One Small Mistake(9)

Jack riffles through the coats as I fume beside him. Out on the street, I snap, ‘Why would you do that?’

He’s unfazed by my anger. ‘Did you really think I’d let her get away with treating you the way she did tonight?’

‘I can handle Ada.’

He shrugs. ‘No need. I did it for you.’

‘I didn’t ask you to.’

‘You didn’t have to.’ He takes a step closer and I think about taking a step back, just to show him that I really am angry he interfered, but I don’t want to be petty. ‘I got you something.’ He holds up a set of car keys.

Maybe I’m still drunk because I am silent and confused.

‘Heard Ruby has a new convertible,’ says Jack.

Horror crawls along my spine and out through my mouth. ‘You stole her keys?’ I think about Jack at the coat rack even though he didn’t come with a jacket.

‘It’s not Jeffrey’s Cadillac, but it’ll do.’

Only two days after I passed my driving test, we took Jeffrey’s vintage Cadillac for a joyride. My heart starts to canter at the memory of Jack’s hands covering my eyes as we flew down an open stretch, then breaks into a gallop as I realise what he’s asking. ‘You want to steal Ruby’s car?’

‘We’ll bring it straight back.’

‘No.’

‘She’ll never know.’

‘No.’

‘Why do you always let people get away with treating you badly?’

I glance away, hating that he is right.

‘It doesn’t exactly strike me as fair to put Ada in her place while Ruby gets off scot-free. Where’s your sense of equilibrium, Elodie?’ He practically purrs my name. When I don’t look up, he moves so close, I can feel the heat coming off his body. ‘How far will you go?’

This is our childhood mantra, born the day we met outside Wisteria Cottage when he was nine and I was six. We knew each other instantly. Jack took my hand and we raced away from our parents, their warning to stay out of the sea ringing in our ears. On the little beach, Jack challenged me to take off my shoes and venture into the water, asking how far I’d go. Into the sea or to impress him, I wasn’t sure, but I waded in waist-deep with him by my side. This act of defiance was ours. Was us.

It’s the mantra which, in the summer before I went to university, saw us take a spontaneous trip to Amsterdam where we spent several days bar-hopping and eating hash brownies. And four years after that, on Jack’s twenty-fourth birthday, would have us crashing a wedding my best friend Margot was managing where, to her horror, Jack would give a speech at the happy couple’s reception so confidently no one would question whether he’d ever met them. It’s the glue that holds us together.

I think of the poison that dripped from Ruby’s mouth. Her words, her opinions, trickle into me and I am furious and humiliated all over again. Ada may have been complicit but, as always, it was Ruby who gathered the arsenic. Decision made, I raise my gaze to Jack’s. It’s impossible not to answer the way we always do. ‘How far won’t I go?’

Then we are in the car, speeding down twisting countryside lanes. This time, it is my hands that cover Jack’s eyes.





Chapter Three


26 Days Before


Elodie Fray

This morning, I’m catching a train to London to meet my agent. As I stand on the platform, I see two strangers darting these little looks at one another. Whenever their eyes meet, something passes between them and I think, this will either be the beginning of their story or just a footnote.

Noah and I started off as two strangers in a coffee shop on the South Bank. Because the longing, the need to write, had become too intense to ignore, I’d booked a few days off from my marketing job. Telling stories is my first, most long-lasting love. The best kind because the paper will never reject my pen. It is a lover I can’t quit and when I let it wrap its arms around me, it feels so good, I wonder why I’ve stayed away so long.

I was tapping away at my laptop when the waitress came over with a coffee I hadn’t ordered.

‘It’s from him.’ She nodded towards a man sitting in the corner. He was attractive, I’d guess slightly older than me, with dark hair and a wide mouth, the kind you know could produce a devastating smile.

My train pulls in. Around me, people rush to get on. I find my seat in the last carriage, pleased to see it’s almost empty. I should be going over my notes for the meeting but I’m still remembering.

He came to my table and introduced himself. ‘Noah Pine, like the tree.’

There was paint on his hands. Clay. ‘I’ve seen you in here every day for nearly a week,’ he said. His voice was deep and rich, the kind that led you through a sleep meditation. ‘You sit at this table, order a hot drink and you write.’

‘So, you’ve been watching me?’

‘Well, that sounds terrible. I’ve just … noticed you.’ And the way he looked at me, with heat and intrigue, sent a thrill through my body and colour across my cheeks. ‘The other day, this man comes in here with his dog off the lead. The thing shoots off, knocks some poor waitress over. It was a disaster. Coffee and cutlery everywhere. You didn’t even glance up. Just kept on writing and I thought, I have to know this woman. Read whatever she’s working on.’