Rachel stared after him. He was gone before Anna, Will and Tom reappeared.
27
Rachel woke up early, parched and feeling a little sick. Within seconds she realised she had a very special hangover on her hands: a morning after the night before that would require careful, deliberate management.
Too much water, drunk too fast, might lead to vomiting – and if she began being sick, who knew when she’d stop. On the other hand, if Rachel drank toolittlewater, the throbbing at her temples would worsen.
Paracetamol, she knew from experience, must be approached with caution. Painkillers sometimes irritated her stomach, so she decided to put them off until her queasy gut had accepted a peace offering of toast.
Rachel glanced at her phone’s home screen for the time: 7.53 a.m.
She shuddered. This was a foul time to be up on a Sunday, especially after going to sleep so late; it must have been after one when she got home.
It was only when she sat up in bed that Rachel realised she couldn’t remember how she’d got there in the first place. Her last recollection was of being in a black cab and telling Anna, Will and Tom how much she loved them.
Tom.
FUCK.
She’dkissedhim. Or he’d kissed her … He’d started it, technically – she was going to cling to that.
And Jack had been there, and he’d been jealous. He’d actually been a bit of a wanker, if she was remembering right. He’d said something too: something about her and Tom that seemed important.
She couldn’t remember it now, but perhaps she would when her insides started functioning properly again.
She needed that toast. She needed something to drink.
Rachel stood up – definitely a little shaky on her feet – and stumbled across the room to retrieve her dressing gown.
God only knew how she’d ended up wearing pyjamas. A quick check revealed she still had her bra on beneath her floral button-down top. This suggested Anna had been involved in getting her out of her clothes and into her nightwear.
Memories – some fuzzy and others all too clear – began bursting across Rachel’s consciousness, exploding one after another like tiny fireworks. She pulled her star-print towelling robe around her shoulders, then leaned her head against her closed bedroom door and took a deep breath. Reluctantly, she let her mind’s eye zoom back in on the thing she knew for sure was true, but which she’d been trying to keep out of focus.
In her head, she could see herself doing it: standing on tiptoes so she could properly reach Tom’s lips – necessary even in heels. Throwing her arms around him without a second of consideration. Sort of – oh God –launching herselfat him, only for him to pull back in total amazement.
Yes, he’d put his mouth on hers first – but he’d jerked away as if she’d tasered him the moment she began to respond. That much Rachel definitely remembered.
The reality of her situation began to dawn on her. Multiple pieces of the puzzle seemed to float in the air, then begin arranging themselves in slow motion. Watching the awful picture emerge was like waiting for the inevitableSMASH!after knocking over a glass; it seemed to take forever, but it was always going to happen. Rachel turned to lean her back against the bedroom door. She shut her eyes, confronting the ugly conclusion she’d now come to.
That soft kiss on her lips was the final act from Tom’s ‘Be the Perfect Fake Boyfriend’ playbook. It was just part of his franklyincredibleperformance. She’d thrown herself at him because the line between truth and lies had become blurred in her head – much to Tom’s horror, it seemed.
Rachel contemplated blaming it all on the fact that she’d been drinking. That was certainly the spin she’d have to put on things when she spoke to Tom – though, at this point, she didn’t know how she’d even be able to look at him without melting into a puddle of shame.
She traced her top lip with her index finger, trying to put herself back in the moment – trying to make sense of what had happened. A shiver rushed down her spine. It was like she’d tasted something strange but lovely and couldn’t accurately describe it, even to herself. At least, not without trying it again …
STOP, Rachel told herself, just as her stomach rolled over, finally threatening mutiny. She straightened up, deciding to obey her body’s demand for carbs.
She plodded to the bathroom, used the loo and brushed her teeth, then looked in the mirror and scrubbed away the remnants of last night’s make-up. There were bruisy shadows under her eyes. She looked terrible.
As Rachel walked into the kitchen, she yelped and clutched her throat in shock.
Tom was there, sitting at the table with his head bent over a spy novel. There was a mug of black coffee in front of him.
‘Shit,’ he said. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.’
‘For fuck’ssake,’ Rachel moaned, then sank into a chair. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’
‘Well, good morning to you too,’ he said, his mouth hitching up in a wry smile. ‘I’m here because after we let the taxi drive off it started to rain. I didn’t fancy walking home in it, and Anna said it was okay for me to kip on the sofa.’
