Page 17 of Under Your Spell

Serena: WHERE IS THE TEQUILA???

Serena: CLEMMIE

Serena: CLEMMIE

Serena: CLEMENTINE GRACE MONROE

Serena: I take it all back. May you have incredibly mediocre sex.

Lil: HenrY kiss Lil kiss!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Serena: Lil puked in your old wellies. I hope you’re happy now.

There’s also a notification reminding me of my appointment today. Oh, shit. In a turn of events that is entirely in keeping with my life at the moment, I am going to be late for therapy, unless I run out on my one-night stand right now. That feels like a sign from the universe, right?

I grab the notepad and pencil from the desk and chew my lip for a moment.

Dear Edward,

I write,

Thank you very much for a lovely evening. I really appreciated your time and effort.

What am I doing? Why do I sound like an elderly woman thanking him for cleaning out my attic? (I can already hear the joke Serena would make here – ‘More like your basement, Clem.’)

I crumple up the sheet of paper and try again.

Edward,

I had a great time, thank you.

Clemmie x

That will have to do. Before I can think better of it, I gather my belongings and creep from the room, pulling the door quietly shut behind me. I hurry down the hallway, scrabbling in my bag for my car keys. Thank God I had the sense to have Edward drive us here in my car last night so that I could make a speedy getaway.

I take the lift down to reception and keep my eyes on the ground as I push through the revolving door.

FLASH!

A light pops in front of my eyes, followed by another and another. My body instantly revolts, heart hammering, throat tightening.

Cameras. Cameras everywhere.

‘Oh, sorry, love,’ a man shouts as the camera flashes suddenly cut off. ‘Thought you were someone else.’

I grasp wordlessly at the collar of my wool coat, pulling it tight around me. Blinking against the bright dots still swimming in front of my eyes, his words register and I realize they’re not there for me. Air starts to filter back into my lungs. It’s been a long time since I was exposed to the paparazzi, and that moment of blind panic leaves me dizzy.

I wobble along on unsteady legs in the direction of the underground car park, concentrating on pulling in slow, deep breaths. I remember Edward saying something about a lot of the people at the wake booking rooms in this hotel, so it makes sense for the photographers to descend on a spot where multiple celebrities are likely to be appearing a little worse for wear the morning after.

For all I know my dad is staying here and they’re going to get eight hundred photos of ‘brave Ripp’ grieving his dear friend. The thought makes me queasy for more than one reason. It’s definitely time to jet out of here because I think being caught sneaking away from a man’s hotel room by my famous father in front of a wall of cameras might be my own personal worst nightmare.

I reach the safety of my car and press play on my audiobook, feeling the exhilaration of earlier creeping back in. I can’t believe I did that. I can’t believe that I, Clementine Monroe, had a one-night stand with the most gorgeous man on the planet, and it was so good. So good that it’s possibly ruined sex for me forever, but that’s a whole other issue. Serena and Lil are going to be unbearable.

It starts to rain and my windscreen wipers squeal across the window. I tap the steering wheel, full of an unfamiliar sense of energy and genuine elan. Who knew that casual sex could be such a mood booster. (Again, I hear Serena’s voice: ‘Everyone, Clemmie, literally everyone knows this.’)

Just under an hour after leaving the hotel, I pull into the outskirts of Oxford, up to the practice where my therapist, Ingrid, has her office.

She buzzes me in and even though I’m only a couple of minutes late I feel flustered into a rambling apology, which Ingrid observes in silence.