Page 12 of The Retreat

Imogen was sitting in Talia’s flat. It wasn’t the same one she used to share with Flora, thank god. They didn’t need any more reminders of their history. The familiar tension was hanging between them like a heavy fog.

The flat was nice, of course. Clean lines, soft light, and furniture that looked expensive without being flashy. The sort of place estate agents described as tastefully minimalist. It was undeniably beautiful, but it felt curated rather than lived in. Like a showroom pretending to be a home. Exactly what Imogen would expect from a cold fish like Talia.

‘Alright,’ Talia said, her voice clipped, but the faint edge of anxiety was still there as she carried two coffees in and handed one to Imogen. ‘Here’s the plan.’

Imogen put her drink on a coffee table. Then picked it up again. Then put it down.

‘What are you doing?’ Talia asked.

‘I’m sorry, I don’t know what to do with myself,’ Imogen told her honestly. ‘This situation is…’

‘Awkward? Agreed,’ Talia said with a sigh. ‘But it needs to get un-awkward fast, or this won’t work. And I need to know it will.’

Imogen was trying so hard to be civil, but Talia wasn’t making it easy. ‘Gimme a minute. I’m not some psychopath who can just be someone else at the click of your fingers.’

‘I don’t expect you to be able to do that,’ Talia said calmly. ‘I’m just saying…’

Imogen sighed and said tightly. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that.’

‘You did. But it’s fine. Get it out now while you can,’ Talia told her flatly.

‘There’s nothing to get out,’ Imogen lied.

Talia raised an eyebrow at that but didn’t address it. ‘So, I guess we’d better talk about Alex.’

Imogen managed to force a thin smile on her lips. ‘Sure. Let’s.’

‘There are not that many facts to know about her. First off, she’s a doctor…’

Imogen’s mouth fell open. ‘Whoa. What?’

Talia paused. ‘What’s the problem?’

‘I can’t fake being a doctor.’

‘Imogen, you don’t have to remove a gallbladder. You just have to say you’re a doctor if anyone asks.’

‘And what if someone asks for medical advice?’ Imogen demanded.

‘Why would they do that?’ Talia asked.

‘When you’re in social situations, and people find out you’re a lawyer, what happens?’

Imogen saw the lightbulb go on. ‘Oh. Right. Free advice.’

‘If anyone gets so much as a nettle rash…’

Talia waved a hand. ‘I’ll… intervene.’

That didn’t reassure Imogen remotely. ‘How?’

Talia sat back on the couch and thought. ‘I’ll google the symptoms and whisper to you what it says.’

Imogen stared at her. ‘That’s your plan?’

‘Yes,’ Talia said confidently. ‘Unless you’d prefer to fake your own accident to be carried away from the first one?’

‘Don’t tempt me,’ Imogen muttered.

Talia gave her a reassuring look. ‘Just look serious and say things like “It could be viral” or “You should really get that checked out at a hospital.”’

Imogen slumped back against the cushions. ‘Will that work?’

‘Would you buy it?’ Talia asked.

Imogen shrugged. ‘Maybe. But what if it’s more serious?’

‘Look, the odds are, any problems will be minor. So, unless someone loses a limb, it’s going to be fine,’ Talia said. ‘And even then, we’ll just say it’s not your area.’

Imogen was silent for a moment, mulling over the plan. Yeah, it probably would be OK. But she had to wonder why Talia had to go to this trouble of building a fake doctor girlfriend. She’d said something about career setbacks, but was that the real reason? Or was Talia simply a bit unhinged?

She couldn’t think of a single way to ask without chapping Talia’s arse, so she bit her tongue. The last thing she needed was another fight.

‘The doctor stuff isn’t that important. What is important is that I need you to be personable,’ Talia continued. ‘Alex is confident, outgoing, and—’ She paused. ‘The kind of person who can hold her own in front of my colleagues.’

‘Hold my own with who, exactly? Cutthroat corporate lawyers?’ Imogen asked. The words came out before she realised what she’d said.

Talia’s expression grew immediately cold. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, I realise you’re used to the gentle, moral world of art curation. Where everyone is kind and honest and there’s no bullshit whatsoever.’

Imogen decided not to rise to that.

But Talia wasn’t done. ‘Oh, no, what am I saying? You don’t work in that world anymore, do you? Would you be more comfortable if I only worked with wait staff? Because you’re the salt of the earth now, right? No more fancy art world for you.’

