Ella’s eyes are swollen. Bulging like eggs. Her mascara sponged away but still detectable by the slight tinge of coal above her cheeks.
“Thanks for meeting me,” she says. “I didn’t think you’d come.”
I am silent. Waiting, I suppose, for her to feel something, as I have for the past two days, willing myself not to immediately try to make it all better and have us talking like nothing has changed.
She catches my eyes. Early light casting an eerie haze through the West End café’s blinds. A block of morning shade hovering above our beige Formica table and across our hands. Ella guides a spray of loose sugar into a neat pile, then flicks it away.
“Nice café, didn’t realize you worked so central.”
“That’s because you’ve never asked.”
She nods. “You been here long?”
“Long enough,” I say. “I’m actually meeting someone here in half an hour, so let’s get this over with, shall we?”
A pause.
“I’m so sorry,” my Reason finally says, resting her hand on top of mine.
Though stirred, I am instantly suspicious. Untrusting. Still vexed. And betrayed.
I pull my hand away to punish. “What were you thinking?” I say. “He’s a fucking pimp.”
Ella pokes nervously in her purse, retrieving first a cheapo lighter, then a cigarette that she holds by its tan tip. Her nails chipped and bitten down.
Our silence is uncomfortable until our waitress appears and sets down a mug of dark tea for Ella, then slides an early breakfast of sausage, scrambled eggs, and beans toward me. I pepper the eggs and saw at the sausage, then pile up my fork. But the moment I open my mouth my stomach protests. I push the plate away.
“Not hungry?” Ella asks, her mug held like a begging cup in both hands.
“Not particularly.”
“Not like you.”
“How would you know? What I like, what I don’t like. What’s like me or not?” I snap. “Do we even know each other anymore?”
“I get it,” she says, putting down the mug, “you hate me.”
I look away. Tears loading up in my eyes like bullets.
I search my pocket for tissues, feeling a sudden urge to wipe down the table, realizing I have none.
Ella clears her throat. Retrieves a cotton handkerchief from her purse, offers it to me.
“How long are you going to punish me?” she asks in a small voice.
“For as long as it takes to sink in,” I say, leaning over my food, my chest an umbrella, and wiping the tabletop. “You slept with the pimp we were trying to whistleblow. Are you insane?”
She is silent.
“Are you in love with him?” I ask.
“No!” she defends.
“Look at me!” I hiss. “Why? Why did you sleep with him?”
Ella lowers her eyes, now half-mast and pinned on my chest. Contempt breathes between us, something that might identify as hatred.
She looks up. “Because I could. Because it’s the one thing I can do better than you. Attract men.”
I look at her, nerves jangled. Heart low in my chest. Her envy-fueled attack on me undoing our bond.
“So this is what we’ve become,” I say. “Rivals.”
A pause.
“No. I—”
“You did this,” I spit, eyes ablaze. “You made me someone to compete with. I’m your best friend. Why did you do this to us?”
“I was jealous,” she says, her voice low and controlled. “Look at you. You’ve got everything: a great job, a future doing something you love, a stepmom who’s not running in and out of your life, a shrink who actually cares. And then there was Shaun. I was even jealous of him.” She snorts, rolling her eyes. “When we slept together that night, part of me wanted to make you jealous. Show you what it felt like; punish you by letting you see he wanted me too. But it didn’t work. You seemed to enjoy it.”
“Of course it didn’t work,” I say, the control of her tone tempering mine. “You’ve always meant more to me than some random guy. Always.”
She starts to cry. And I allow her this, at least.
“Nothing’s changed,” she finally says. “I still want justice, to take Navid down. I lost my head. He just showed up at my house and we got into something. I regret it now.”
“Grace was in the house,” I say, shaming her further. “You have a responsibility to look after her. Keep her safe.”
She looks away.
“You do know he sleeps with every girl in the Groom House, and the club?” I say. “He doesn’t even care how old they are.”
Ella’s eyes slide down into her mug of tea. “That’s sick,” she says.
“You fucked him,” I spit, a forgotten headache now returned. The cruelty found in my voice not altogether comfortable.
A pause.
“I shouldn’t have lied to you,” she says, pitching her words with care. “I’m sorry.”
Silence.
Runner steps out. Collects the knife and fork and nudges the sea of beans around my plate. She jabs at the eggs and squashes the beans, stabbing at them over and over with no intention of eating, and then, like a frustrated teen, throws the knife and fork down on the table.
Ella leans forward, tears filling her eyes with regret, and takes hold of my angry fists. Runner turns on her heel and hands back the Body.
You deal with her, she orders, huffing off.
This is my best friend, I remind myself.
This known fact is far more important than anything else, Oneiroi says.
Ella squeezes my hand three times, no words, then looks up. “He hit me,” she says.
I look up, Oneiroi, Runner, and Dolly peering over the Nest, awaiting my response. For once I applaud their silence.
“What?” I say, firmness in my voice.
“Across the head.”
“When?”
“The first time was—”
“The first time?” I interrupt, forcing myself to delete any impatience in my voice and throwing my hands in the air.
