My Map of You (32 page)

‘So, that's why you were so cold towards me when I arrived in Greece?' he said slowly, a look of horrible realisation crossing his face. ‘It was because you'd been shagging your neighbour the whole time.'

‘It wasn't the whole time,' she said at once, realising a fraction too late that it was definitely not the right thing to say.

‘Oh, well, that makes it all right then.' Rupert laughed, but it was a nasty, hard sound.

‘Of course it doesn't.' Holly dared herself to look at him. ‘I'm sorry I never told you, but I was scared and—'

‘You were
scared
?' he scoffed, and took an aggressive swig of her wine. ‘You were so scared that you rolled over on to your back as soon as my back was turned. Yeah, that sounds exactly right.'

There was barely a sound in the dining room now. A few less scrupulous guests had even turned their chairs so that they could enjoy a proper view. Holly hated all of them, but she hated herself more.

‘It didn't mean anything,' she lied. ‘It was just a moment of madness. I'd been drinking and there was a storm and—'

‘Wow,' Rupert interrupted, staring at her as though she was a total stranger. ‘You really are your mother's daughter, aren't you? Didn't she cheat with her own twin sister's boyfriend?'

Holly felt like she'd been slapped, but what could she say? He was absolutely right – she had done exactly what her mum had done. She was no better than Jenny Wright had been at her very worst. She was a lost cause, an evil person and a waste of everyone's time.

‘I'm so sorry,' she said. Rupert was too angry with her to be upset yet, but she knew he would give in to the tears later. She couldn't bear to think of him being in pain.
You should have thought about that before
, she scolded herself. It was no good being sorry for it now, all these weeks later.

‘I'm sorry too.' He finally sat back down in his chair. ‘I'm sorry that I ever met you in the first place. I'm sorry that I believed you were special, and I'm sorry that I ever fell in love with you. I'm sorry that I planned this night and bought you that ring. I'm sorry that I called my parents today and told them that I was going to propose to the woman of my dreams.' At this, his voice cracked. The woman two tables away sobbed loudly into her napkin and there was an assorted chorus of tuts from every corner of the room. Even Jonathan Ross hated her.

‘Aidan means nothing to me,' she continued, wincing internally at the lie. ‘I was going mad over there. All that stuff about my auntie and my mum, and inheriting that house – it just made me crazy. I know it's not an excuse, but I want you to know that I never set out to hurt or deceive you.'

It seemed bizarre to Holly now that she'd even entertained the idea that she was falling in love with Aidan. There had been moments, of course, when the intensity between them had reached a peak and she'd thought what she was feeling was real, but then he'd betrayed her with his lies and all she'd felt was angry and ridiculous. Her dear, sweet Rupert was so much better than Aidan in so many ways, and here she was, throwing him away. What was the matter with her?

‘I would never cheat on you, Holly,' he said. ‘You said you loved me, but how could you do this to a person you love? To me?'

‘I don't know.' She shook her head and rubbed the tears off her cheeks. ‘But I can't lie to you any more. I don't want to be like my mother – what she did caused so many people so much pain, I can't make the same mistakes.'

‘You already did,' Rupert reminded her, but he'd stopped shouting. Holly wasn't sure this defeated and broken version of him was any better than the angry one. This Rupert scared her.

‘I'm so sorry,' she whispered, hating the emptiness in her voice. She heard the nearby woman let out a disbelieving snort.

‘You know what?' Rupert raised weary eyes to her. ‘I could probably try to forgive you for cheating on me with
that weird Irish bloke, but only if I believed for a second that you actually loved me.'

She wanted to fall at his feet and tell him that she did love him, that the whole thing had been a mistake and that it was him she wanted to grow old with, but it just wasn't the truth.

‘You really don't love me at all, do you? For the first year we were together, you weren't even being yourself around me. I trusted you all that time, but you never trusted me – not even enough to be honest about your past or anything. It's like you told yourself not to fall for me, so you didn't.'

He'd got it so spot on that for a moment Holly was rendered speechless.

‘I didn't tell myself,' she whispered. ‘I just didn't know that I could love you. It sounds mad, I know, but it's the truth.'

