Page 5 of The Edge of Always

‘You have to go but you could wait a bit, miss the opening if you like. I’d understand that with your fringe, the selfies will be appalling. But either way, you’re going.’

I have no idea why Mae is pushing this.

‘We’ll call it The Paris Plan,’ she says, sitting on her hands. ‘Aren’t you just a bit curious to see the new painting?’

‘Yes, of course I am. But that doesn’t mean I can go. I just can’t… You know that I can’t.’

‘You could blog while you’re there, do a Spencer special. Be honest, there’s literally no one better placed than you to do a Spencer special.’

She’s talking so fast she’s barely breathing at this point.

It’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.

‘Stop saying the words Spencer Special. What about my other work? Earl’s stuff isn’t exactly my bag these days.’

It’s the first objection that springs to mind. The first, but far from my last.

‘It’s an art history blog. You’re not contractually obligated to only talk about death art. Plus, no one will die if you don’t turn up to work for three days.’ Unlike Emmett – who I definitely never think about – people would actually die if he didn’t turn up for work. ‘And anyway, you can finish and edit the Kirchner episode today if you work late – I’ll help.’

It’s a stupid idea. In a lifetime of questionable ideas (she has a tattoo of a pigeon on her thigh), this has to be one of Mae’s worst. I don’t want to go to Paris. Too many people, too much stuff.

Mae isn’t done. ‘Plus, you’re the one who’s always droning on and on about the difference between seeing and looking at art.’

I start biting my nail.

‘Dr Dave would never agree to it.’

‘Dave loves me. I’ll ask him.’

Mae has swivelled round to face me and has one leg tucked under her on the couch.

‘You can go to Paris,’ I tell her, ‘if you’re so desperate to see the painting. I like it here.’

‘Trust me, I would. But Gemma said I can’t have any more time off.’ She sighs dramatically.

‘Now look at that painting. That painting will make you want to go to Paris. Trust me.’

Mae reaches out and laces her fingers into mine. We’ve been like this for years. Trauma bonded, she calls it. I’d just say we’re close. Best friends.

With my free hand, I reach for my phone and try to open the link again.

Mae squeezes my hand as the page loads, slowly, clunkily revealing the painting.

‘This is going to change everything,’ she tells me as it loads.

I go to say that she’s ridiculous, way too dramatic, that nothing, not even a painting from Earl, could change everything.

But as the painting fills my phone screen, I see what she means.

It’s beautiful, so beautiful.

But it’s not the beauty of the piece that’s making my eyes fill with tears.

No, it’s the fact that there’s a girl in the painting, and well, that girl, it’s me.