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“Did,” she corrected me.
I raised an eyebrow.
“Did? Did we not do that this afternoon?”
“Yes, of course we did.” She sighed. “But my heart’s not in it any more. It hasn’t been for a while. Music in general just… isn’t doing it for me.”
“You’re burning yourself out, aren’t you?” I said, as gently as I could.
“No shit, Sherlock,” she mumbled around the rim of her glass. She took a quick sip, then put it down again. “But it’s only for a couple more weeks. Twelve working days, I think? One final heroic push to the end. Then… it’s done. And I will pray every bloody day that Victoria gets well enough to resume her role in September. Because I can’t do it any more.”
“Two more weeks…” I repeated. It was all I could think of to say. I’d never felt so powerless in all my life. “Two more weeks.”
At that point, the food arrived. Petra moaned as she took her first bite of ravioli, and I wasn’t far off that myself with the caponata. She swallowed, then looked at me again.
“Is it all right if I get drunk tonight?”
I blinked.
“Sorry?”
“I just want to let go for one night. Never mind the hangover tomorrow. I just want to feel like myself again, and maybe a dose of alcohol will help. Is that okay with you? Will you be all right to drive?”
“Of course,” I said automatically. Privately I was thinking, If it brings the old Petra back to me – even for one night – then it’s worth a shot.
Chapter Forty-Seven
And for the most part, it did. After receiving my affirmative, Petra ordered a bottle of wine when the waiter came back to check everything was all right. Two glasses arrived with the bottle of white, but I only had half of one, then stuck to water. Petra chugged back the rest of her glass of Prosecco without even blinking, then giggled at my look of shock. I forced myself to giggle with her. I’d seen her drunk plenty of times before, and she was a happy drunk, not an angry or sad one. It would just be a case of dealing with the hangover the next morning. Luckily, we had coffee, energy drinks and painkillers all at home.
Being flourless, the chocolate olive oil cake she ordered for dessert did nothing to soak up the alcohol. By the time she’d eaten that, all that remained of the wine was the bottle, and she was getting that hazy look about her. But she was also laughing, and quipping, and generally acting as if everything was normal about our lives. It was like a gulp of oxygen after so long under water, and I latched onto it with a vice grip.
On the way home, she bid me stop off at my shop for another bottle. “I won’t drink it all tonight, of course. Just one more glass.” So I pulled into the car park and she threw open the door, but staggered as soon as she took a step out. “Oh, look at that, I’ve lost the ability to walk,” she laughed.
“Get back in, then. I’ll go and get it.” I shook my head as if in disapproval, but I was smiling as I walked into the shop. It was such a treat to see her happy, even if a substantial amount of alcohol had been involved.
By the time I’d made it around the shop, stopping to chat to one of my colleagues for a couple of minutes, Petra was waiting for me by the kiosk.
“Oh, hello,” I said, placing the bottle on the counter so that the lad could scan it. “What are you doing in here?”
“Missed you,” she said, pulling me into her and kissing me on the ear. She continued peppering the side of my face with kisses while I squirmed, never having been one for such overt public displays of affection.
“Okay, okay, let me pay,” I chuckled after a moment, disentangling myself from her to swipe my discount card and tap my payment card. “Come on then, Malinky. Let’s go.”
The nickname popped out before I could stop it, and I tensed after remembering her reaction the last time I used it, but she was halfway out the door, still giggling. She’d left the car unlocked, which in any other place on Earth would probably have been a red rag to a bull for thieves, but at half past eight on a country road in rural Cornwall, it was fine.
“May I?” she said, holding her hand out for the bottle. I handed it to her, then blinked in surprise as she twisted the cap off and took a swig straight from the bottle. But I shook the surprise off and started driving again, and twenty minutes later we were pulling up onto our driveway.
“Bit unseemly to be drinking from the bottle, isn’t it?” Petra said, looking down at the half-empty bottle in her hands. “Jesus. Where did it all go?”
“Your bladder,” I answered, unbuckling my seatbelt. “I’m surprised you’re not bursting.”
“I am!” Her tone indicated surprise, as if she’d only just realised this. “Oh my God, I actually am. Give us the key?”
I handed it to her and she staggered to the door, but she couldn’t seem to get the key in the lock.
“Get me,” she laughed. “Lost the ability to walk and unlock the door!”
“There we go,” I said, turning the key the right way, and she bolted upstairs to the bathroom while I lit some candles – the night was just starting to draw in, and it would be sunset in half an hour. Excitement was starting to flutter in my veins. I had the old Petra back, for tonight at least. I was fairly certain where the night would lead, and in just over two weeks’ time, I’d have her back forever. Our lives would return to normal, and with any luck, the gender-based stuff bubbling in my brain would simmer down and return to the dormant state in which it had rested for my entire adult life.
