Oh, crap. She’s going to hate my flat—nowhere safe to set down her Birkin. The place is cramped and damp. I haven’t tidied up, and the sink is full of dishes. Everything is tattered and worn. I was desperate when I paid for this place, and it couldn’t be more obvious that I was in dire straits.
Before Lizzie can knock, I pull the door open. Her eyes go wide as she gives me a once over. “Oh, shit,” she mutters, stepping inside and putting her arms around me. “What happened? Why haven’t you called me? I’d have thought you were dead if it weren’t for my messages showing up as read. But then they started bouncing, and I got really worried.”
“I changed my number.” I feel terrible admitting it like that with no explanation, but I’m not ready to confess that I destroyed my SIM card and bought a cheap pay as you go one as soon as I had a chance so Dad couldn’t find me.
“You could have told me,” she reprimands, and I deserve it.
“Sorry.” I fidget, uncomfortable at having disappointed her. “How did you know I was here?”
She pulls back, glancing around the entrance and pulling the door closed behind her. The space is tight, and it feels like she’s breathing down my neck, so I turn and lead her through to the main room.
“I called your sister.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah. I had to look up where she worked and call her office. She gave me your address, but wouldn’t tell me anything. Wouldn’t give me any details, but I pieced a bit together from the Daily Mail Online.” She winces, then offers me a sympathetic pout. “Seb looks really happy with Erica.”
My heart twinges at the mention of my ex-fiancé and his famous girlfriend, Erica Lefroy. But it’s not because she’s a world-famous supermodel and soon-to-be Hollywood movie star, and I’m a penniless failure that my heart hurts. And it’snot because I miss Seb or ever wanted him for myself. It’s because what he and Erica have is real. Real love. Dad might not believe in it, but Isawit. And while I’m happy for them, I can’t help feeling a little sorry for myself that they ended upthere, together, and I ended uphere, alone. No career, no job, and definitely no one who loves me. A fucking mess all round.
“I know,” I tell Lizzie. “It’s great that they got their happy ending.”
Itisgreat, and I mean it. I like Seb, he was always good to me; he deserved to find love. I hope Lizzie understands that and doesn’t think I’m sitting here resenting him.
But she’s not paying attention to me anymore. She’s scanning the flat, her gaze lingering on the used coffee cups I’ve left out and the crumpled clothes I’ve draped over the radiators to dry. At least the place smells like clean washing; that’s got to be in my favour. Not atotalslob.
She pulls her handbag tighter to her side. “Your social media. And your website. They’re gone.”
My breathing speeds up, and I blow out a slow breath to control it. “I know.”
Lizzie’s eyes look almost watery, and she steps closer, placing a hand on my upper arm. “What’s going on? Why didn’t you call me? I’ve been really worried about you.”
A wave of emotion sweeps through me as I think of all the missed calls I never responded to and the messages that streamed in from her before I changed my phone number. I might have been having a shitty time, but I’ve also been a shitty friend. Sighing, I embark on recounting the story of what happened with my dad.
“Fucking hell, that sounds awful,” Lizzie says once I’ve told her everything. “He wiped you off the internet.”
“Yeah. Not great. I mean, it’s my fault. I gave him access to everything because he demanded it.”
A furrow appears between her eyebrows. “Couldn’t you just have said no?”
I let out a wry laugh. “I’m guessing your dad isn’t very… controlling.”
Lizzie shrugs, which I take to mean ‘not at all’ and also ‘I’m so sorry that I don’t understand’, and rubs my shoulder. “Can’t you start over? Your followers will find you.”
I shake off her touch. “I will. I am. But it’s hard without…” I glance around at the bare walls of the dingy flat. “I don’t have any of my books anymore, or any decent clothes. My dad destroyed everything.”
My brain aches. I’ve barely slept. I haven’t thought about the things Dad destroyed for weeks. It’s easier to shut out the memory than dwell on it. At least that way, I can focus on moving forwards.
I’m good at that. I’m good at solving problems. Iam.
But this particular one is flummoxing me. Even recalling what happened makes my skull feel like it’s splitting open.
I drag my hands down my face. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to damage my brand.”
“Oh, honey. There is no brand now. It’s gone. How can you ruin it?”
“I just… I want to do it right. I have to do it right. I have to prove—”
“You don’t have to prove anything to anyone,” Lizzie says, but I shake my head.