‘How can I believe anything you say now?' He sounded almost regretful. Holly could feel him slipping away from her and she felt the panic mounting in her chest. ‘Please don't do this,' she begged, no longer caring that everyone in The Ivy was staring at them. ‘I can't bear for it to end like this. I can change.'

Rupert sighed and sat back in his chair. ‘That's just it, Holly. I don't want you to change – I've never wanted that. All I wanted was the real you. Why do you think you have to become someone else?'

‘I didn't. I don't,' she lied, stumbling over her words.

Rupert just stared at her, shaking his head. The sadness in his eyes was unbearable, and Holly started furiously twisting the napkin that was still lying in her lap.

She heard him stand up and watched, helplessly, as he pushed the chair back under the table. For a few seconds they just looked at each other, then he turned to go.

‘Do you have somewhere you can stay tonight?' he asked, almost as an afterthought. Holly simply nodded, then watched in silence as he weaved his way around the tables, through the curtain into the cloakroom, and out of her life.

‘The
hottest summer since records began!' screamed the tabloids.

‘Half-price offers on all barbecues!' yelled the voiceover man on the Argos TV adverts.

London was sweltering. When a balmy June eased rainlessly into a humid July, the initial joy of the capital's inhabitants descended rapidly into a mild panic. It was too hot now, everyone moaned. Commuters were passing out on the underground and the Camden drunks were peaking earlier every day, having been woken by the relentless heat and then been tempted by the thirst-quenching qualities of a cold can of cider. Down on Lockside, Holly and Ivy perched soundlessly in the shade of their stall, any conversation they may have had bulldozed out of them by the rocketing temperatures. Holly could only think how much nicer it would be if she was back in Zakynthos, where this sort of weather was catered for far more efficiently. She had yet to hear anything about a potential buyer for Sandra's house.

‘I'm going to get some more water,' she croaked at Ivy, who merely fanned her face in reply. While the weather certainly brought the crowds to the market, nobody seemed to be spending money on anything other than hats, ice lollies and sun lotion. It had been a very slow day.

Holly took her drink to her favourite spot up on the
bridge. The sky was the colour of a blue Slush Puppie and there was a clump of clouds nestled fatly in the west.

She took out her phone and scrolled again to the last message she'd received from Rupert. It was nothing groundbreaking, just a thank you for leaving the keys at the reception of his work followed by a ‘take care'. Holly kept waiting to fall apart, for the realisation to sink in and drag her under, but it had never come. After that first awful night, when Rupert had walked out and left her in The Ivy and Holly had wandered around Soho in a daze, tears all over her face, until she plucked up enough courage to call Ivy and beg for a bed for the night, she hadn't felt anything other than a kind of numbness and – something she hadn't admitted to anyone – a small amount of relief. She wasn't sure whether it was finally letting go of her secret about what had happened in Zakynthos or if it was being released from a relationship that she knew in her heart wasn't right, but she did feel lighter somehow, as if she could spread metaphorical wings and take off in flight to anywhere she liked.

She hadn't, though – she'd stayed put. It would have been easy to pack up and run away, but she didn't want to abandon her business, or Ivy. And where would she go, anyway? There was only one place her head ever took her, and she didn't feel ready to face what was waiting for her there yet. She sensed that her journey, as she loathed describing it – even to herself – had led her to where she was now for a reason. She was beginning to think of fate in a similar way to Hope the fairy, or her nasty little Insomnia Troll, as a tricky, mischievous little creature throwing obstacles in her path wherever she went. She
couldn't really be angry with it, though, or even afraid. There was no battling the inevitable.

Her phone started ringing in her hand, startling her so much that she almost dropped it into the canal below.

‘We still on for tonight?' Aliana always got straight to the point.

‘Yes,' Holly forced herself to sound more enthusiastic than she felt.

‘I'll come and get you from the stall,' she was informed. ‘And I'm broke, so the first two rounds are on you, right?'

‘I guess so,' Holly replied. ‘You know I can never say no to you.'

‘Too right,' Aliana chirped, and Holly had to laugh.

