Cassie looked up, half hidden in the shadows. “Just a sec, Aly. I’m in the middle of something.” There was a guilty edge to her expression, and as she leaned forward for her drink, the reason became clear: sprawling beside her in too-tight jeans and another ridiculous cravat, one arm draped around her bare shoulders.
“Dakota.” Alice greeted him coolly, her elation suddenly fading. “I didn’t know you were in town.”
“Yeah, just scoping for some shoots.” He was playing with an unlit cigarette, tapping it nervously between thumb and index finger as if he could feel the force of her displeasure. Or, more likely, he was wired. “How’ve you been?”
“Oh, just peachy,” Alice replied. She reached for Cassie’s bony wrist. “We’ll be right back.”
Cassie’s protest was lost under the music as Alice dragged her determinedly toward the front exit.
“What the hell are you playing at?”
Outside, it was dark and muggy, the dirty backstreet empty save the clusters of casual smokers who looked up at the sound of Alice’s fierce demand.
“I don’t know what you mean.” Cassie looked away. “Will you let go of me?”
“So you can go back inside, to him?” Alice released her, suddenly not so much angry as worn out. Over and over again, she’d watched Cassie do this, as if the outcome would be any different. Her optimism would almost be admirable, if it weren’t so tragic. “God, Cassie, are you really going to do this again?” She couldn’t help the pleading note that crept into her voice. “Seriously?”
“He’s sorry,” Cassie insisted, folding her arms defiantly. “He—he just does this stuff because he’s scared, because we mean so much to each other…” The words were confident, but her eyes began to shine with tears. “He can’t help it, sabotaging everything, but Alice, I know he can get it together.” Cassie looked up, carefully swiping under the lashes to preserve the sanctity of her eyeliner.
Alice exhaled. This was usually her cue to soften, comforting Cassie and encouraging her to move on with her life, to put those painful “almosts” behind her. But this time, Alice couldn’t find it in her, and looking at Cassie—with that powerless expression she always wore whenever Dakota came sauntering back around—Alice knew suddenly what she had to do.
“He’s a selfish, cheating piece of shit,” she said, shortly. Cassie blinked with surprise, but Alice just stared evenly at her, some long-frayed cord in her snapping cleanly apart. “If he loved you, he wouldn’t hurt you. If he loved you, he wouldn’t keep you dangling like this. It’s your fault, Cassie!” She was in full flow now, gathering all the harsh truths she’d bitten back for the sake of their friendship. “Not the old stuff, in the beginning—you trusted him, and he let you down—fine. But everything since then: the past five f**king years of misery, that’s all your doing. You could be happy, with Vitolio, or someone else, but you don’t want it, do you? All that shit you were saying about an open relationship, it’s all just so you can go running back to him!”
“But—”
“I don’t want to hear it,” Alice cut her off, still cold. “You keep telling yourself these stories, all his excuses, but at the end of the day, he’s not with you because he chooses not to be! We all have a f**king choice, and you’re choosing to be miserable and wretched.” She took a breath, steeling herself. “So, I’m done.”
“What do you mean?” Cassie’s lip trembled, eyes wide with confusion.
“I’m done—with you, with all of this. Go back to him, get your heart broken again, whatever you want.” Alice shrugged, sharp and final. “But I don’t want to hear a word. Cry to somebody else.” Cassie opened her mouth in protest, but she didn’t pause. “I mean it. Don’t call me, don’t even see me while you’re still doing this. I can’t take it anymore.”
In her whole life, Alice had never fought with a friend or walked away from somebody in tears, but as she turned the corner, she didn’t feel even a pang of regret for her decision. With every step away from Cassie’s forlorn figure, she half expected her resolve to slip, pulled down by guilt and sympathy, but none came. She had truly reached her limit.
***
It was almost midnight, but Alice found herself still restless, walking back toward the main street that was overflowing with late-night revelers. She could catch the last Tube home, if she hurried, but the prospect of a cup of tea and bed seemed weak when she still had so much energy vibrating in her system. Pulling out her phone, she quickly dialed. “Hi—Nathan?”
“Hey, you.” He sounded relaxed, but then concern crept into his tone. “What’s going on? Are you OK?”
She laughed at his panic. “Oh, God, you’re going to think I’m in trouble every time I call, aren’t you?”
“Only when it’s this late.” Nathan chuckled. “So you’re all right? No need for bail and a lawyer?”
“None at all,” Alice reassured him. She paused by the curb, preemptively raising her arm to hail a cab. “I could go for takeout though. Say, at yours…?”
The suggestion lingered between them, its implications clear.
“I’ll order now,” he said immediately. “Chinese? Pizza? Thai?”
“You choose.” Alice felt herself smile, already full of anticipation. The food was hardly the most important thing. “I’ll be there in twenty.”
***
The food was cold by the time they got around to eating it, but Alice nonetheless thought it the most delicious takeout she’d ever tasted—sprawled on his bedroom floor surrounded by hastily discarded clothing. Soon, however, tiredness overtook them, and they returned to bed, collapsing heavy limbed into a satisfied sleep.
For a few hours, at least. Then, Alice woke with a start. Faking their own deaths.
Her earlier comment in the club flared bright enough to cut through the sleepy afterglow of her late night and Nathan’s arms, warm around her. She sat up, breathing quickly as the possibility became solid: crossing over from a vague dream state to something real and full of potential.
The thought of Ella had woken Alice before, but this time, it wasn’t just a jumbled dream—this time, it was revelation. Nathan had said that there was no recent trace of this Kate Jackson aside from the address he’d found, that it was just another alias. But what if the opposite were actually true—what if Kate Jackson was Ella’s original identity? Alice considered it breathlessly. There had to be a starting point, surely, before the fake identities and lies had begun; there had to be a real person, buried beneath Ella’s casual deception. Perhaps this was it. That would explain why she hadn’t run up vast debts in the name or left the sort of wreckage she’d so casually inflicted on all her other victims. Because she’d wanted to keep it clear and unblemished, a sort of backup, for when the false names ran out.