Two Wrongs Read online

  Chloe stood up. ‘We should get going. It’ll take us ages to get back.’

  ‘It’s late. I’ll call you a car.’

  ‘That’s not necessary. We’ll get the Tube.’

  ‘Suit yourself.’ He stood up and gazed down at her. He was uncomfortably close. ‘You know, I was really hoping that we could start again. We were such good mates.’

  Chloe picked up the water jug to pour herself a glass. ‘I was Zadie’s friend, really.’

  ‘Maybe. But I was the one who told her to keep you around, to have you over when she wanted someone to play with. Because I fancied you so much.’

  Chloe froze, giving Max enough time to catch up to her. There were beads of condensation sliding down the outside of the jug, because their ‘drinking water’ tap was so perfectly cold. What a Max thing to have.

  ‘You didn’t,’ she breathed, hating herself for not telling him to fuck off.

  ‘Still do,’ he whispered, his breath on her neck. The strap of Chloe’s dress slipped off her shoulder, on to her arm. She watched as Max reached out, picked it up, slipped it back on to her shoulder, then paused for a quarter of a second, looking into her eyes. He cocked his head and moved towards her another tiny fraction of an inch. She felt the jug slip from between her hands, slick with the moisturizer she had slid over her arms and legs earlier that evening. She watched almost in slow motion as it slammed into the ground, shattering on the stone floor, flooding her shoes.

  ‘Oh dear, Coco,’ Max smirked.

  ‘All okay?’ asked Rav, coming in through the French doors. He wiped his feet then reclaimed his wine glass. ‘I heard a noise?’

  ‘Chloe had a little accident,’ said Max, who had picked up the pieces of the jug and thrown a fancy-looking towel down.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ said Rav, as if he had had anything to do with it. ‘We’ll replace whatever it was, of course. Maybe we should head off before we destroy anything else.’

  There was an edge to Rav’s voice, as if he knew something had happened while he was outside, that there was more to this accident. Verity seemed happy enough, putting things away in the fridge. But then, she had been a little girl when Max and Chloe had been running around together, their lives so completely entangled. Rav, on the other hand, had been a spectator. He knew exactly how much history he was up against.

  In some ways, it was a relief that Rav was bothered, that he was willing to be even the tiniest bit territorial towards Max. Chloe had sort of assumed that Rav would let Max say, do or have anything he wanted. Including Chloe.

  The Tube on the way home was, blessedly, packed. Usually when they went out for dinner with friends, they loved the post-mortem. How had the food been? Who seemed happy and who seemed like they might be destined for a break-up? Gossiping about their friends was one of their closest shared hobbies. But Rav didn’t want to talk about how young Verity was, or to get the property app up on his phone so they could speculate how much the house was worth. They rode along in silence. By the time they got home Chloe’s mascara had seeped under her eyes, the straps of her dress had made red marks in her shoulders and her feet ached. She didn’t have to pretend very hard that she wanted to go to bed.

  The flat felt even smaller than usual. She could see Rav looking at it, working out how many times it would fit in Max’s basement. The windows had been shut all evening and the air was oppressively warm, like standing over a radiator, which made it feel yet smaller. Chloe threw open the windows, but the evening was so still it did almost nothing to cool the room.

  She made a half-hearted attempt at taking off her make-up and clambered into bed.

  ‘You’re wearing pyjamas,’ said Rav as he pulled back the sheet they were sleeping under.

  ‘Yes,’ said Chloe sleepily.

  ‘It’s so hot.’

  ‘Mm-hmm.’

  ‘So why the pyjamas? You usually sleep naked when it’s like this.’

  The last thing in the world Chloe wanted was to have a discussion about why she wanted to cover her body with an oversized T-shirt and a pair of pyjama shorts. He was right. She did usually sleep naked, and he was right, there was a reason she didn’t want to tonight. The whole evening had felt so exposing, like she was being stripped, that she wanted to cover her body up. Perhaps it didn’t make much sense. Rav would almost certainly think it didn’t.

  ‘I think I’m getting my period,’ she said, her face pressed into the pillow.

  ‘Oh. Okay.’

