‘Cunt,’ Rose said aloud again, enjoying it this time, giving extra emphasis to the finality of the ‘t’.
Saying ‘hello’ was worse than saying nothing. Milo was rubbing her face in both his disinterest and her insignificance. A greeting. A fucking greeting? ‘Fucking. Stupid. Cunttttt,’ she continued. ‘Fuck. Fuck Fuck!’ She was shouting now, burying her face in the pillow so as not to annoy her neighbours. When Rose was satisfied, she went into the bathroom, splashed some cold water on her face, got back into bed and fell into a listless sleep.
The next time she opened her eyes, it was dark outside: 2.04 a.m., according to her phone. The message from Milo was still there, waiting for her inside a pink icon on her phone. It was important that she didn’t reply. Rose never wanted to think about that man again, let alone speak to him.
She started to draft replies.
I’m fine. Why did you …
I’m fine thanks. Why did you ignore …
Hi.
She stared at the two letters and tapped ‘Send’, then realised he might not reply to that.
How are you? she added.
Rose let out a groan and went back to sleep.
In the dream he is there. Maybe a little taller than she remembered. He takes up more space. The hair, however, is the same. The corners of his arms just as honed and muscular. They are on a bus and he is sitting in front of her. She is on her way to school. But she’s not a child. Neither is he. Both of them appear as they are. It’s strange. Next to her is a woman she likes but it isn’t Luce.
Milo has turned around to talk to her. He is smiling and asking her about something. She is smiling too, giggling now as well. He is looking at her with familiarity and warmth. He brushes her arm when she says something funny. It’s affectionate. Then he turns back to face the front. She waits for him to turn back to her again. She waits the whole journey, ignoring the woman next to her, who is talking about nothing in particular. Rose keeps waiting for Milo to turn back to her. But she can’t speak to him. She tries, opening her mouth to say something. Nothing comes out except air.
They arrive at school and Rose waits. A little later, it happens. He gets up, turns to look at her and reaches out his hand. There is a marshmallow inside it. ‘Here, have this,’ he says, smiling. Rose takes the marshmallow but before she can thank him, he has gone again. As has the marshmallow, a sweet, sugared figment of her imagination.
When Rose rolled over to switch off her alarm, it was 6.41 a.m. For a millisecond she tried to get back to sleep, forgetting why she’d woken up so early. Then she opened her eyes properly and saw the missed calls. Fifteen to be precise, mostly from Fran. Rose called her immediately.
‘What the fuck, Rose?’
‘Fran, I’m so sorry I must have overslept. Where are you? Is it too late?’
‘We’ve left,’ she replied, gum smacking between her lips.
‘Shit, okay,’ Rose sighed.
‘Tight schedule. I waited for ten minutes but we had to leave,’ said Fran.
‘Is there any way I could come and meet you?’
‘Um, I dunno. I can probably pick you up from a station or something if it’s on my way.’
‘That would be amazing, thank you! I’ll have a look at the route and text you.’
‘Fine. Bye.’
‘Bye.’
Rose could feel her heart beating all over her body. It would have been so easy to not go now. All she had to do was send a message to the group saying she wasn’t feeling well and didn’t want to get anyone else sick. She hadn’t slept properly and wouldn’t be fun anyway. It was tempting.
But something stopped her. Maybe it was the thought of what everyone would say about her if she backed out now. How they’d call her ‘pathetic’ and ‘boring’. Or maybe it was just FOMO. She didn’t want to feel left out; she wanted to be included, to be a part of something.
There was a train from Paddington to Salisbury in an hour. Rose leapt out of bed and headed straight to the shower. It wasn’t until she was on the train, trying to find enough saliva in her mouth to swallow the two paracetamol she found by chance in her handbag, that she remembered she’d messaged Milo.
‘Fuck’s sake,’ she muttered under her breath, opening the message.
Yep, he’d seen it and not replied.
That was it. This was his final chance and he’d blown it. No more. Rose was done. She wouldn’t block him because then he’d realise she cared. She just plugged in her headphones, and took a nap until she got to Salisbury.
Fran was waiting for her at the station, smoking a cigarette while leaning against a silver Volvo. Rose was relieved.
‘Thank you so much, Fran,’ she said, rushing to hug her.
Fran barely moved, her body limp as Rose wrapped her arms around it.
‘Sure,’ she replied, with as little vocal effort as possible. ‘There’s no space in the boot so you’ll have to put your bag on your lap.’
‘No problem,’ replied Rose, as chirpily as she could.
She shuffled into the back seat, which was loaded up with Ikea bags filled with booze, clothes and food.
‘How come you brought so much stuff?’ asked Rose.
Fran scoffed. ‘The packing list. Did you even read it?’
‘Oh right, yeah, yeah, of course.’
Lizzie appeared out of nowhere and bundled in next to her, giving Rose a hug with one hand while the other stayed firmly inside a newly opened bag of Haribo.
