Page 4 of Never Tell Secrets

I was the same Lola. Jeans and a t-shirt Lola. But inside, inside I was altered, for better and for worse.

I was glad my hair was growing back. Even if it was still as uncontrollable as ever. I ran my hands over it a final time before giving up. It wasn’t getting any better.

Our London flat was, of course, the size of a shoe box. Our living space consisted of a tiny open plan living room and kitchenette with a small breakfast bar separating the two. There was a narrow off-shot hallway with two doors on either side–mine and Keira’s bedrooms on one side and Maia’s and the bathroom we all shared on the other.

I found Keira snoring at the breakfast bar in a glitter-ball dress and my pumps on her feet. With a smile and a shake of my head, I bent, retrieved them, and placed the black pumps at the bottom of the dress bag I’d left hanging on the coat hooklast night. I’d mastered many things in the last two years and walking in heels was one of them. I wasn’t quite up to Keira’s standards but I was good enough to pass in London.

I bent to whisper in Keira’s ear. “Morning, beautiful.”

“Fuck…”

“Yes?”

“…off,” she groaned.

I grinned at her slumped form. When we’d arrived in London, I’d spent the first six months fighting the urge to turn around and run all the way home. Keira, on the other hand, had taken to it like a duck to water. In our quiet town, her vibrant eccentricity had caused her to stick out like a sore thumb. Here, she was in her element.

I stuck a mug of coffee under her nose and she groaned to life, lifting her head enough to inhale the fumes. I kissed her cheek.

“Don’t forget about tonight,” I whispered so I didn’t hurt her head any worse.

“Fancy people, free bar. Got it.”

I stuck a couple of painkillers and some water in front of her before grabbing my dress bag and leaving her to her self-inflicted misery.

Autumn had well and truly come to town. In my hometown, the streets would be littered with leaves and the skies would be wide open and grey, but here in London, with hardly any trees to speak of, all I could feel of autumn was the cold. I didn’t mind it so much, though. The city thrived in a different way–a way I had come to love. I headed into the Tube station, butterflies fluttering in my stomach. I was excited. Hopefully, tonight would go off without a hitch.

I arrived at The Kew Gardens an hour later. This early in the day it was quiet, but by tonight the place would be awash with guests coming to see Imani Kishi’s triumph. I found my mentorin a bright orange, figure-hugging dress that would be more at home in the Caribbean than London in the autumn. She was atop a ladder, adjusting the head of our pampas grass polar bear. The exhibition was almost finished.

“You decided to strip him back again then?”

Imani turned her head for a moment to glance at me. She was a stunning mix of Japanese and African. Her head was shaved smooth and her full lips were always painted a black-red. Her style was abrasive, yet it worked on her in a way that I envied. She and Keira shared that same quality.

“Yes. The lines were wrong.” She stepped back to study her own work. “Your opinion?”

“If you’re going to strip the grass back here then you ought to do it everywhere. Move the bear so its eyes zero in on the audience to give it a bigger impact, otherwise its meaning becomes gratuitous. This isn’t an exhibition you want to be tentative with.”

She considered my words. “Yes, I think you are right.” She looked down at me and smiled. At six feet tall, the slim, muscular woman towered over me. “You should be accepting this award alongside me tonight.”

“We’ve talked about this. Everyone is coming to seeyoutonight, no one even knows who I am.”

Her smile widened. “Yet.”

And just like that, my butterflies kicked up a notch.

Ten hours later I stood in the exact same spot, wearing pumps and a cocktail dress, staring up at a skinny polar bear sculpture, its head tilted, eyes imploring, begging us to stop destroying its home. I was gazing into those dark eyes when I felt a sharp pinchon my bottom. Keira sidled up next to me, garbed in a black dress of her own creation which placed her somewhere between a rock star and a dominatrix. She eyed the sculpture, tilting her head to one side.

“Looks kinda lopsided.”

I elbowed her in the ribs. “That’s months of hard work by one of the most skilled designers in the world.” Four months ago I graduated at the top of my class with a paid internship on this project from Imani. The project had now come to an end. A glorious end, but an end nonetheless, and my job had ended with it. I had nothing in the pipeline, other than asking for the waitress job back that had gotten me through college. “Not interested in the free bar tonight?” I asked, noticing Keira’s empty hand.

“Maia’s getting the drinks,” she said, still tilting her head at the polar bear. I gave her a look, wondering why Maia insisted on joining us on our evenings out despite being one of the most anti-social people I’d ever met. Keira caught my look and rolled her eyes exasperated. “I know, but she said she wanted to come. Is that a problem?”

“No, not at all. She’s sweet.”

“She’s in love with you.”

“Stop,” I hissed.