“Please,” Ella says, taking my palms, squeezing again, “let me finish.”
I lower my hands.
“The first time,” she continues, “was after you caught us. I knew how upset you’d be, so I got dressed to come find you. He hit me when I tried to leave. Told me I was being pathetic, a stupid little girl.”
She breaks down. Rocks back and forth on the café’s white plastic chair. “I was scared.”
This time I place my hand on top of hers. “Why did you go back to him, after he hit you?” I ask, again attempting patience.
“I guess I convinced myself it was a one-off. A blip. And after he calmed down I believed him when he said he was sorry, that it wouldn’t happen again, that he loved me. I missed you and I was lonely. You’ve been so busy with work. And I figured you wouldn’t want anything to do with me after you knew I’d slept with him. The next day I caught him in bed with Jane, even though he said they were over and promised he only wanted me.”
She clears her throat.
“And by the way,” she continues, “you were right about Sylvie, she is sweet. I bumped into her at Planet Organic before Christmas. We went for a coffee. She said she’d never go back to Electra again, after the way Navid’s treated Jane. She tried to get Jane to leave. I don’t think they really see each other anymore.”
“That’s what Shaun said to me too: that I was the only one. They’re born liars, both of them. And that’s a shame about Sylvie and Jane.”
I take a breath, thinking of our own friendship. “So now what?”
“Now I want revenge.”
“You should have wanted that months ago.” I judge, again.
For a moment I consider reading her the riot act. Reminding her of the times we’ve talked about girls who end up with violent men. The kind of girls we said we’d never be. We sneered at girls like this, the ones you’d see yapping at the ankles of shitty men. Later drinking, drugging, or having sex with another man just to numb the pain of their rejection. We called them weak. Pathetic. But of course we are, and have been, this kind of girl. Both of us. Fatherless, and looking for a man to put right the wrongs done to us. Repeating madness, hoping for a different outcome.
Just for today I am strong. Just for today, I will try my best to be the person I needed when I was young.
“You know, I haven’t been able to forget what happened in the girls’ dressing room.” I touch my wrists. “What that monster did to me. I can’t shake it. Forcing himself on me like that. What kind of man handcuffs and rapes a woman who can’t move?”
“A complete sicko, that’s who.”
“Every time I see a man in a gray suit I flinch. I should’ve done something about it. We should have never gone back after that.”
The waitress appears and stares at the breakfast carnage on my plate.
I attempt a smile, hoping it’s enough to let her know it’s nothing personal. That my hunger has lapsed because my best friend has just told me she’s been hit and now that I have this piece of information I don’t quite know what to do with it. Or what to say. My appetite now gone.
I wanted that, Runner says, glancing the waitress’s thick back, carrying away our mangled breakfast.
Me too! Dolly joins in.
Runner shrugs, Meh, and then rummages around the Nest for a smoke.
You need to eat something, Oneiroi adds.
Yeah, go get the eggs back.
Where the hell are my cigarettes?
Settle down.
Go on, before she throws it away.
Don’t bother; you could do with losing some weight. Worthless piece of shit.
Please stop this.
Worthless—
I’m tired.
Piece—
Go home.
Of—
Where are those goddamn cigarettes?
SHIT—
Please, I wanna go home.
“QUIET!” I scream.
I am standing.
Everyone in the café turns: their mugs held in the air, forks fixed midbite. I glance around, my breath heavy and exposed. Ella places her hand on my waist.
“I have to go,” I say, standing.
Ella tugs on my sweater. “Sit down, Alexa,” she whispers.
“The Voices . . .” My sentence tails off.
“What about them?”
“They’ve gotten so loud. All the time now.”
“It’s okay. Tell everyone inside things are gonna be okay.”
I sit down and rap the side of my head with my fist.
Ella takes my scarlet face in her hands and moves in closer. “Look, I’ve got a plan. Wanna hear it?” my Reason whispers, fingering the dainty key on her gold necklace.
I nod yes.
“Every Monday, Cassie goes to the bank with the week’s takings. But if she can’t go for whatever reason, Shaun goes instead. They keep note slips and coin bags in that top drawer where the dark web codes are, right?”
“Okay . . .”
“So next Monday I’m going to distract Cassie, make up some problem that she has to sort out at the club—I don’t know: I’ll block a toilet or have the girls lose something, clothes or their makeup. Something. I’ll figure it out—so Shaun will have to go to the bank. Then I’ll get the key off Cassie and offer to help Shaun bag up the takings. But I won’t lock the drawer, I’ll leave it open so you can go down there later and get the codes and all the other men’s contact details. Then we hand them in to the police. Once and for all. The codes, as well as the photographs of Poi-Poi.”
“But we have enough proof. Christ, Ella. Haven’t we both put ourselves in enough danger?”
She takes my hand, squeezes it three times. “Please trust me, Alexa,” she whispers.
For a moment I have trouble wresting my eyes from her necklace, but I manage to nod again before she gathers her things to leave.
Ella smiles. “I love you.”