Stay Away

the first domino

London, 27th April 2022.

Scarlett and Fleur's flat is full of life when I walk out of their main bathroom, wrapped in a towel. I wanted to shower before the party started. I must have stared at my reflection in the mirror for too long, perfecting my smile. Scarlett clearly lied to me about what time everyone was arriving.

Looking back, I'm glad we broke up. He was a distraction and bad in bed, and I'm better than that anyway. It isn't like we were in a serious relationship – I mean, I hadn't even got around to telling Fleur and Scarlett yet. Mumma said she never liked him. It's all good.

The towel makes me stick out like a sore thumb amongst the well-dressed footballers in their dresses and suits. Everyone is going to a restaurant for dinner later on, and then Scarlett and Fleur have rented out a rooftop bar nearby for the night to have an even bigger party. I'm not sure why some of them are here now, and I know that this won't even be half of the people attending. My sister has a scary amount of 'friends' (Fleur doesn't have those, but these are her equivalent).

Quickly changing into the tight, sequined dress Fleur has held hostage in England for the past three years, I emerge from their guest bedroom with the practised grin painted onto my lips. In order for it to seem believable, I use the same determination I pour into every aspect of my life. "The celebrity is here!" announces Scarlett the minute I step into view, grabbing my hand and tugging me into the centre of their living room. There is a clamour of voices who try to get my attention. I decide to pace myself with doing the rounds of greeting people with inane small talk (footballers can be the worst when it comes to talking about tennis), until Fleur sidles up to Scarlett with the biggest grin on her face, and pulls her in the most disgustingly in-love kiss I have witnessed to date. I am speedy in my escape.

"Jaimie, it's nice to see you," Viv says excitedly as I squeeze her arm. "Fleur managed to get you to come visit?" It's no secret that I've been a little stubborn about coming to London recently, despite it being Scarlett's birthday today. The French Open is approaching with worrying haste, and I would like to win it this year. Fourth in the world comes at a price. I need the points to make it to the top three, too. Papa will begin to ask me if I truly care about my sport if I don't, and will be disappointed if I don't hold the number one spot for at least a day this year. Last year was not good enough. I neglected to remind him that I had a fractured wrist for a portion of it.

"I'm here for Scarlett," I tell Viv with a smirk. My sister's girlfriend is so much better than her. "Fleur should be worried." It's a joke, but Viv doesn't laugh. Instead, she points behind me. I make the mistake of turning round and following her index finger.

Why do Fleur and Scarlett have to shove the fact that they love each other in everybody's faces?

Before they get too carried away, someone flicks the dregs of their champagne flute at Scarlett, making her yelp in surprise, hands pushing Fleur away instinctively to cover her head. Fleur stumbles backwards, tripping over a pair of the many legs gathered around, and hits the floor with a thump – not before she swipes at a bottle of wine and knocks it over. It crashes to the floor, shattering, red wine flowing like a river of blood towards their new, cream futon. Scarlett begins to cackle. I search for the person who knocked over the first domino.

I find her to be a blonde woman who I'm sure I've met before.

Or, at least, I wish I had.

She's wearing a suit, but, as I stare at her longer, I notice she has no shirt underneath. The blazer is jet black against her pale skin, and the sleeves are bunched just above her elbows. The singular button keeping her dignity intact is shiny, new. It gleams under the soft lighting of Fleur's flat. Her face, I find, as my eyes trail upwards to it, holds a similar quality.