Liar Liar

‘Yes, totally. Fuck her. You’ll look ravishing, and you’ll have the man on your arm. And she won’t.’

Or maybe I didn’t confide in Amber because I couldn’t bring myself to explain it all.

‘Anyway, French women do eat cake. That’s just the title of some book from a few years ago.’

‘Yeah, I know. I just found a copy on my doorstep.’ Not here, but back at the Tower. I’d gone to collect some clothes after work to find a wrapped package lying next to my door. I thought maybe a neighbour had dropped it on the way past because mail isn’t delivered this way. But when I’d picked it up, I saw it was addressed to me.

‘You found a copy on your doorstep? Is it, like, a failed Amazon delivery?’

‘Nope,’ I reply with a bitter sounding chuckle. ‘It was addressed to me, gift-wrapped, and lying on my welcome mat.’

‘You do not have a welcome mat.’

‘You’re right, I don’t.’ But I think I might get one for this place. You know, while I’m pretending it’s mine. Something totally kitsch and maybe just a little bit tasteless. ‘But if I did have a doormat, that’s where the book would’ve been.’

‘And your theory as to who left it there is what?’

‘I don’t know.’ Not for sure, at least.

‘Have you made any enemies at work?’

‘I’m not super close with my boss, but I don’t think she’s the subtle type.’

‘I can tell you have your suspicions, so go ahead and say it. You think the ex left it for you, right?’

I squish a wedge of camembert between the cheese knife and the plate feeling more than a little mutinous. I can’t believe I’m allowing her to put me off my little cheese platter, but it’s like the tasty fun has been sucked out it. ‘Yeah, I think so. If not her, who else?’

‘Fat is a feminist issue, so they say. But it sounds like, in this case, fat is an issue of insecurity.’

‘Don’t ever go into counselling, babe.’

‘I’m not talking about you, dummy. You are gorgeous, even if your brand of self-deprecating is a little old.’

‘Amber, the woman looks like a Victoria’s Secret model,’ I answer, uncomfortable with how plaintive my words sound.

‘So? You think skinny girls don’t have insecurities? Believe me, anyone looking at you would never believe you think your ass is fat. We all have our issues. While you’re cursing her skinny ass, she’s probably cursing your curves. The grass is always greener, even when it’s really not.’

‘You must really be sleep deprived.’ Because she’s not making sense. No one who looks like Amélie could be in any doubt of how attractive they are.

‘You are every bit as gorgeous as she is, I’ll bet. You are everything you’re trying to convince yourself you’re not.’

‘I own a mirror, Amber.’ I’ll never be in the same league. ‘I don’t have blonde hair, and I will never fit into a size two dress unless I get a bad case of dysentery.’

‘You don’t want to be a size two. You want to be you. Remy wants you to be you. If he’d wanted you to be her, he’d be dating her—or some clone of her. The bitch is trying to get in your head, and what’s more, you’re letting her.’ In the background, Beryl, I mean, Ruby begins to fuss. ‘See, even Rubes here knows you’re being an idiot. And she’s not happy about it.’

We chat a little more as Amber feeds the baby. We keep our voices low as she tells me what’s going on in Riposo Estates, regaling me with tales of her little ones. Man, I miss their antics and their cute faces.

‘Oh, goodness!’ Mid-sentence, Amber stretches the exclamation out over several syllables and an almost jaw-cracking yawn.

‘Why don’t you go back to bed?’

‘Because it’s nearly time to get back up again.’ But her protest is half-hearted, and we begin to say our goodbyes. I top up my half-empty glass and contemplate throwing the cheese in the trash when Remy appears in the kitchen with a genuine smile on his face.

If he wanted her, he wouldn’t be looking at you like you’re the winning lottery ticket, idiot.

I give myself a mental shake and slide my napkin over the book. Yes, napkin. Because this is the kind of house that brings out the napery in me. But concealing the book means we don’t have to have this conversation, and if we don’t have this conversation, I won’t end up sounding super needy. Independent girl for the win. Or at least the appearances of.

Remy slides his arm around my shoulders, his forefinger at my chin as he tilts my face to his. ‘I’ve missed you.’

‘You just saw me at lunchtime.’ Because he still hasn’t given up using the app. We eat lunch together most days now that he’s back at the office. Sometimes we even go out to lunch. A novel experience!