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Chapter Nineteen

Gemma

We were all in such a daze earlier from our unscheduled layover that we rushed through duty free, and I hardly got a look at anything.

It’s the best part of the airport experience, if you ask me.

All these lovely products and perfumes waiting to be admired and sampled, a white-lit haven of decadence and extravagance just begging you to slow down and browse and indulge .

It’s a really lovely juxtaposition when you’re racing to grab a coffee before they close the gate for your flight.

Although now I think about it, that rush to the plane is probably because I linger too long in duty free.

We pass straight through the overpriced chocolates and the little foodie section, past the bizarrely placed vintage cherry-red Mini beneath a display of red, white and blue umbrellas hanging open from the ceiling and with a cursive neon ‘ Ohlala’ on the roof, and past the booze which is, for some mind-boggling reason, always near the sunglasses.

I point that out aloud, and Fran says, ‘I think it goes well together. Buy a litre of vodka dirt-cheap, and a pair of sunglasses to hide your hangover the next day.’

I laugh. She’s not nearly as boring as I thought she was going to be. Then again, nobody who’s scheming to steal someone else’s man while looking as innocent as she does can ever be truly dull, I suppose.

Once we’re back at the beginning, near signs informing us in very loud, large letters, NO ENTRY PAST THIS POINT as it’ll lead back to the security check, I pause and turn, and taking a deep, centring breath.

The brands spread out before us, and there’s something delightfully French and sophisticated about the whole thing that I’m only just getting to appreciate.

I mean, there are chandeliers hanging from the ceiling!

How very Versailles. There’s the usual Kiehl’s, Clinique, Dior, Jo Malone – but there’s also a neat little Cartier stand, a collection of Diptyque candles I cannot wait to get my nose into, a whole section dedicated to travel minis that are a cut above anything Boots would be selling in their holiday section, and even—

‘Is that …’ Fran pauses, squinting, as if she can’t quite believe it either. ‘A Victoria’s Secret? In an airport ?’

‘When in France,’ I say, and add it to my mental list of things to peruse, then set off.

Fran follows. She’s got a real puppy-dog energy about her, trailing around with those big eyes, a bit skittish and a bit over-eager.

I don’t hate it. I’m sure I remember hearing at some point that she’s a couple of years older than me and Kayleigh, but I bet this is what it’s like having a little sister.

The two of us work our way methodically around the cosmetics and beauty stands, not really talking as we rub tiny blobs of face cream onto the backs of our hands or read the details on bottles of toner. There’s some pop music playing through the speakers, and I hum along.

I love shopping.

Well – I love the browsing part. I love window shopping . The whole ritual of curating a wish list in my mind of what I’m going to spend my money on, what’s worth it that I’ll feel really good about.

It’s something that did honestly start off as another bit of one-upmanship between me and Kayleigh: I splurged on a Kate Spade handbag for my first job, so naturally she spent her first paycheque on some Louboutin loafers.

And then when she made sure to keep up on all the latest trends to be the more fashionable one, I made it my mission to have a capsule wardrobe made up of sustainable investment pieces gradually gathered over time, like it gave me some moral high ground over her.

Although admittedly, all the bikinis I got for this holiday are from Shein. I mean, Christ, I’m not made of money. And I did put myself into some credit card debt buying up a bunch of very expensive pieces from niche brands at the start. But that’s by the by.

Still, whatever messy, gross feelings I have tangled up in my friendship with Kayleigh, I have learned to truly savour the experience of shopping.

‘I think this is one of my favourite pastimes,’ I tell Fran.

Not that she asked, but the silence is starting to get to me a little, and my head is feeling a bit too full of my own thoughts.

She’s polite enough to pretend that she’s interested, I figure.

‘Shopping, searching for the perfect thing. It just makes my soul happy, you know? Like a good book on a rainy day. I’d say it’s even up there as one of my all-time best hobbies alongside sleeping in late, and getting a really good coffee somewhere. ’

I half expect her to challenge me on whether those are really ‘hobbies’ – or God forbid, she’s going to be one of those girls who crafts book-nook dioramas and knits hats for orphaned dogs, or something, and get on her high horse about it.

It’s what Kayleigh would do.

But Fran only smiles and catches my eye. ‘Girl hobbies. You know, between that and the Court of Thorns and Roses reference, I think we’re on the same side of TikTok.’

I knew I’d like her.

There’s a little glint in her eye, too, a twist of cheekiness in that smile.

Oh my God, look at us! We’re bonding .

‘So aside from reading smutty fantasy books and throwing yourself at almost-married men, what else do you do?’ I ask her.

Suddenly, I’m interested – beyond the gossip I’m no longer going to tell Kayleigh all about but shamelessly enjoy myself, and beyond polite small talk.

I want to know who Fran is, underneath that ugly denim jacket and neatly plaited hair.

She baulks, stammering uncertainly.

We’ve moved onto the Chanel lipsticks by now, and I pull her hand up to hover between us so I can swatch some. She’s got a lovely olive undertone to her complexion – and with her features, I bet she can pull off a dark, bold lip colour beautifully.

‘No boyfriend?’ I ask her, and though she stays tense, she shakes her head.

‘Oh, come on, I’m not going to lay into you.

I mean, it’s an incredibly shitty thing to do, have an emotional affair with a guy you know is marrying someone else, to the point where you’ve convinced yourself he’ll leave the bride for you – but also, Marcus has obviously been playing you like a fiddle to encourage that delusion.

So I will cut you a little slack there. And frankly, I don’t care either way.

You want to mess up the wedding, I’m all for it, like I said. ’

‘Why?’ We’re both staring at the lines of lipstick I’ve been painting on the back of her hand, and her voice sounds stronger this time when she repeats, ‘Why? You’re supposed to be Kayleigh’s best friend.

