The Things We Do to Our Friends(26)
Now, when I think about my own work these days, I wouldn’t bother taking pictures in that way because it’s too time-consuming, but those pictures captured something. I was made bleaker by the camera, a dirty sadness like I hadn’t washed for days. The slippery oil slick of my hair scraped back from my head. My clothes looked rumpled as if I was on the verge of unraveling and I was fixated by the red of my eyes. It was shocking how unhinged I looked. I know it’s just the effect that flash has—it picks up the raw connective tissue in the back of the socket, something that’s vaguely unsettling in itself—but it also gave the photos a look of something demonic. A feral creature roaming the streets.
I hadn’t realized how close I was to some kind of awful precipice, how terribly lonely I had been right at the start, and they’d pulled me away from that state of desperation and welcomed me into their world.
20
Spring in Edinburgh was then, and is now, marked by the change in the cherry blossom trees. In winter, you’d hardly notice them. They’re bare, all stripped bark and unremarkable branches, then in April they come back to life. Overnight they transform and turn pink and frothy like a strawberry milkshake, forming a flashy canopy down the Meadows, a large grassed area near the university. I walked down those long pathways that sliced the lawns in half. I wasn’t going anywhere in particular, just toward the south of the city to see the pink at each side of my peripheral vision turn my world rose-tinted.
I’d mentioned that I enjoyed walking through the Meadows to Imogen and she’d looked at me, quite shocked. She told me that last year a man had laid tripwires along those narrow paths, and when dusk fell, he would lurk nearby, waiting as long as it took until finally a young woman on her own would stumble, and then he’d grab her, so fast she’d barely know what was happening. She told me it had happened time and time again, and he’d never been caught because his method was so effective. She wanted to scare me.
After that, I couldn’t see those paths in quite the same way. I imagined the thin knots of threaded barbed wire, the moonlight bouncing off them. I pictured a woman strolling through on a balmy night, her jumper tied around her waist, falling to the ground before she even knew what was happening. The trees shielding whatever came next.
Who knows if it was the truth? From then on, I took a different route back through the streets, away from the greenery of the city, but even so, spring means the pink of the cherry blossom to me to this day. And even now, if I don’t see them, I know they are there, and that spring has come.
I’d settled into a routine. I didn’t have to think about what the week had in store for me anymore, or what I’d do each day. I had my shifts, I had my friends, and I had Finn. He was a good outlet. He prevented me from being too intense with the others, from caring too much. It was good to have people that I didn’t mind about impressing at all.
Those months passed quickly. I was invited to dinner parties again, and they all took a similar format. Not fancy, but I looked forward to them, although the nervous clench of my entire body every time I rang Tabitha’s doorbell never quite left.
The one thing that edged closer and closer was France. I knew they were planning on going to France—to Tabitha’s house—over Reading Week. They seemed to have visited a lot when they were at school and this year they were keen to resurrect the tradition. Imogen talked constantly whenever I was around about the new swimwear she was planning to buy. It wasn’t subtle—it was petty—her attempt to make her position stronger by trying to diminish mine. By mid-April they’d skirted around the topic for long enough that I was sick of it. The thought of going made me feel ill, but the idea of being excluded was painful too.
Finally, it happened. I had arrived early for my shift at work and Ava was sitting at the bar, her coat flung over a stool. The remains of a Bloody Mary sat in front of her. She’d picked out all the garnishes—a few glistening olives and gherkins, a piece of celery, a boiled half quail’s egg on a cocktail stick—and laid them on one side of her glass. A puddle of red juice had formed, and it reminded me of a cat bringing in prey and laying out the heart for its owner. At least she seemed to have been reminded of her fondness for the drink, and I congratulated myself for that. She was talking to Finn, or rather he was talking at her, stilted and nervous, and as I approached, they fell silent.
“Clare!” she greeted me.
Finn gave me a sharp look and then turned his back to us.
“What are you doing here?” I asked her, almost forgetting myself and being unusually direct.
“I’ve just been catching up on some work at the library and I thought a nightcap would help.”
This made little sense, as it was only half past five in the evening. The muscles in my neck tightened as they always did when my two worlds came together. Finn, whose behavior I could always predict in any given circumstance, and Ava, who seemed to know what I’d do before I even knew myself.
It felt like a worrying clash, but I forced myself to relax. She was my friend. I should have been glad to see her.
I moved round to the other side of the bar, so we were separated by wood.
“Why are you really here?” It was just with Ava I could be that confident.
“We want you to come to France with us.”
“France?” I feigned surprise.
“A week with all of us over Reading Week. It’ll be amazing—sun, sea—well, not much sea in central France. Samuel…” She trailed off and gave me an exaggerated wink.