The Arrangement (Erotic Novella) by Olivia Fox Page B

herself,
showing uncharacteristic self-control. Too bad it makes me want to
slap her anyway. “Oh, and then there was Rich - the pianist - the
one with the orange Beetle and the monotone voice that used to send
you to sleep. Remember?”
    “Cayley,” Lily
warns, seeing as I’m about to blow steam out of my ears. “She
remembers her exes, OK. What’s your point?”
    Cayley perches next to me on the sofa, ready to impart her
next gem of idiocy. “Well, he was boring. Sorry, but he was . And you were - well
- normal with him -
like a normal girlfriend.”
    “Oh, is that right?!” I yell. “Whereas most of the time
I’m ab normal? Is
that it?! Or are you saying I only like shitty, boring men?! Which
is it, Cayley? What’s your fucking point?!” I pull myself upright
and grab my phone, ready to storm out.
    Cayley contorts
in on her stupidly-perfect self, looking all meek and delicate, and
Lily’s eyes are closed like she can’t bear to witness the murder
I’m about to commit in our flat.
    “Sorry,” Cayley
sighs. “I just care about you, Em. I wasn’t trying to be a bitch.
Honestly.”
    And my reply flies out and stings her before I’ve even had a
chance to process the words I’m saying. “No, Cayley. You
don’t need to
try.”

    *****

    I’m out of the flat within ten minutes, following an
inordinate amount of door slamming. I barely had time to wash and
pull clean clothes on, but I need some distance between me and
Cayley. I just care about
you … did she really just say that? Sure , Cayley. Sure you
do.
    I’m just some
dumb, blonde, silly thing to Cayley. Too loud. Too impulsive. The
opposite of the poise and elegance she’s always projected. Lily’s
the glue that holds our little threesome together. Without the
Lily-glue we’re just two random girls with nothing in common.
    I catch the bus, not the tube, because I need a bit more
thinking time before I see Harry. Which reminds me… someone was
calling me earlier. Please be Harry… please
be Harry… I think as I fish the phone from
my black glitzy bag. It’s the bag I had last night, and it looks
stupid with my slummy teeshirt, but screw it.
    Missed Calls 4 , my phone tells me. But
none of them is Harry, and my heart sinks a little. It’s Celia
instead. My fucked-up little niece, who I love to bits but man does she drive me up
the wall! I cringe as I check my voice-mail, dreading some new
catastrophe. What’ll it be? Stomach pumped? Shoplifting? Aggro
boyfriend? …Oh, the possibilities are endless. But it’s none of the
above.
    She’s getting help, her message tells me. She’s going to group
therapy. That alone is enough to leave me breathless, but the next
thing she says nearly stops my heart: “Thing is, Em, I’m meant to see all the people I’ve hurt. So
that’s you, for starters. And… fuck it. I need to say sorry to
Lily.”
    Damn right she does. Celia betrayed Lily in the worst way -
sleeping with her then -boyfriend, Tom. And so far, all she’s offered Lily is a
giggled, drunken ‘sorry’ . But I’m hopeful. Even though she’ll probably screw up, I’m
always hopeful with Celia. I have to be. Because I love her, and
because I’m all she’s got. So I text her, Meet u tomoro. Flying Pig? Lunch not booze x

    2.
    I've never felt weird about having keys to Harry's flat
before, but I feel weird about it now. Harry lives above Thrills and Frills , the
Soho-based lingerie store he's owned with his brother ever since
their grandparents died, leaving them a tonne of dosh. His flat has
always been like an extension of the shop, so I usually don't think
twice about letting myself in. His spare room is basically a stock
room, and I'm in and out all the time for one reason or another.
Plus, when we exploit the benefits of our friends with benefits arrangement,
it's generally at his place. I've even been known to hang out there
after work and lie in wait for him, naked and wanton in his big,
sturdy, king-sized man-bed. So why now am I