Free You Can’t Fall in Love With Your Ex (Can You?) by Sophie Ranald Page B

congratulate
her again – but I couldn’t find the words. I was saved by the sound of Roddy’s
key in the door and he came bursting in, carrying a bunch of yellow roses.
    “Mellifluous!”
he said. “What’s this rumour I hear?”
    “How
the hell did you find out?” Mel said.
    “I
keep my ear to the ground,” Roddy said, thrusting the flowers at Mel. “I may
have nicked these from Briony’s dressing room. She’s knee-deep in bouquets,
she’ll never miss them. Congratulations, darling girl, you’re on your way to
stardom!”
    “In
my dreams,” Mel said, but she was all pleased and giggly.
    “Come
on, let’s crack open a bottle,” Roddy said. “Oh – you already have. You’re way
ahead of me. Another bottle, then.”
    “I
don’t think we should, really,” Mel said. “I was just saying to Laura, Marius
is coming to class tomorrow and… you know.”
    “You
don’t want to turn up with a hangover on your first day as a First Artist,”
Roddy rolled his eyes. “Suck-up. Fair enough, though – it is nearly one. Have
you girls eaten?”
    “I
had a salad earlier,” Mel said.
    “I’m
not hungry,” I said. “I was just going to shower and go to bed, actually.”
    “I’ll
brush my teeth while your water gets hot,” Roddy said. “I know you, you take
hours in there.”
    “I
suppose it’s too late to ring Mum,” Mel said. “God, I’m too wired to sleep
though. I need to get my shoes sorted for tomorrow.”
    She
picked up her bag and went into her bedroom, her shoulders drooping with
tiredness.
    Roddy
and I collided with each other in the bathroom doorway. He put his arms round
me and gave me a squeeze, whispering, “It sucks, Laura, I know.”
    “It’s
cool,” I said. “I’m thrilled for Mel.”
    “Course
you are,” Roddy said, sticking his tongue out at me. “By the way, Lawsonski was
asking about you in the pub.”
    “He
was?”
    “Mmhm.
‘But who is ziz gorgeous girl, ze quiet one, who follows me everywhere I go and
who smokes like ze chimneys in Siberia would smoke if zere was coal to keep ze
peasants from freezing to death? I fear she is spy sent by ze KGB,’ he said.”
    “Piss
off,” I said, giggling in spite of myself. “He doesn’t talk like that.”
    “So
I said, ‘Why, Lawsonski, zat – sorry, that – is the fair Laura Braithwaite, my
dear friend and flatmate. Sadly she is betrothed to a high-ranking Kremlin
official, and if you so much as sniff her sweaty pointe shoes you will be sent
to the gulags forever.’”
    “Roddy,
don’t be such an arse!” I said. “What did he really say?”
    “Okay,
fine. Don’t let me have my fun,” Roddy said. “We were having lunch and he said
he’s looking for a flat – he’s being put up in some dodgy digs at the sec – and
he asked about my living arrangements. So I said I paid an extortionate amount
to share with the two of you, here, and he looked glum, and then he said, which
of you was the short blonde and which was the tall mousy one with the amazing
legs.”
    Being
described as having amazing legs slightly took the sting out of being called
mousy, but only just – amazing legs were, after all, a quality every single
woman in the company possessed, and hardly a distinguishing feature.
    “Then
what?” I said.
    “Aww,
not much,” Roddy admitted. “Keep up the stalking though, he’s noticed you.”
     
    The
next afternoon, as I rehearsed with the rest of the Corps de Ballet, going
through the already-familiar steps over and over until they were perfect, I
found my mind drifting away from my work to the upstairs rehearsal room where
Mel was working with Briony, Francoise and Steph. I knew I should be happy for
her, and I was, but my happiness was tainted with envy, and with anger at myself
for feeling envious. Mel hadn’t got this through luck or nepotism, but because
she worked bloody hard, relentlessly hard. She was talented, she took direction
well, she had an innate musical talent that I lacked. Did all