Queenie(68)

“Okay, so, this new layout,” he started eagerly. “I’ve printed all of the examples that you’ve sent me and thought we could talk them through? Right, so—”

My phone buzzed, and when I pulled it out to look saw the beginning of a message from Cassandra flash up on the screen.

Cassandra

If I say we can talk about it this evening, will you st



I walked back to my desk, sat down, and opened the text.

Cassandra

If I say we can talk about it this evening, will you stop sending me messages? It’s getting tiresome, you chasing me.



“Sorry, Chuck, can we postpone?” I shouted across the office. “I’ll look over those and we can talk about it tomorrow.”

The knot in my stomach tightened as I crossed the office and slipped into an empty breakout room. I called Cassandra. She didn’t answer. I tried again, and got a text.

Cassandra

Just come round later.





* * *



I had tiny sips of tomato soup as I unpacked Cassandra’s messages over lunch with Darcy.

“I don’t understand why she’s being so cold, though,” I said, grimacing as the soup started to churn in my stomach.

“Isn’t she quite cold anyway?” Darcy said. “You know, like a sort of duchess ‘I’m better than everyone because I’ve psychoanalyzed you all to death and I know you better than you’ll ever know yourselves’ way?”

“You’d noticed?” I asked, relieved that I wasn’t the only one who realized that Cassandra was hard work.

“Are you joking?” Darcy laughed. “That’s exactly the vibe she gives off. Poor you, you must be used to it. Do you want some bread with your soup?”

I shook my head. “She’s not that bad—look how much money she’s given me. If it weren’t for her I wouldn’t have been able to afford dinner most nights. Either way, silent treatment for nearly a month, and now she wants to see me? Why doesn’t she just call me? I’m too scared to see her face-to-face.” I put my spoon down. I couldn’t eat any more. “Unless she’s going to apologize for cutting me out of her life for something that was in no way my fault.”

“I’m actually quite relieved she left the Corgis. She’s so anal that she’d put full stops at the end of all her messages. It drove me mad. Can you at least try to eat a bit more? Here, try my burger.” Darcy thrust her food toward me, and I jerked my head away. “If you stop eating properly, you’ll feel worse, Queenie.”

“Eating makes me feel worse,” I couldn’t stop myself from moaning. “Every single thing I eat or drink, I can feel its route through my digestive system the minute it passes my lips.”

“Are you in pain?” Darcy leaned closer to me.

“No, it’s more discomfort. And churning.” I rubbed my stomach, pressing my hand into it roughly.

“Don’t do that!” Darcy pulled my hand away toward her. “Are you . . . pregnant?”

“No, no way. It might be panic or anxiety or something.” I lowered my voice. “Remember, I have my referral letter from stern Elspeth.”

“Yes, that’s a brilliant idea!” Darcy’s face lit up, a possible solution in sight.

“Is it?” I tried another sip of soup. “Isn’t that just admitting that something is wrong with me?”

“So what if something is wrong with you? There’s something wrong with all of us,” Darcy said gently.

“There is nothing wrong with you.” I sighed, throwing the spoon down and leaning back in my chair. “There’s too much wrong with me, Darcy. I don’t think I’ll ever know what it’s like not to worry. About everything.”

“Well, there you go, that’s what you need to talk about. I think you should do it. What have you got to lose?”



* * *



I sat on the bus to Cassandra’s. My stomach was still turning and my skin felt like it was on fire. I tried counting to ten repeatedly to stop myself from having to run off the bus screaming. My breathing was getting shallower, and I couldn’t regulate it. What was wrong with me? I’d done this journey a million times.

I stopped at the florist on the corner of Cassandra’s street and picked up a bunch of irises. I went to the counter to pay and emptied all of my pockets and rucksack onto the counter before accepting that I’d forgotten my purse at work, so walked to Cassandra’s house without a peace offering.

As I got closer, I leaned on the wall and bent over, taking some deep breaths as I summoned the courage to walk up the path and ring the doorbell.

“Are you okay, Queenie?” I looked up at Cassandra’s dad, who had opened the door.

“Yes! Sorry, Jacob, just a little . . . out of breath. I ran here,” I lied. “Is Cassandra in? Please,” I asked, walking through the front door.

“Yes, go up, she’s in her room. Exciting times ahead!” he said sadly, his tone not matching his words. What did he mean?

“Now, can I get you a drink?” Jacob asked, guiding me into the house. “I know you like my hot chocolate!” Did he know about Guy? He wasn’t talking to me like he knew. Though parents were meant to stay adult and impartial throughout these things, weren’t they?