Authors: Sadie Mills
Eve thought for a moment then smiled. She remembered the photo he was talking about.
'...He said that for two sisters who looked so similar, you couldn't get two people less alike.'
He felt her go rigid in his arms.
'I'll bet,' she said coolly. 'I'm sure I was a huge disappointment.'
'...One married young, to a lawyer, I think?' Ben continued, his hand gently smoothing Eve's shoulder. 'Between you and I, Roger wasn't too keen. He always said he was a bit of a prick.'
He heard Eve scoff quietly. Ben smiled to himself.
'He used to talk about you all the time, you know.'
Eve raised her head. She blinked back at him.
'You had terrible taste in men too, of course. He was always complaining about them. But at least you had the sense not to go getting married. He said you were too clever for that.'
She pulled back from him and sat up straight, studying Ben's face. He drew his arms away, gently taking her hand.
'Your dad had a theory about you, you know,' he said, playing with her icy little fingers. 'He said there was a reason you picked the men you did... Didn't you go out with that guy who worked behind the counter at Costas in Dean Street? Pablo wasn't it?'
Eve frowned.
'Paolo,' she murmured. '...How the hell did you know that?'
Ben smiled.
'I just told you. Roger was always on about you. He grumbled about that one for weeks.'
'He was alright!' Eve said defensively, her gaze falling to the floor, her toe prodding the tarmac.
'I'm sure he was,' said Ben. 'But you had nothing in common with him... Just like our surf bum friend.'
They exchanged a look.
'You see, Roger always said that you picked men who were completely inappropriate, relationships that were doomed to fail, because in the back of your head you always wanted more than the husband, the kids, the picket fence... And I reckon he was probably right.'
'You do, do you?'
'Yes,' said Ben.
'...So that's why I'm sitting here with you?'
Ben raised his eyebrows, the polite smile fading, his hold growing slack around her fingers. Eve felt a pang of regret as Ben turned his cheek, pulling his hands away, pushing them into his pockets.
'It's getting dark,' Ben observed. 'We should probably go back inside.'
Eve reached over him, snatching the cigarettes and lighter. He watched her light one up.
'You're going to make yourself sick,' he said gruffly. 'I thought you'd given up? ...Again?'
'I thought that you had too?'
She held the box out to him. He shrugged and lit another. He didn't want it. The taste they left in his mouth was starting to make him feel sick.
'I didn't know any of that about your mum,' Ben admitted quietly. 'but I did know your dad. I spent a lot of time with Roger when I was doing the covers, and no, not at posh dinner parties. It wasn't like that at all, I'm sorry to say. Your dad was a workaholic, and he expected the same from all of his team. We'd be there into the night - into the morning sometimes - we worked bloody hard to get those books out on time. It was OK though. We all knew we were just lucky to be there. But there were certainly no fancy women, not that I ever saw. I don't see how he could have had time. As for that...
thing
he turned up with today... I can't explain that, but I can say for certain, I've never seen her before in my life.'
Eve took a drag.
'How long ago was that now?' she said thoughtfully staring dead ahead, exhaling the smoke through her nostrils.
'I don't know,' replied Ben, trying to think. '...Must be getting on for eight or nine years?'
'Well there you go,' said Eve with a wry smile and a shrug. 'She was probably still at school.'
She studied him.
'Not a fan then?' she asked.
'Not at all,' Ben said flatly.
'That's funny,' said Eve, turning away. 'I was under the impression that you were quite partial to blondes.'
Eve could feel his eyes on her. She felt a twinge in her gut.
'...What do you mean by that?'
She fixed his gaze indignantly.
'Oh, I think you know.'
Ben frowned back at her.
'No, really. I don't.'
'...Fine. Have it your own way.'
Ben watched her grab the packet of fags and get up. Orange embers spewed from her cigarette as it bounced down on the path. She extinguished it with a few twists of her shoe, marching away in a huff.
Ben flicked his cigarette away, hurrying after her.
'Wait!' he called out. 'What's all this about? ...Do you know Lydia?'
Eve stopped dead. She turned to look at him.
'Who's Lydia?'
Ben stared back at her.
'My fiancée,' he murmured.
He watched her eyes flicker. Eve turned away. She started walking again.
'...
Was! Was
my fiancée!' Ben called after her, shaking himself, running to keep up. 'Evelyn, it's been over for ages.'
She stopped. Suddenly she was staring straight through him.
'Evelyn! Where on earth have you been?'
Roger and Marcus wandered towards them through the twilight.
Eve was glad she'd gotten rid of her cigarette. Roger always gave her hell.
Ben watched the false smile spreading across her face.
'Hello!' she called out nervously. 'Sorry about that. I... we... just had to pop back to the flat... We.... um... I... I... I... I'd forgotten to feed the cat!'
Ben saw the relief in her eyes as the excuse blurted from her lips, then the frown as she realised it was true.
'I gave him a can before we left,' he muttered to her under his breath, taking her hand, turning on his heels, following her cue with the false smile.
'Hi!' he beamed at Roger.
Roger smiled back at Eve.
'You've still got Beau?' he ventured.
Ben saw Eve's smile drop a smidge.
'Yes,' she said curtly. She held Ben's fingers a little tighter. She felt his thumb stroke the back of her hand.
Roger grinned.
'How is the little beastie?'
'He's fine,' Eve replied quietly. 'He's filled out quite a lot... ten kilos now. Still hasn't grown into his paws though.'
They smiled at each other. Eve's seemed to grow a little more genuine.
'God, I miss that cat,' Roger admitted.