  They lay in silence, the fuzzy blackness getting lighter as Chloe’s eyes adjusted to the darkness and the orange lights from the world outside lit the room away from peaceful dark.

  ‘Max thinks he might have some work for me,’ said Rav, facing away from her.

  Chloe’s stomach churned. The oil and acid from the meal crept up her throat, stinging her soft palate. ‘That’s great. I know that’s what you were hoping would happen.’

  Rav turned over and landed a kiss on Chloe’s neck. ‘I love you.’

  Chloe swallowed. ‘I love you, too.’

  11

  Then

  The morning after Zadie slept in their room Chloe woke up to find her gone. The bed had been made, which made her a little sad, a sign that Zadie clearly didn’t consider this to be home. But she had left a note – ‘Thank you for the wine, you are the biggest babe!!’ – on the back of an envelope, with lots of kisses and a wonky heart. Chloe smiled at it, then inwardly scolded herself for being weird. She was acting as if Zadie was a boy she had a crush on, not a new friend. She’d known girls at school who would get ‘girl crushes’ on sixth-formers, usually someone sporty or big into drama. But she’d never been like that. She didn’t want to be like that. Zadie wasn’t a sixth-former who was impressive because she had a car and a boyfriend, she told herself. She was a friend. An equal.

  It was almost a month before she saw Zadie again. December had arrived, with all its usual trappings, trees in the lecture buildings, kindly academics wearing Santa hats for their final tutorials of the year. Chloe found herself homesick, which was an enormous surprise to her. But the string in her chest seemed to tug when she thought about how the previous year she and her mother had brought the tree down from the loft, opened the boxes of decorations, laughed about all the silly ornaments she had made as a child and listened to a cheesy jazz album while they put it all together. Her mother loved Christmas. There would be a nativity scene on the windowsill of the living room, tinsel on the banisters, presents under the tree wrapped with military precision, almost impossible to open. These weren’t things she had ever really relished or enjoyed at the time. The memories felt like burns, raw to the touch. The university had made all the right noises, of course. Put a Christmas tree in the entrance to each college. Carol services and parties.

  The Thursday evening before the end of term, Lissy knocked on Chloe’s door wearing Christmas-tree deely-boppers and a pair of jeans so low slung they were almost indecent. ‘Come out,’ she instructed. ‘We’re going to the pub and then, when we’re drunk enough not to realize what we’re doing, we’ll go to Koolerz.’

  For a moment Chloe reached for an excuse. But really, what was there? Another evening sitting here on her own, working on an essay which was already perfectly fine? Lissy had knocked on her door once a week for an entire term and had almost always been told to go away. Why not say yes this time?

  ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Give me a sec to get changed.’

  The disbelief from Lissy was palpable. ‘Really?’ she shrieked. ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes, really,’ laughed Chloe. ‘Give me a minute.’ She pulled Zadie’s black dress from the cupboard, peeled off her jeans and shoved her feet into a pair of heels. She thought about the dress for a moment. She had meant to give it back. Really she had. But it was the most flattering garment she’d ever worn in her life, and while she’d rather shave her head than admit it to anyone, wearing the dress made her feel like a little bit of Zadie was rubbing off on her.

  �
��You’re going to freeze,’ said Lissy as she reappeared at the door.

  ‘I don’t care. Can I borrow a lip gloss?’

  The pub was boiling, sticky and heavy with the scent of mulled wine. Bodies were pressed against bodies, winter coats strewn over every chair, and it seemed that no one in that room was willing to go home without a Christmas snog under the mistletoe. Lissy was dancing to Slade with a boy from her course, the rest of the girls from their corridor were, inexplicably, doing the Macarena, and Chloe felt an unwelcome wave of homesickness washing over her. She stumbled outside into the cold air, scrabbling in her bag to find a packet of cigarettes. The warmth from inside didn’t last long, and by her fourth drag she was shivering.

  ‘Can I borrow a light?’ said a voice next to her. She turned to see Rav standing, looking unfairly warm in a Puffa jacket. ‘Oh! It’s you.’

  Did he seem panicked? He certainly didn’t seem pleased. ‘Chloe,’ she said, sparing them both the embarrassment of him not remembering her name. ‘Rav, right?’

  ‘I remembered your name.’