Imogen stood up. ‘This isn’t going to work.’

Talia groaned. ‘Sorry, OK? Sorry.’

Imogen stayed standing. ‘No, it’s not OK. You think because you’re paying me, you can talk to me like dirt?’

Talia blinked. ‘No, I don’t think that,’ she said with much more sincerity. Even a little shame.

Were it not for that, Imogen would have walked out. But she paused, and Talia jumped into the gap.

‘Look, this is weird. We both know that. But no. I don’t have the right to talk to you poorly in this situation. No amount of money buys that.’

Imogen felt Talia was being sincere. She wondered if the possibility of clearing some air might exist. If only to make this situation a touch easier. ‘We could… talk. About the situation. The former situation, I mean. That might make it…’

‘No,’ Talia said quickly. ‘That’s not going to help anything. The only way to get through that is to put up a mental block on... that topic.’

‘Mental block?’ Imogen repeated. Not really a great plan.

Talia nodded. ‘Yes. I’ll just… push it down. I promise.’

The promise was good. It gave Imogen a way not to leave. Because she couldn’t afford to blow this either.

Imogen sat down again. ‘Do what you have to. But I expect you to treat me with a baseline respect. And not just when I’m being Alex,’ Imogen said. She sat down again, gathering herself. ‘So. Alex...’

Talia gave a small shrug, moving past the tricky moment quickly. ‘She’s an A and E doctor. She likes to hike. She’s tough, but not cold. Likeable. She’s...’ She hesitated as if she were searching for the right words. ‘Someone who fits in but doesn’t get swallowed up by the crowd.’

Imogen laughed, but it was dry, humourless. ‘Great note. Very specific.’

‘That’s all I have for you.’

Imogen rolled her eyes. It wasn’t the details of the fake girlfriend she was supposed to embody that irritated her so much; it was the way Talia kept talking about Alex as if she were some kind of perfect person.

‘What’s wrong with Alex?’ Imogen asked.

Talia snorted. ‘What?’

‘You’re asking me to be the perfect woman. That’s a tall order. So just give me one thing I can be normal about.’

Talia shrugged. ‘I don’t know…’

‘There has to be something.’

‘I really don’t…’ Talia paused. ‘OK, why don’t you give her your own flaws?’

Imogen paused. Was that a jab?

‘I’m serious. If it’s hard to be someone else, don’t be. Not completely. You’re not a robot, I get that. Do what I’ve asked, and the rest is up to you.’

Imogen didn’t respond right away. She was stuck on the idea of her own flaws. As though they could be cherry-picked and slipped into someone else’s life like accessories. But maybe that wasn’t the thing to focus on. Maybe the only thing to take away from this was that she could be herself, essentially. If she’d become a doctor and liked hiking and was good at talking to people. And her parents had named her Alex.

Piss of piss.

‘Fine. So, do you want to rehearse or something?’ Imogen asked flatly.

Talia shot her a look. ‘I think we’ll be OK. I just need you to know what the broad strokes are. How to behave generally. Let’s not make it weird.’

Imogen let out a dry laugh, but it was sharp. ‘Don’t make it weird? I think we’re a bit beyond weird. Weird is in the rearview mirror.’

Talia paused, her lips pressing into a tight line. It was clear she wasn’t happy with the sarcasm, but she didn’t push it. ‘I’m trusting you with this.’

Imogen raised an eyebrow. ‘Are you?’

Talia’s eyes flickered, but she said nothing.

Imogen didn’t want to drag it out. So she just pushed off from the couch, muttering, ‘I’ll figure it out. But you need to understand this can’t be perfect. I’m not an actress, Talia.’

Talia didn’t answer for a long moment. ‘I think that’s all we need to talk about for now.’

She walked Imogen to the door. ‘Pick you up Saturday at 7.30.’

Imogen’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Hold on, you forgot something.’

‘What?’ Talia asked, irritated.

‘People are going to ask how we met, right? So, how did we meet?’ Imogen asked.

Talia groaned. ‘Leave it with me. I’ll come up with something and text you.’

Imogen nodded, and the door was shut in her face without further pleasantries. She headed down the hall.

It was OK. It would be OK. They had a plan now, or at least they were pretending to. But Imogen couldn’t shake the feeling that, no matter how well she played the part, something would go wrong.