Nevertheless, I persevere, because it’s small talk and that’s what you do. “Does it … rhyme?”
He stares at me. For a moment I think he might hit me. And then he laughs in my face.
Leila is pretty quick to remove me from Atticus, and then I meet a woman called Tonks, who is a PR, lives in Chelsea, brays like a horse, and liberally scatters the most offensive swear words in sentences like confetti. Tonks has just come back from “fucking Bali” and has an amazing way of not actually listening to anything you’re saying, partly because whenever anyone else speaks, she just repeats, “Yah, yah, yah, yah, yah,” all the way through it.
Then there’s some guy who works for Simon Cowell and clearly thinks that makes him the most important person in the room; at least five “film producers” who say they’ve worked on big stuff like Star Wars but when I check on IMDB afterwards just seem to have made a short film two years ago; an “underground DJ” who’s too cool for school and looks at everyone she meets like they’re actual shit and tells me this room is full of “people with so much privilege it makes me sick”, although it later transpires that she has actually just left one the UK’s top private schools and is now studying at Oxford. And after I’ve met Indigo, who was recently “cancelled” after posting about a popular band and saying people should “beg, borrow or steal a ticket” which was interpreted as condoning theft, I’m just standing with some people, and I don’t even know who they are any more, but they’re jabbering on about promos, and their managers, and book deals, and I suddenly feel like I don’t belong here and I’m not even sorry about that. I’m … glad. Because I don’t want this. These aren’t my people. I glance over at Nate and Elliot, and Nate looks up, raises his eyebrows, and gives me this goofy grin and a little wave. And my heart is suddenly so full and I smile.
“Want to get out of here?” Leila says.
“Yeah,” I say. “Yeah, I do.”
CHAPTER FORTY
NATE
“This is so my happy place,” Elliot says, biting into his ShackMeister. “I feel much happier here.”
I think we all do. We’re sitting very contentedly around a mess of Shack burgers, cheesy fries and shakes, and with these goofballs, there isn’t a single place on earth I’d rather be.
I sneak a glance at Jack. I’m delighted he didn’t want to stay at the YouTubers party, but I’m curious as to why. He catches me looking. “What?” he asks.
I shrug. “Just wondering how we ended up at Shake Shack.”
“Because the other place was full of some of the worst people I’ve ever met in my life. Seriously, scrap everything I’ve ever said about wanting to be part of their world. I do not fit in their world. And they sure as hell don’t fit in mine.”
I smile and carry on with my burger.
“And, you know,” Jack continues, “now I think of it, that’s true of Dylan too.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. I forced the idea of Dylan into my life. I tried to make him fit, when he really didn’t.” He glances at me, wipes some ketchup off his chin, licks his finger and grins. “Ohhhh. Deeeeeep, huh?”
“Yeah, it’s deep. Deeeeeep.”
And I laugh, but really, I’m thinking. I’m wondering if that’s true of Tariq too. I thought he fitted in my life, but actually maybe he never did. Maybe he was never quite what I needed, and maybe I was never quite what he needed either. And I think that’s OK. I think sometimes you only get to know that after someone’s actually in your life. And I think sometimes you only realize that someone does fit after they’re not in your life any more. I glance back at Jack, and he gives me a wink, so I lob a cheesy fry at him, an action which immediately results in him throwing a plastic pot of ketchup at me.
“Sorry! Reflex action!” Jack grins at me maliciously. “Nate, you have ketchup dripping down your face – has anyone got a napkin? Actually, scrap that, let’s get a selfie, Nate’s never looked this stunning. This is the exact moment!”
And with that, before I’ve even chance to pull a tissue out, his phone is in his hand, he’s got his arm stretched out behind him, and everyone’s crowding in for the pic.
“Wait!” I protest. But it’s too late. It’s done, and Jack’s busy typing up some witty caption and uploading it.
“Hashtag ketchup face, hashtag Messy Gay,” Jack says, typing. “Huh. Leila? Why can’t I tag you?”
“Ah,” Leila smiles. “So, yes, I have something to tell you.” Leila looks between us, nodding.
“Are you pregnant?” Jack asks.
Leila screws her face up. “What? No. No, Jack, I’m not.”
“Sorry,” Jack says. “It’s just your voice sounded quite serious. Like, literally, that’s the exact tone of voice my mum used when she told me she was getting divorced from my dad – I was having flashbacks.” He shivers. “Ugh. So what is it?” He suddenly looks serious. “Oh god, oh, no, it’s not … you haven’t had some bad news? You’re not … sick?”
Leila stares at him. I put my burger down. Oh god. I really hope it’s not that.
“There are so many treatments now for things,” Jack says. “I’m sure it’ll—”
“Jack!” Leila snaps. “I’ve just deleted my accounts!”
My eyes widen. I glance at Elliot, who has stopped, mid-chew. Jack’s gawping at her. “Deleted?” he gasps. “But why?”
“You just saw why,” Leila says. “You saw exactly why. You don’t want to be part of that world, and I don’t either.”
“But you were successful,” Jack starts to babble, “you were making money, you had hundreds of thousands of followers, you were it, Leila, you were living the dream!”
Leila shakes her head. “I was living a nightmare.