  She handed him her lighter. ‘Sure.’

  ‘I’m sorry I didn’t text you.’

  ‘Oh God, don’t be. I had actually forgotten I gave you my number. It probably wasn’t even the right number. I was pretty wasted, I don’t know if you remember.’

  ‘I remember.’

  ‘Yeah. I’m sorry about that.’

  Unsure what to do with her hands, Chloe pulled her phone out. To her relief, she had a message from Zadie. ‘Max insisted on renting out the basement at the Lounge this evening, which is beyond unimaginative but it does at least have decent cocktails. Come?’

  ‘I’ve got to go,’ she said to Rav. ‘Another party.’

  ‘Koolerz?’

  ‘No, actually. The Lounge.’

  There was no question by the expression on Rav’s face that he was impressed. ‘You’re going to Max and Zadie’s thing? Any chance you’ve got a plus one?’

  For the first time in her life, she was delighted that her mother had owned every single book about dating ever published. She knew exactly what she needed to do. ‘Sorry,’ she smiled, pushing the pub door open. ‘I’m taking someone else.’

  ‘Who is that guy?’ Lissy yelled over the music. ‘He’s delish.’

  ‘He’s a wanker,’ Chloe replied. ‘Want to go to a private party at the Lounge?’

  Lissy looked at Chloe as if she were a newly descended angel. ‘Are you serious? Absolutely, let’s go. Are you sure we’ll get in? Am I wearing the right outfit? Do they let people in in jeans? I know these are smart jeans, but they’re still jeans … Or we could go back to our room and change and then go out? But then we might be too late …’

  Chloe smiled, feeling the guilt of months of rebuffing Lissy’s attempts to be friendly begin to evaporate. Admittedly, entrance to a swanky bar and a few free Piña Coladas didn’t put them on an entirely even footing, but it was something.

  The Lounge was on the other side of town, so Lissy and Chloe flagged down a taxi. Lissy’s enthusiasm was contagious. ‘Have you been here before?’ she asked Chloe as she undid her seatbelt when the driver pulled up.

  ‘No, of course not,’ Chloe muttered, handing the driver a £5 note. ‘Have you got a quid?’

  Lissy stood on the pavement fumbling with her purse then readjusted her jeans. ‘Can you see my bum crack?’

  ‘No,’ Chloe lied. ‘Come on, let’s go.’

  The Lounge was in a tall Georgian house in the shopping street. It would have been impossible to find if it weren’t for a tall bald man in a suit standing outside. Chloe looked to her left, where Lissy was hanging behind her, starting to look a bit green. She was going to have to pretend she knew how to handle this. She walked to the door and moved to open it.

  ‘It’s a private party, ladies,’ said the bouncer, not unkindly.

  ‘We’re here for Zadie Lister’s … thing.’

  ‘Name?’

  ‘Chloe Sanders.’

  ‘And your friend?’

  Lissy was swaying slightly. ‘I’m her plush one,’ she told the bouncer, smiling with red-wine-stained teeth.

  ‘I think you’ve had enough for this evening, love,’ said the bouncer. ‘Come back another time, when you haven’t had a skinful.’ He turned to Chloe. ‘Are you going in?’

  She looked at Lissy, whose last pint of red wine seemed to be catching up with her. She couldn’t very well abandon her in the street. ‘No, I’ll take my friend home.’

  She took Lissy by the arm and stood on the corner, looking for a taxi. Her coat felt especially inefficient against the wind stripping down the pretty Georgian street.

  ‘Why aren’t we going in?’ asked Lissy.

  ‘It’s closed. Look, a taxi.’ She stuck out her hand. ‘Please try to seem sober.’

  To her great relief, the taxi slowed down, and Lissy clambered in. ‘Market Gardens, please,’ she slurred. ‘Are you coming, Chlo?’

  Chloe looked at Lissy, pale and drunk under the yellow light of the taxi. Lissy needed to go to bed. It wouldn’t make any difference to her whether Chloe went home or not. She would be asleep in an hour or two.

  ‘Would you mind if I stayed?’

  ‘Back again,’ smiled the bouncer.

  ‘My friend wanted to go home.’

