Six months out of university, living on her best friend's sofa in a dingy house share in Clapham with no job and no money, the bright future Fia Holliday had envisioned for herself is fading fast.
At least, until she scores the internship of a life...
It was the Sunday evening before race week in Barcelona, and even though the city hummed with life and she was surrounded by two of her closest friends, all Fia could feel was numb.
She stood on the balcony of her hotel room and stared at the view, willing herself to be struck by its beauty. The sky was a delicate, cloudless blue, perfectly smooth like a sheet of stretched silk. Below, a flock of pigeons flew over the terracotta rooftops. Washing was strung up between buildings to dry, and it billowed in a light breeze, revealing flickering images of the streets beneath it. The air was warm and full of smells: concrete and food and petrol fumes. The scene should have produced some kind of feeling in Fia, but no matter how long she stared at it, she was unmoved by its abundance.
Minutes later, Claudia and Adam came outside with a bottle of wine and glasses. "To celebrate," Claudia explained, placing the glasses on the white plastic table as Adam uncorked the bottle. She was talking about the interview in The Times that Fia had secured for Charles. "Here's to you achieving the impossible."
"I just feel relieved that it all went smoothly, to be honest," said Fia, re-reading the title for what felt like the hundredth time.
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"You must have him wrapped around your little finger," said Adam.
She shrugged, feeling her relief draining into a faint ache of sadness like sand grains running through an hourglass.
"Well, congratulations," said Claudia.
She arranged her face into a smile. "Thanks. Are you hungry?"
"Always," said Adam, pouring the dark red liquid.
Fia headed inside, and Claudia followed, closing the door behind them. She walked over to the kitchenette to retrieve the tapas they'd bought from the supermarket.
"Are you okay?" Claudia asked.
She forced another smile. "Fine. Why wouldn't I be?"
Claudia shrugged, swilling wine around her glass. "You just seem a bit sad, that's all."
Fia didn't comment. She arranged slices of prosciutto and cheese on a platter and popped the lid off a jar of olives. Then they carried everything outside and sat around the table. Fia took a sip of wine, letting it warm in her mouth, as Claudia and Adam fought over who got first dibs on the brie.
Adam stared at her empty plate. "Aren't you going to eat anything?"
"I'm not really hungry." It wasn't her stomach that felt empty; it was her whole body. Seeing Charles' interview had dredged up feelings she'd been trying to suppress—and that she had, until now, been successful in evading. She kept thinking about the silence after she'd told him she loved him—how complete it had been, and how crushing, even though she had asked for it. It was like he'd closed his hand into a fist around her heart.
She reached for a breadstick and snapped it in half, taking a tentative bite. She immediately wished she hadn't. Her mouth was dry and acidic from the wine.
