Brew Books

Chapter 11

It takes at least ten minutes for everyone to put on shoes, grab coats and get ready to go. Will and I end up standing on the street outside the flat, somehow ready before everyone else.

'Bloody hell, hurry up,' Will says when the girls appear. Will is stamping his feet in the cold. I've got my arms clamped across my camel coat, freezing.

We walk down the high street to an Indian restaurant and claim a table for the lot of us. I'm wedged between Ed and Will, but Harper is across from me, and I can't help but keep stealing glances at him, because he's so good looking.

When our curries arrive I take a snap of the table stacked with food, naan and dips, and caption it "Dinner with the new flatmates" and save it to my Instagram story.

I feel a pang of sadness, thinking that usually at this time I'd be sitting down to a Sunday roast dinner with my boyfriend's family. No, my ex-boyfriend. But as long as he sees this snap, he'll know I'm having more fun without him than I ever could have at his family's house. Hopefully.

'So, babes,' Charlotte says, ripping off a piece of naan bread and dipping it into her tikka masala. 'I know things have been pretty shit lately...'

Beside me, Ed takes a big gulp of his beer.

'So we could all do with some cheering up,' Charlotte says. 'A friend of mine is doing a comedy gig in Camden soon. I have tickets for us all, so we can go and have a few drinks and have a little laugh together. Yes?'

Charlotte's accent isn't English. I hadn't heard her talk enough up until now to pick it up, but now I realise her accent is French.

'Char, you're a doll,' Kitty says. 'Plus that's like a good way to introduce Jane more to London.'

Charlotte glances up at me, her false eyelashes fluttering. 'Oh, sorry, I didn't realise you would be here. I didn't get you a ticket,' she says. 'So you can buy one if you want to come.'

'Oh,' I say, suddenly flustered. 'Um, well, that's okay, I'm sure I'll have a lot of settling in to do, anyway.'

'No, Jane, come,' Kitty says. 'You can have my ticket and I'll buy another one.'

'Oh, I had to put our names down on the list,' Charlotte interjects.

'I'm sure it's fine, Char,' Harper says.

'No, it's fine, honestly,' I say, feeling my cheeks flush a bit.

Charlotte shrugs. 'Sorry,' she says, and places a piece of naan between her lips.

Will raises his beer bottle to his lips, and mutters, 'don't worry,' to me, so quietly I almost don't hear him. I raise my eyebrows, and he just closes his eyes and shakes his head. I'm sure he means not to worry about Charlotte, but I am. I'm worried that she doesn't like me.

I don't join into much of the conversation for the rest of dinner. I notice Ed doesn't speak much either. I find myself compulsively checking my phone, looking for new messages and seeing who has viewed my Snapchat story. While the others chat and laugh, I pick at papadums until we pay the bill and leave.

It's before ten when we get home, but when Will says he's going to read in his room I say, 'same,' and go to mine.

I close the door, change into pyjamas, get into bed, and look at my Instagram story again. There's Harper dancing in the coffee shop, a picture from my run, and the photo of dinner. Drew has viewed all three.

I wonder what he thinks when he looks at my photos. Does he spare me a thought, or does he just tap through and move on? He rarely posts on social media, so I have no idea what he's doing with his day, and it drives me insane.

I force myself to open the book on my bedside table, but I stop reading every few paragraphs to check my phone again. I give up, turn off my light, and hope to get an early night. But I can hear Sylvie in the bedroom above me, playing music softly as she gets ready for bed.

The curtains dance gently in the breeze, but then I realise there shouldn't be a breeze. I stand up and go to the window, which is closed. I place my hand on the radiator. It's hot, but the room still feels cold. There must be a draft. I feel like a character in an eighteenth century novel. I guess this is what old London houses are like.

Outside, the sounds of the high street still make it through to me. I can hear traffic and voices, and someone singing. The unfamiliar sounds are jarring, and when I get back into bed I know there's no way I'm falling asleep any time soon.

I can't help myself. I read through old conversations with Drew, look at old photos of us together, and photos of Nadia, Rachel and Abby, and feel incredibly homesick for them, and for my old life. My throat constricts as I look at old photos of Drew and me, and I feel tears welling in my eyes. He's no longer my boyfriend. I'm not going to be with him. The future I imagined has turned to dust. And it's my fault.

Before I know what I'm doing, I send him a text saying, "Hey. I miss you."

He reads it three minutes later, and the dancing ellipses come up to show me that he's typing a reply, but then the dancing ellipses fall back down. My stomach twists with anxiety, as I wait for his reply. It doesn't come.

I don't get to sleep until one. I feel tense and all I can do is check my phone, again and again, for a new message that isn't coming. Waves of anxiety wash over me. I feel trapped, in this unfamiliar bedroom, and I can do nothing but force my eyes closed and try to sleep.

When I do finally get to sleep in this unfamiliar bed, I dream of two little boys. They look about five years old, and they're kicking a football in a garden. They're wearing matching Manchester United jerseys.

One has flaming red hair, while the other's hair is longer and more brown than red, but otherwise the boys are almost identical. Their shouts fill my head, but I can't quite make out what they're saying. I want to get closer to them, and hear their laughter, but in the dream I can't move any closer to them. No matter how much I try to move towards them, they're still in the distance, at the bottom of the garden, kicking the ball.

Instead, a woman, not much older than me, comes out of a house. I hadn't seen the house before, and even now I can't really make it out, I'm just vaguely aware that it's there. I can see her, standing on the back steps, with blonde highlights and a soft blue jumper that looks like cashmere.

'Tea's ready!' she calls into the yard. Her voice echoes around the garden, and around my head.

The redhead boy stops playing immediately and runs towards his mother, but the little brown-haired boy holds onto his football fiercely.

'Come on!' the little redhead yells, his voice childishly high-pitched.

'Inside for tea, now!' the woman says firmly. Her voice echoes through my head again.

The brown-haired boy doesn't speak a word. Just clutches at the football and glares.

• Author's Note •

Oooooh. Any thoughts about what this mysterious dream means?

And my question of the chapter for you, dear readers, is the following...

What's better? Tea or coffee?

Ah, the great debate.

See you next chapter!

elle xx