I know everybody has their flaws, and we love and accept the people who are important to us anyway, but – the way you talked about her, it’s like you don’t have a kind word to say. ’

‘Yeah, well, she doesn’t have a whole lot of redeeming features.’

‘What are they? I mean … I mean, genuinely. Why are you friends, if you don’t like all these things about her? If she stole your job and flat and things.’

My jaw clenches, and my grip tightens around the lipstick in my hand. I feel Fran’s eyes burning an inquisitive little hole in my skull.

It’s a question I’ve asked myself so many times, I have the answer ready at the tip of my tongue.

‘Because she stuck with me. Because we’ve always been friends. Because – we go together.’

And if I don’t have Kayleigh – who do I have?

She’ll keep the gang. She’s the one good at crocodile tears and sunshine-y smiles.

She’ll make out like she’s the wounded party and they’ll all take her side, and I’ll be the vicious bitch who hurt her.

They’re all our old school friends, and I probably wouldn’t pick them these days anyway, but it still hurts to know they’d choose her in a heartbeat.

Joss definitely would. She’s never liked me.

But then again, Joss is a whiny piece of work with zero personality, so.

Kayleigh’s key redeeming feature is that she hasn’t abandoned me. That she puts up with me. That she knows exactly who I am, and keeps me around anyway, which is more than I can say for pretty much everybody else in my life.

It’s why she knows she can take, and take, and take, and I’ll never confront her about it, because I don’t have anywhere else to go.

‘You know I was the one who was supposed to go out with Marcus?’ I blurt, surprising both of us. Francesca’s hand jolts in mine.

What’s the harm in telling her anyway? She’s the work wife. I’m the maid of honour. Nobody would believe her over me.

‘I didn’t know that. He never mentioned …’

‘Yeah, well, I was. I found him on Hinge. I matched with him. And obviously you tell your best friend everything, you send them the screen recordings of a cute person’s profile and screenshots of the messages to dissect them, right?

And one morning he mentions he’s going to check out this new coffee shop, and then the next thing I know, she’s gone there, and she’s flirting up a storm with him.

She knew I’d already arranged a date with him for the next weekend, but of course she has to get in there first. They spend the whole day together, then grab a casual after-work drink that turns into dinner that turns into another date on the Friday that turns into him cancelling on me , because Kayleigh’s swooped in and taken him. ’

Fran’s slack-jawed, and I can feel the sympathy pouring off her. Or maybe it’s guilt, because she knows she’s doing the same thing, but like, a thousand times worse.

I carry on, ‘Which like, fine, whatever. It’s not like we were dating or I’d slept with him or anything, and it’s not like he knew.

Actually, it’s one of the few times I thought he was a decent bloke – cancelling on me because he was really into this other girl he was seeing.

But of course, she gets the guy. She gets the flat.

She gets the job. She won’t let me have anything. Even the wedding—’

I cut myself off, seething.

I shove the lipstick tester back and storm over to the Diptyque and Jo Malone section, as if angrily sniffing extortionately priced candles will calm me down. Aromatherapy at its finest, I’m sure.

‘What about the wedding?’ Fran asks me, coming up beside me. With her big watery blue-grey eyes and sad mouth and looking like she cares . ‘You’re not … I mean, you’re not in love with Marcus, are you?’

I snort at the hilarity of the very idea. It relieves a little of the tension coiled tight inside my body. ‘Absolutely not.’

‘And you’re … not in love with Kayleigh?’

‘Again, no.’ I raise an eyebrow at her and deadpan, ‘This is not Love Actually , and you are not Laura Linney at Peter and Juliet’s wedding. For the record.’

A little smile tugs at her mouth before vanishing in favour of that all-consuming concern I would suddenly just love to run a mile from.

How dare she be acting nice to me? She’s trying to steal my best friend’s fiancé.

She’s the work wife from hell. She’s not supposed to be a halfway decent human being. Especially not to me.

‘So what happened with the wedding? Is it just that she’s getting married at all, or …?’

I slam down a candle a little too hard. It makes the plastic shelf wobble.

‘It was my wedding. I was the one who wanted to get married abroad, had browsed a few venues, narrowed down which city I wanted to get married in, had an idea of the costs and the menu and the number of guests and … I wasn’t engaged,’ I add, ‘but I was … I thought it was going to happen. I was with someone who … She was …’

I think of the way Brittney looked at me, so fed up, like the entire conversation was an inconvenience.

‘ I can’t keep doing this, Gem. Do you have any idea how exhausting it is to be around you?

You’re always trying way too hard, expecting way too much.

Clingy isn’t a good look on you. I thought we were just having fun. ’

‘Fun’ which lasted for eighteen months, and was exclusive, and a total kick in the teeth when it ended when I thought it was … something else. That all those deep chats about what we wanted for the future meant something .

I shake myself, feeling Fran’s big eyes boring into me.

‘It doesn’t matter now, anyway. We were together for a while and I thought it was going well and then it wasn’t , and then Kayleigh got engaged and stole my dream wedding.

Made it all seem like it was everything she wanted, too, and I’m her best friend – what was I supposed to do except help her out with planning it all?

It wasn’t like I’d be using it anytime soon, was it? ’

‘She said that?’ Fran gasps.

‘Not in so many words. But I knew. We both knew that was what was happening.’

I pick up another candle. It’s pear and freesia.

It smells a bit like Mum, and there’s a lump in my throat. I take another deep breath in through my nose, let my eyes close for a moment, then put it back down.

Fran says softly, ‘She doesn’t sound like a very good friend, Gemma.’

‘No,’ I say. ‘She’s not.’

But she’s all I’ve got.