Beginning

Nineteen years ago.

Charlie squeezed her drink, her third of the night, her face gnarled. The sight of it all set Rebecca’s teeth on edge. She couldn’t possibly still be angry. She sighed and crossed her arms. “What is it now?”

“I’m leaving,” Charlie shouted over the DJ. “I can’t stay.”

“All of it comes down to this,” Rebecca fired back, resuming their multi-day argument. “You have no moral standing to be preachy about capitalism. Look what it got you!” She was so tired of this conversation, which had spread from last evening, to bed this morning, to the cafe, the museum, and now the gig. They’d managed to keep it civil until tonight, but something about the environment had heightened their anger. Maybe it had finally gone on long enough. Maybe they’d settle it.

“That’s how you see this, is it,” Charlie roared. “I’m being preachy? Preachy!”

“I just mean, all of this, you’re part of it just like I am. And it’s just progress! Anyone who’s ever made a dent in the universe has first had to worry they were about to do irreparable damage.”

“Wouldn’t want to be preachy, would I?”

“Char!”

“I love you bab, but you’re talking tech bro bollocks.” She adopted a mocking tone, throwing her hands up. “Oh, capitalism, take the bitter with the better. Sell out humanity for a beach house, so long as the metrics say it’s fine. It’s making me want to vomit. Okay? You understand that this is the worst part of you, yeah?”

Rebecca was incensed. “Jesus, Charlie.”

“I’m sorry, okay. I’m sorry. I’m a bit hot. I’m going to get a hotel.” She started to move away.

“You’re really leaving?” Rebecca grabbed her arm. “Wait, wait. Please don’t. We just got here. I’ve had these tickets for months. You’ll waste a weekend playing some game but you can’t spend two hours with me at a gig.”

Charlie yanked her arm away and stopped. She sighed and turned to face the stage. Purple and green flashes of light washed over her, and caught the sheen of tears in her eyes. The corner of her lip curled and quivered, and Rebecca could see how tired she looked. Her eyes were half-open, sunken behind dark circles. “Becs, I’m leaving Magenta,” she said with unnerving detachment. “And you should too.”

“Right!” Rebecca snorted. “Chief Executive Officer and Chief Ethics Officer both depart same day. Hey!” She poked Charlie’s arm and stuck her tongue out. “We’re both C-E-O. How does that work?”

Charlie shook her head and continued to stare forward. “I just can’t, Becs. The myth-building the board are doing… it’s disgusting. They’ve made you into some kind of icon. I don’t recognise you when you’re there, or when you’re on TV.” She turned and gripped Rebecca’s arms, jolting her. “They’re demonising me. And my team! Why do you think that is? Knowing what I know now! If we walked away, together…”

“What!”

“…we can start over. Do it right from the beginning. They’re cooked without you, babe. Just come with me. Back to Birmingham. My whole team is going to walk. Arthur, Alastair, all of them. Those bastards will try to hold us to our contracts. But with…”

“Oh, love.” Rebecca’s eyes watered, and she couldn’t help but grin. What made Charlie good at her job was exactly this. She was speed-running the worst-case scenario, her words a breathless rush of what Rebecca could only see as adorable passion. “They can’t demonise you. You’re too cute to be a demon.” She hooked her arm around Charlie’s waist and pulled her tight, placing a gentle kiss on her cheek.

“Rebecca!” She jerked her face away. “I’m fucking serious!”

“I’m not! Okay?” Rebecca scrunched her face up and shook her head. “No more serious! Not tonight. No CEO tonight. Just music.”

“Becs, please.” She whispered her plea. “I need you with me on this. I really don’t feel safe there after this week.”

That was it, Rebecca thought. That’s what all of this had been about. “Char, the manifesto… you can’t be surprised…”

“I know, I know.”

“It was…”

“I bollocksed everything up. I know I did. But Becs…”

“Woah!” A boy stumbled straight through them, knocking them apart.

Charlie shoved the boy away. “Oi, do one!”

“Sorry, I’m so sorry,” said the lout in a captain’s hat. “You’re Rebecca Prue, yeah? I saw you speak! You’re a legend at SFSU! Not always Stanford, right?” She gripped her shoulder as he looked her up and down. “You’re an emo, I love it.”

“Right on,” she said with a nervous giggle. “Stay sad.”

“And you’re…”

“That’s Charlie,” Rebecca shouted, her smile returning at the excitement of getting to introduce her. “My brilliant, gorgeous, hot-headed girlfriend.”

With an exhale and a shake, Charlie had composed herself. She stuck her hand out, her face stretched into something that resembled politeness. “Charlotte King, alright, bab?”

“Dude, you’re British?” he slurred, and they all excused his attempt at an accent.

The boy could hardly keep his drinks down, Rebecca thought. Her stomach checked in and reminded her she shouldn’t cast stones.

Charlie nodded. “British, yes, for my sins. If you could excuse us.”

“Can I get a picture?” He fumbled for a camera from his shoulder bag. “My family owns this place. It gives us credibility. Big tech star like Rebecca Prue catching a show here.”

“Do you mind,” Charlie started, but Rebecca swatted the air with a giggle.

“We’d love to! She’s just mad because…” She tipped forward for a performative whisper. “I bought her company last week.”

“Are you bloody serious? You think that’s why?”

“Hey!” The boy dragooned someone from the crowd into holding his instant camera. “Get a picture of us three?” He thrust himself in between the two of them as the crowd roared. The act they were there to see must be taking the stage.

Rebecca slid her arm behind the boy and put her hand on Charlie’s back, but Charlie shot a quick glance and Rebecca let it drop.

Her face started to fall into a frown, but she knew she mustn’t let it—not in a photo.

Photos, like music, were forever.