my stuff. And we got together, but he’s not called or anything since.” She shrugged. “Boys, right?”

“Yeah, boys are stupid,” I replied, as if I had any expertise to offer on the subject at all.

What did “get together” mean? How had I not known there was a Duncan? Let alone boys before Duncan... And that was the first time I sat in the uncomfortable knowledge gap Jessica would often leave, between what she did, and what I knew she did.

My phone buzzed, interrupting the revelation.

Amy: GET HERE NOW AND BRING YOUR POWDER. OURS SMASHED AND IT’S A DISASTER x

We read the message together, laughed, and frantically put the finishing touches to our faces. While applying my eighth layer of mascara, I kept looking at Jessica in the mirror, seeing her through a totally different lens.

31

now.

I was too preoccupied with my reflection to notice the familiar sound of Ben scrabbling to open the front door.

“I’m back,” he called in his air of perpetual jolliness. Usually, I’d rush to greet him like a needy puppy, but, in that particular moment, I was staring at my shoes in front of the mirror, frowning at my chunky calves. “OK, so I broke the rule and brought some marking home, but I swear to God, it’s not going to get done otherwise. Hello? Fern? You in?”

“Sorry, I’m in the bedroom,” I watched my lipsticked mouth sound out the words. “Did you have a good day?”

His voice echoed down the hall as he took his coat off, something about university applications, but I kept tuning him out. I was stepping in and out of two pairs of heels, trying to decide between them. I glanced at the time on my phone. Did I have enough time to release my perfectly done messy bun and wear it down instead?

Ben’s voice got louder. “Yes, so, I may have to work late most of next week, as they’re all panicking about getting into uni. Usually I wouldn’t bother, but... Oh my God, Fern, you look amazing.” He stopped in the doorway, his eyes registering the fruits of my efforts. I’d stopped working an hour early to get ready, and, by the look on his face, it had paid off.

“Do I look OK?” I was wearing a long green velvet dress, with a split up the front. I’d lost a few more hours of work the previous day, popping to Oxford Street after my counseling course, and trying to find something suitable. This dress was from Whistles and I’d found myself putting it on my credit card, like some kind of Carrie Bradshaw wannabe, alongside some expensive makeup from Liberty’s.

“Fern, you look absolutely amazing. Where the hell are you going again, and can I come please?”