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‘Left them in Venice,’ I said, picturing them on the bedside table at the hotel, my fluorescent green saviours. I’d have to pick up some more when we got to Amsterdam.
‘Well I intend to get some rest even if you don’t,’ said Si, sliding his phone into his pocket. ‘Otherwise I’ll be of no use to anyone tomorrow.’
He angled his body away from me, scrunching up against the window, closing his eyes, each breath becoming deeper and longer. Si was always short with me when he was tired, he admitted it himself. He’d be fine after a few hours’ sleep. I, on the other hand, would most likely have to navigate the wedding with a severe case of sleep deprivation. I imagined getting drunk too quickly at the reception and telling inappropriate jokes before having a wine-fuelled row with somebody. My anxiety took over and doubled the twisting feelings of inadequacy in the pit of my stomach. Pauline would make snippy comments behind my back, I could picture it now: This isn’t her world, Simon. She doesn’t know how to behave at an exclusive event like this. Because Pauline consistently referred to the wedding as ‘an event’, which I secretly found unbelievably annoying.
Massaging my jaw with my fingertips, I tried to put myself in the sort of blissful state conducive to sleep, which wasn’t easy when the couple in the seats behind were whispering so loudly that they may as well have used their normal speaking voices, and somebody further back was frenziedly eating a packet of crisps.
Si’s phone buzzed again. Seriously, what was going on? It could only be Catherine. I inched my fingers towards Si’s pocket, sliding the phone out as carefully as I could. I was going to put it on silent. He’d only just got to sleep, the last thing he needed was her sending him a slew of frantic messages. There was no point both of us being knackered at the wedding.
The phone vibrated for a second time as I tapped in his password, which he’d told me ages ago was 1956, the year his mum was born. A message sat at the top of the screen, from an unknown number.
Are you awake? It’s me, Al.
I frowned. Presumably it was someone from his work, although he’d never mentioned an Al, and the only Al I knew of was Alison, one of Catherine’s bridesmaids. She’d organised the hen night, a stupidly expensive weekend in Marbella that I’d tried to get out of because I couldn’t afford it and because I didn’t know anyone other than Catherine. I had gone, of course, mainly because I hadn’t been able to think of a good enough excuse not to. Alison, I remembered, had seemed nice enough until she’d got drunk, argued with a Spanish guy she’d been getting off with all night, and threw up in the swimming pool. If it was her, it was possible there was some sort of last-minute crisis. Catherine was probably doing her head in, too.
I scrolled up. There were other messages from the same number.
It’s me, can you talk?
And before that:
I’m at the wedding. When are you getting here? Urgently need to speak to you.
It was definitely bridesmaid Alison, then. I put his phone on silent anyway; whatever was going on, there wasn’t much he could do about it tonight. I tried to slide the phone back into his pocket without disturbing him, but it slipped out of my hand and clattered onto the carpet. I winced, praying I hadn’t broken it. He’d go mad if I had. He stirred, and I looked tentatively across at him. His eyes were half-open and he clasped his hands together, stretching them up above his head.
‘Your phone fell out,’ I whispered, touching him lightly on the arm.
He patted his pocket, then ran his hand between our seats.
‘It’s on the floor,’ I stage-whispered.
Somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, he bent down and scooped it up. I noticed he put the phone into his far pocket before turning to lay his head back against the window. It was odd that he hadn’t mentioned the other texts from Alison, but I was sure there was a simple explanation. He knew I was fed up with Catherine’s constant demands, that was all, and probably thought I wouldn’t want to hear it. I’d ask him about it in the morning.
I closed my eyes, squeezing them shut. Si began to snore softly. The doors kept hissing open and shut every few minutes and I could hear a group of lads shrieking with laughter in the next carriage along. Surely there must be a quieter spot somewhere on this train? I could go and sit somewhere else, just for a little while. The change of scenery might do me good. I pulled my straw shoulder bag onto my lap, careful not to disturb Si. Then I stood up, chucking my cardigan on the seat because it was still boiling and I didn’t think I’d need it. My suitcase was in the rack by the door; it would be fine there, I’d be back to pick it up in the morning. I hesitated for a second or two, fingering my camera strap, thinking I should write a note. I’d only be an hour or two anyway, he probably wouldn’t even notice I’d gone. Then with one last look at Si, I stumbled towards the front of the train.