‘Do you think I should get an epilator?'

Aliana had stretched her bare legs out across the bench seat and was picking at an ingrown hair in disgust. They had pitched up in the Pembroke pub, not far from Primrose Hill, and the beer garden was full to overflowing with rowdy groups of mildly inebriated locals.

Holly reached across and picked a stray eyelash off Aliana's cheek, blowing it swiftly into the air. ‘There,' she said. ‘I've made a wish that you'll never grow hair on your legs again.'

‘If you say it out loud, it'll never come true,' Aliana shrieked, but she was laughing.

Holly stared into the bottom of her glass. She had something to tell her friend, but she needed to wait for the right moment. If she knew Aliana, the reaction was going to be a very loud one.

‘Aren't you going to ask me?' Aliana said suddenly, nudging Holly under the table with her sandalled foot.

‘Ask you what?' Holly was genuinely at a loss.

‘I saw Rupert last night.'

‘How would I have known that?' she asked. ‘Is he well? That's all I want to know.'

‘Why do you even care?' Aliana was aghast. ‘He walked out and left you alone in the bloody Ivy. I'd say that's unforgivable!'

‘I deserved it.' Holly reached for another of the triple-cooked chips they'd ordered. They were greasy and going cold, but she swallowed it anyway before continuing. ‘He still paid the bill before he left, even though I'd just gone and broken his heart. I'd say that makes him probably the most decent man alive.'

Aliana pulled a face. ‘I'm glad you feel that way,' she said.

‘What is it?' Holly pressed, noticing her friend's slightly sheepish expression.

‘He's started seeing someone.'

She'd expected to feel a stab of pain at the news when it inevitably came, but now that it had happened Holly realised that she felt fine. In fact, she almost felt happy – now she could finally let go of some of the suffocating guilt that she'd been lugging around with her like a bag of wet cement.

‘I'm happy for him,' she said.

‘She's a total airhead,' Aliana went on. ‘Hangs off his every word, so of course he's smitten. Not that he wasn't with you,' she added quickly.

Holly laughed and took a swig of her drink. Aliana was still looking mutinous, although Holly suspected it might have more to do with the fact that Rupert had moved on with someone that wasn't her. She had always known that Aliana had a huge crush on him, even if they had never openly discussed it.

‘Are you missing Zakynthos?' Aliana asked now, shocking Holly with such a rare flash of insight.

‘So much,' Holly blurted, slapping a hand over her mouth when she realised what she'd said.

Aliana laughed and wagged a finger. ‘You're allowed to miss the place, you know? You can even go and live there if you miss it that much. Why the hell would you want to live here anyway, when you have a house in Zante?'

For a brief second, Holly felt her heart fill up with pleasure at the thought of it, but then she shook her head.

‘Something actually happened today that means I really have to stay here,' she teased, laughing as Aliana's eyes widened with intrigue.

‘Well …' Her friend was literally bouncing on the spot.

Holly waited for her to stop jogging the table. ‘This guy came to the stall earlier and told me he works as a scout for an upcoming designer. He'd had a meeting with Fiona, of all people.'

Aliana's eyebrows went up so far they were in danger of colliding with a passing plane.

‘I know! She actually showed him a few items of mine that she had photos of on her iPad and told him to come and seek me out. I feel guilty for ever bad-mouthing her now. Anyway, I talked to this bloke for a while and then he wandered off again and came back ten minutes later
with his boss in tow. He then took a look at my stuff and, well, he wants me to make some garments for a show he's got coming up and—'

‘THAT'S AMAZING!' Aliana yelled, leaping up from her seat and spilling a good portion of Holly's drink in the process.

‘I know!' Holly laughed. ‘I only have three weeks to create five outfits completely from scratch, so I'm going to be very busy – but I think it could be really good for me, and for the business. Apparently he dedicates a portion of each of his shows to unknown designers and, well, people like me. I don't really think of myself as a designer, but I suppose I am.'

‘What's his name, this bloke?' Aliana asked, sitting back down.

‘Anton Bazanov. He's Russian.'

