Chapter Two
April locked her flat and stepped onto the High Street. Sunlight sliced into her eyeballs. Wincing, she held a shaking hand up to her face. For a second, she considered going back to get her sunglasses, but she decided she couldn’t risk being late.
She set off down the road toward her yoga class. She was wearing her lululemon leggings—the cool ones with the mesh inserts—and a Sweaty Betty tank top. Her old-school Adidas trainers rubbed her heels, but it didn’t matter because she didn’t have to walk that far.
It seemed like the whole of East Dulwich was out enjoying the sunshine. in designer jeans strolled past pushing buggies their lattes balanced in the cup holders. The window of the butcher’s shop brimmed with lovely things—strings of organic garlic and artisanal sausages at four pounds each.
April had grown up in East Dulwich long before it became posh and people had started referring to it as a “village.” Back then, it had been made up of pubs, low-income housing, and gambling houses. The stores sold Mr. Noodles and single cigarettes. But dig beneath the surface, and the old East Dulwich was still there. It was still that same stretch of gritty road that led out from Elephant & Castle. East Dulwich felt like her, she thought. In a way, they were both pretending.
She remembered when she’d understood this—the need to pretend to make people think more of her. It had been the morning of her fourteenth birthday. When she’d woken up, her present had been sitting at the foot of her bed. Her mom had bought her the top that she’d been talking about nonstop for ages. It was a Jean Paul Gaultier junior cropped vest in white denim with metal buttons. The cut, the positioning of the breast pockets, they were all so perfect. The top had been on sale in TK Max.
She’d been so happy that she hadn’t minded when her mom had sent her to the convenience store for milk even though it was her birthday. She’d floated along in the vest, admiring her reflection in the windows of the shops.
Mr. Henderson’s son Ben worked at the convenience store. He’d been there full time since he’d left school in June. He had intense eyes and a lip ring. April felt fluttery when she was near him, but he always acted like she was invisible.
But on that day, he’d looked her up and down. He was frowning slightly like he recognized her but couldn’t place from where.
“Hey,” he’d said. “That’s a cool top.”
April flushed.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
She told him.
“Cool,” he said. “I guess you were born in the spring.”
They both grinned.
“See you around, yeah … April.”
And that was when April had discovered something—a truth that had cut to her very core. The message in all those films she’d watched and all those books she’d read was rubbish.
It’s not what you’re like on the inside that counts. What matters is how you look.
She walked on, craving bacon. That was another problem with drinking and another reason why it had been good to give it up. She always ended up eating junk the next day. And she needed to stay thin and toned, so she could be the best vehicle possible for the clothes. It was part of the deal of being a fashion journalist.
Thin and toned. She repeated the phrase to rally herself. Thin and toned. Maybe if she said it enough times, it would become her personal mantra.
She staggered on, still dreaming about bacon—bacon sandwiches, rashers dipped in ketchup. Her head throbbed. It felt like all the saliva had been sucked from her mouth. She stopped, leaned against the side of a shop, and pressed her cheek against the cool brick wall.
Her phone vibrated from inside her bag. She pulled it out and checked the display. Miranda.
“Hi,” she said. “Did you get home all right? I was worried when I put you in that taxi.”
April frowned. Up until that moment, she’d had no idea how she’d gotten home. It had seemed like she’d woken up magically in bed.
“I’m fine,” she said in her breeziest voice. “I’m just about to do a Flow class.”
“Yoga? Are you crazy? Aren’t you hungover? Guess what?” Miranda continued. “I hopped onto the Transat website first thing this morning, and they had these amazing deals. It’s part of their summer promotion or something. Anyway, I didn’t know how long they were going to last for, so I just went for it and booked the flights. I still had your passport details from Paris.”
“The flights?” April leaned heavily against the wall, seriously considering going back to bed. “What flights?”
“Haha. Very funny.”
A chill traveled up her body. “No, I’m serious.”
“You know, silly,” Miranda said. “For our holiday … to Canada.”
April closed her eyes and squeezed the phone. Images reared up in her head, one after the other. They were so clear and bright, it was like they’d been shot on a GoPro. She and Miranda clinking glasses. Miranda holding up her phone while “O Canada” played on YouTube.
“How many Mai Tais did we have?” April asked.
“Four.”
“Altogether?”
“No, each.”
April’s legs felt weak. For a second, she wondered whether Miranda had deliberately gotten her drunk, so that she’d agree to go on vacation with her. Then she dismissed the idea. Miranda was her best friend, and besides, she was incapable of being manipulative.
“When are we going?” April asked.
“The second of July,” Miranda said. “The first is Canada Day, which Dan always spends with his family.”
April almost dropped the phone. July first was only two weeks away. She doubted she could she even get the time off work.
“We’re flying to Vancouver, remember?” An edge had crept into Miranda’s voice. “Then Dan and his mate Rory are going to meet us at the airport and drive us to a beach resort on Vancouver Island. Dan and Rory do this trip every year. It’s their thing, their little bromance.”
“And this Rory—he’s okay with us gate-crashing the holiday?”
Miranda made an impatient clicking sound with her teeth. “Dan hasn’t told him yet but he’ll be fine. He has to be.”