  If he disapproved of what she had done, he certainly didn’t show it. He simply opened a heavy wooden door and let her inside, to a long stone corridor at the end of which was a desk. Behind it stood a good-looking woman with dark hair wearing a white polo neck. ‘Welcome to the Lounge.’ She smiled a smile that didn’t reach the rest of her face.

  Chloe followed a winding staircase which led to a huge, low-ceilinged room full of sofas. It was dimly lit, and thumping, lyricless music played. People lay over the sofas, stroking each other, smiling. She wasn’t naïve enough to think that this was just the result of a couple of glasses of wine. A PSHE lesson from school about teenagers dying after taking an E for the first time, or drowning because they drank so much water, flashed into her mind. She tried to wave it away. Those were stories made up to scare people into behaving like boring, responsible members of society, just like fairy tales were created to teach children about morality. She wouldn’t die if she took a pill. And where would she even get one? She twisted her head, trying to work out where the bar was, worrying that someone would notice her not knowing where the bar was and automatically deduce that she didn’t belong here. In the midst of all this, she heard her name being called. She turned and saw Max lying on a sofa, holding a glass. Gratefully, she went to join him. There were two blonde girls lying next to him. Not quite on him, not close enough that she wanted to find Zadie and tell her. But close enough that it registered; that it seemed not quite right.

  ‘Have a drink.’ He smiled, pouring a drink for her. ‘So glad you came.’

  Chloe took it and tried to think of something to say. She settled on ‘Cheers!’

  ‘To your victory,’ added one of the blonde girls lying on the sofa.

  ‘Victory?’ asked Chloe.

  The girls laughed, as if it was funny to think anyone might not know what they were talking about.

  ‘We had a good match this afternoon.’ Max smiled.

  ‘He completely destroyed them,’ said one of the girls. ‘He’s far too modest.’

  ‘Well done, you,’ said Chloe, internally admonishing herself for sounding like a grandparent. ‘Where’s Zadie?’

  ‘Probably in the bathroom,’ laughed the other blonde, touching her nose. The first girl laughed along with her. Chloe studied Max’s face, watching to see whether he would defend his girlfriend. Instead he smiled, showing the kind of perfect, even white teeth that Chloe had only previously seen on American TV. ‘Why don’t you go and join her?’ he said to them. ‘I think we all know she’s not the only one who likes a bit of the old Colombian marching powder.’

  Both of the blonde girls got up, tugging their skirts down over their tann
ed thighs. Chloe felt suddenly aware of the space between her and Max on the sofa. He slid towards her, offering to top up her drink, though she had only taken a couple of sips. ‘Thanks,’ she said, too quietly for it to travel over the thumping music.

  ‘So,’ Max said. ‘Long time no see.’

  ‘I’ve been revising. I’ve got exams before the holidays.’

  ‘What are you reading?’

  ‘English Literature.’

  ‘Cute. I’m glad you came. I thought Zadie and I had scared you off.’

  Was Chloe imagining it, or was Max flirting with her? Not for the first time, she cursed the fact that she’d been to an all-girls school. Other people seemed to know the difference between boys being friendly and trying it on, but her mother was so obsessed with her avoiding teen pregnancy that Chloe had barely spoken to a boy until sixth form, and even then it was nothing significant. Surely he wouldn’t be flirting with her? He was Zadie’s boyfriend. No one who was going out with Zadie could fancy someone else. Only, he was leaning forward and his eyelashes kept dipping, touching his cheeks, as his eyes sought her chest.

  ‘I’ve seen Zadie recently,’ she said, testing the waters. ‘She stayed at our room the other night.’

  Max raised an eyebrow. ‘Ah, so that’s where she went. Interesting.’

  ‘We had fun.’

  ‘I think she wanted me to think she’d gone somewhere far more scandalous.’ She must have looked worried because he added, ‘Don’t worry, I’ll keep our little secret. I’m good at doing that.’

  He wasn’t touching her. No part of his body was in any contact with hers. And yet the warmth of him, the smell of his jumper, his hair, his skin. The way his eyes were so unashamedly resting on her face, her neck, her chest, her legs. All of it felt wrong. Wrong, and delicious in a way that was beyond confusing.

  ‘Did you bring anyone?’ he asked. Chloe shook her head.