‘Not
the
Anton Bazanov, of AB Couture?' Aliana was practically frothing at the mouth. ‘He's only, like, the biggest up-and-coming designer on the planet!'

‘I thought the name sounded familiar,' Holly grinned.

‘I can't believe Anton Bazanov has asked
you
to be part of his show.' Aliana sounded almost disgusted. ‘And he's bloody gorgeous! If I didn't love you so much then I'd be insane with jealousy. In fact, sod that – I
am
insane with jealousy. And I hate you very much,' she added, making them both laugh.

The summer heatwave strode confidently from July into August, causing newsreaders to talk fervently about hosepipe bans and the risk of forest fires. Holly woke up most mornings to discover that her mum's world map had
fallen off the wall in her tiny studio flat because the Blu-Tack had melted during the night. She'd added her own, different-coloured pin to the tiny green dot of Zakynthos, and spent a lot of time just lying on her narrow bed gazing up at the map, as she knew Jenny must have done once upon a time, dreaming of all the places she could explore.

Her fingers were blistered from all the extra hours' sewing she'd put in to get everything ready for the AB Couture show, which was taking place that evening at a very trendy pop-up venue in Hoxton, East London. Anton had popped to the stall in person just a few days ago to check that she was on track and pass on all the details.

The Russian had told Holly that she must arrive at the venue no later than 4 p.m., because she needed time to set up and meet the models who would be wearing her ‘collection', as he referred to it.

‘I can recognise zee talent ven I see it,' he explained, his glorious Russian growl making the hairs on her arms stand up. ‘I vant to offer chance to all zee talented people I meet.' And what a chance it was.

Hoxton Gallery was situated in a disused railway arch at the Old Street end of Kingsland Road, which connected the borough of Hackney to the City. Aside from clearing out all the fixtures and rubble, the space had been left largely unchanged, with exposed brickwork curving up from floor to half-moon ceiling. As well as fitting in perfectly with the hip simplicity so adored by the capital's fashionistas, the linear design also provided a desirable blank canvas to whoever rented it out for the evening.

Anton Bazanov, Holly had learnt after many a late-night
Googling session, was a big fan of simple and understated designs when it came to his clothing (save for the extravagant hats he liked to wear), and this had translated into the layout of tonight's show too. Rather than hang up fairy-light bunting and erect speakers the size of small cars, he'd opted for a plain black runway with one large screen at the far end, and a few age-stained mirrors propped up between the rows of chairs. An industrial-sized fan was standing at the end of the catwalk waiting to be switched on, and everywhere Holly looked, Anton's army of staff were all busy scurrying about with clothing bags, cases of make-up and complicated-looking hairdryers. There was a buzz of excited expectation in the air, and Holly felt the telltale bubbles of nervousness start to work their way up from her belly to her throat.

‘Who are you?' barked a bored-sounding voice.

Holly jumped guiltily. ‘I'm, er, Holly. Holly Wright.'

The woman frowned and ran a slim finger down the clipboard she was holding. Her nails had been filed into sharp points and were painted black to match the polished catwalk.

‘Oh, you're
that
Holly – the designer. You should have said. Follow me.'

Holly followed, thinking privately that she bloody well
had
said, but guessing that it was probably best to remain mute. Her head was spinning as she took in the scenes of organised chaos unfolding around her. Clipboard woman led her past the catwalk and lifted the edge of a black curtain to let Holly pass underneath. The back of the room had been obscured on both sides and separated by clothing rails into rectangular sections of varying sizes. It was
into one of the smaller areas that Holly was told to set up and wait for her models. Clipboard handed her a schedule, pointed vaguely to where the toilets were and scurried away again, narrowly missing a man with bright green hair who was balancing precariously on a stepladder.

‘I know what you're thinking, and you're right – we are all bonkers.'

Holly turned to find a man standing in her little alcove. He was neck-achingly tall and his hair was bleached the colour of lemon curd.

‘Are you one of my models?' Holly guessed.

He nodded, extending a long, thin hand in her direction. ‘I'm Bernie,' he told her, ‘but everyone calls me B. And I don't mind at all, because that's what all Beyoncé's friends call her, and she's the queen of the bloody world.'