'You're not having him back,' Eve blurted quietly.
She was still smiling, but she meant business. Marcus looked on awkwardly.
'Does he still talk to the birds?' asked Roger.
Bo liked to sit in the window watching them. He would make the strangest sound. It wasn't a meow. It wasn't a hiss. It wasn't a sound Eve had ever heard from another cat. He would bare his teeth, extending his tongue. His jaw would vibrate rapidly, his mouth emitting a long series of clicks. He only did it when the birds were singing. It was as if he was mimicking them.
'Yes,' Eve nodded. 'Yes, he does...' She looked to the floor, then back to her father. 'Maybe you could pop by and see him sometime.'
Roger's eyes lit up.
'I'd like that,' he said quietly.
'We'd better get back in,' said Marcus. 'You two will catch your death out here,' he told Eve.
Roger's gaze fell to the gold carton gripped in his daughter's hand, then back to her guilty stare. He just smirked and shook his head.
Eve excused herself and took a trip to the ladies. Ben wandered into the dancehall alone. He took a glass of Champagne and stood with his back to the wall, surveying the scene; watching everyone.
Curtis and Alice were on the floor beneath the flashing disco lights, dancing away to
Moves Like Jagger.
Ben raised his eyebrows. That guy could move. They looked like a couple of pros. There were a few other couples shifting from one foot to the other. Ben spotted the brunette bridesmaid, pouring herself all over the ginger usher. He looked desperately uncomfortable. She looked a little out of control.
Who was she? She was out to cause trouble. Did she know Lydia? Ben felt sure that she must. That had to be where Eve's cryptic comment about blondes came from. The green eyed monster. Ben could spot it a mile off.
Beauty only gets you so far. That's what they say, isn't it? Except with a runway model, it gets you a fucking long way. There's mileage in that level of pretty.
They met on a shoot. Ben was 23, Lydia was 19. They were both stony broke, just starting out. He was besotted with her - love at first sight. It took a long time for those rose-tinted Aviators to slide down his nose.
Beauty is only skin deep. They say that too. It isn't necessarily true. She was a sweet girl in the beginning; either that, or she did a good job of hiding the ugly. It was years before that started creeping in, before Ben started scratching his head. Maybe it was the pressure of trying to keep up with the Tyra Bankses, the dull ache of professional rejection sapping her
sweetness away. She became jealous, bitter - openly hostile - even physical, sometimes. She seemed to blame Ben for everything. He couldn't put a foot right. He knew it was turning to shit but he was desperate to save it. He only proposed off the back of a row.
Not to say that Ben was an angel. He had a fair hand in the relationship's demise. When Eve had been talking about her father, she could easily have been talking about him.
The arguments stopped after he popped the question. Lydia seemed content, but he couldn't say that she seemed happy. She was still beautiful, despite what the cut-throat world of fashion had to say, she was heart-achingly pretty. But he couldn't find her anymore. When he looked at her face, it was like looking at a stranger.
Sometimes we say things in the heat of the moment, and they're instantly forgotten. Sometimes we say things, and no matter how much we wish we could take them back, they leave a permanent mark. There were so many marks they'd gone from join the dots to a huge great gaping black hole. The battle was over. There were no more raised voices - what is there to argue about when you just don't care anymore?
It was easy for Ben. He had plenty of work - he just threw himself into that. He bought her gifts to compensate, to ease his conscience: diamonds, gold, a car. Well, money was no object. He smothered her with that. But time?
I can't take a holiday now... Maybe later in the year...
Ben was far too busy.
Lydia's infidelity didn't break Ben's heart. He'd fallen out of love with her long before that, he was just too cowardly to admit it. The dent to his ego was colossal, of course, but if he was honest - really,
really
honest, in one sense, he felt almost relieved. He'd always been the man in the Macy house, ever since his father left. He couldn't leave Lydia in the lurch. He couldn't walk out. He couldn't bear to be
that guy
.
And yet, keeping up the pretence had probably made him a worse guy still. He should have been honest. He was wasting her time. He should have let her go - find someone else - someone she could really be happy with.
But not
him
. Not Antoine. Ben would have given his last penny for it to be anyone else. It was bad enough that he lost his best friend. But having to tell Monique, realising Tristian would grow up with a part-time dad? That's the bit that broke Ben's heart.
Eve crouched down, anxiously peering beneath the cubicle doors. She breathed a sigh of relief - they were empty. She slipped inside the door on the right, quietly closing it and sliding the bolt across. She took her phone from her handbag, tapping through to her contacts.
'Amy?' she whispered, cringing at the echo. 'Hi. No, no. I'm fine. Listen, I need a favour...'
'Dance with me.'
'...What?'
'Dance with me,' Ben said again.
He'd sidled up to her out of nowhere looking sorry for himself. Eve just stared at him.
'Look, I don't know what's going to happen when we walk out of that door,' he said reticently, his voice barely audible over the music. 'From where I'm standing, it's not looking good. But we're here now. The music's playing... It's a wedding, Evelyn! Dance with me. Even if it's just once.'
Her hands were still wet. Cold. She never dried them properly - always in too much of a hurry. Eve stood there watching him. Ben smiled down. He led her to the floor.
Eve didn't feel like dancing. It was the last thing she wanted to do. She could feel everyone watching them.
Jesus...
Bernice was plastered.
What's she doing to that poor kid?
Ben clocked Eve gawking, raised his eyebrows and smiled. Eve felt his hands gently slide around her waist. She emitted a faint gasp as he pulled her towards him. Ben felt it; his smile quivered.