‘Sure,’ she said by default.
Upstairs, they fell onto the bed together, entangled in each other’s bodies.
Ben tugged at Rose’s T-shirt. She sat up and wriggled out of it before doing the same to Ben.
His lips curled into a smile as he looked at her body.
‘You’re beautiful, Rose,’ he whispered, leaning back in towards her. And for a brief moment, she felt like she might be.
Within seconds, Ben had disposed of Rose’s jeans, his mouth was roaming around her knickers before tugging them off with his teeth and thrusting his tongue deep inside her.
She tried to enjoy it. Her eyes were closed and she was able to imagine it feeling pleasurable, she even managed a few moans and fist clenches. But in that moment, her body became something she was no longer in possession of. It wasn’t that she had lost control of it, or that she couldn’t move. It was a body that didn’t belong to her any more. Perhaps it was the alcohol. Rose was looking down at herself from above. Her face and body were obscured, a series of geometrical shapes knocked together in the colour of milky flesh. Ben was just about visible, a blond mass of hair and limbs. Rose felt something sharp and the scene before her went black. Then she heard herself screaming.
*
‘Hey Lu. Sorry I couldn’t chat properly last night. Is everything okay? Would love to FaceTime soon. Sorry, things are a bit crazy at the moment. But yes, am super excited about our girls’ night. That rooftop place sounds great. Call me about timings and stuff later? We can dress up and – oh, sorry no it was oat milk not soya milk. Yeah. Thanks. Anyway, tell me how things are at home? The flat feels so empty without you. Pasta doesn’t taste the same. Are you sleeping better? Call me when you can and we will plan the best girls’ night ever. Lots of love. Okay, okay bye.’
Rose was mid-yawn when the coffees arrived; she hadn’t slept a full night in as long as she could remember. Recently, she kept waking up at 3 a.m. It was almost always on the dot, which spooked her a little more each time. After ten minutes of lying still with her eyes closed trying not to look at her phone, she would relent, going into ‘Settings’, finding the list of people she’d blocked (mostly random men and people asking her to buy followers), unblocking Milo, tapping ‘Message’ and staring for a little while (she’d stopped logging into the fake account because it made her feel like a crazed fan).
There were now long lists in her Notes of potential messages she could send him. These included:
How are you?
Hi.
Did you die?
Hey you. How’s it going? Been a while.
You should try to get a better PR team. Haven’t heard anything about the tour.
Hiya.
Hey Milo, I’m sorry to get in touch so out of the blue but I really need to speak to you about what happened that night.
Drink soon?
Minnie was pacing the office holding her phone to her ear when Rose walked in, smiling up at her when she handed her the coffee. Oliver was eating a bag of particularly crunchy roasted peanuts. ‘Thanks,’ he just about managed as she put the coffee on his desk.
‘Sorry, Annabelle, I wasn’t sure what you’d want.’ Rose turned to her. Annabelle was always overdressed for work, although perhaps that was inevitable when your entire wardrobe consisted of designer clothing, courtesy of your parents. Today, she was in a black silk pleated dress that grazed the floor. Her make-up was immaculately applied, her hair perfectly smooth and brushed. Half of it was pulled back off her face in a Chanel hair clip.
‘Oh, don’t be silly,’ she replied. ‘It’s fine. I don’t actually drink coffee, I prefer matcha.’
‘Noted,’ Rose nodded. ‘What’s going on?’ she asked, pointing over towards Minnie.
‘It’s Clara. Her manager emailed Minnie late last night to say she is pulling out of the party.’
‘What? Did he say why?’
‘Nope. Something about “personal circumstances”.’
Rose sighed, sat at her desk and logged onto her computer, waiting for Minnie to get off the phone.
‘Goddammit,’ Minnie said as she hung up.
‘Any luck?’ asked Annabelle in a tone that was far brighter than was appropriate.
‘No. No luck, Annabelle,’ she snapped back, eyes fixed on her phone. ‘Fraser still won’t tell us why she’s pulled out. He’s just insisting that she can’t come any more and now he is trying to plug one of his other C-list clients who I’ve never heard of but is apparently huge in the clean eating world, which is a phrase I don’t understand or particularly care for. And I know the men upstairs won’t either.’
‘Because they all prefer to eat something dirtier?’ grumbled Oliver through a mouthful of peanuts.
‘I think I might be able to help,’ said Rose softly.
‘Oh yes, you went for lunch with her, didn’t you?’ Minnie’s eyes lit up.
Rose nodded.
‘And she liked you. You were essentially the reason she signed up in the first place, right?’
‘I think so. I mean, it’s hard to tell but I think we definitely connected.’
Minnie rummaged around her handbag: a tired leather Mulberry satchel that looked about twenty-five years old.
‘Here, take this,’ she said, handing Rose a black debit card with the words FIREHOUSE embossed across the top in silver lettering. ‘Take her to Cecconi’s. Or Scott’s. Or literally wherever it is she wants to go. Convince her to come. Please.’
‘I will do my best,’ she said, taking the card. ‘I’ll see if she wants to meet for breakfast.’
‘Yes, perfect. Thank you.’