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‘I do, which is why it was such a surprise.’
The soothing effect of the shower is wearing off and I can feel the throbbing headache returning. I need paracetamol before I can deal with this. I grab the packet from the drawer in my bedside cabinet and swallow two, washing them down with water from the glass on top. Another anomaly: how did I remember to bring fresh water to bed, but not take off my bra? It’s all too confusing, and I slump back onto the bed and close my eyes. My stomach, having emptied itself so comprehensively when I woke up, cramps in protest at the addition of the pills and water, and I silently beg it to keep them down; I need to be well enough to drive to my parents’ house in Oxfordshire later, and the very thought of being anywhere near a car at the moment makes me feel nauseous.
‘How bad is it?’ Toby asks.
‘It’s bad. How much did I have to drink?’
‘You did put it away,’ he chuckles. ‘After that chap went for you—’
‘Peter,’ I interrupt. ‘He’s always had a problem with me. I have no idea why.’
‘Well, you shouldn’t be in any doubt now. He was pretty explicit.’
‘I remember him being pretty upset about us winning the award.’ An image of a puce-faced Peter, with little bits of spittle flying out of his mouth, swims into my mind. I remember being shocked by the ferocity of his tirade, but I’m struggling to remember what he said.
‘That’s putting it mildly.’
I try to cast my mind back to the previous evening, to see if I can remember the conversation. After a while a few phrases start to trickle to the surface.
‘Did he call me spoilt?’ I ask.
‘To be precise, and leaving out the worst of the expletives, he called you a spoilt little bitch who’d had life handed to you on a plate. He accused you of treating your job as nothing more than a hobby, something to amuse you until your trust fund kicked in. How you had no idea what hard graft was, and that you should have been fired for your incompetent first review of the Bellavista instead of being given awards. There was quite a lot more, but that’s the basic gist of it. It was pretty strong stuff.’
‘Please tell me I didn’t reciprocate. I can tell you that there’s definitely no trust fund, so I need this job. Giving one of the editors ofVoyages Luxesa piece of my mind is not going to go down well, however much I might have wanted to put the little prick right.’
‘No, you were brilliant! When he finished, all you said was “I’m very sorry you feel that way.” It earned you a round of applause from the rest of the table, who were all listening in. To be fair to them, he was so loud it was impossible not to. I think that was the final straw for him, because he stormed off and we didn’t see him again. Then you bought the champagne and, well, here we are.’
‘Did I really invite you to stay?’
‘You did and, even if you hadn’t, I would have stayed anyway, regardless of your golden rule. You were pretty far gone, and I was worried you might throw up in your sleep and suffocate yourself. I tried to stay awake for as long as I could, to keep an eye on you, but obviously I didn’t quite manage it. Sorry.’
‘Bloody hell, I feel awful. Why did you let me drink so much?’
‘Hang on, don’t start trying to blame this on me! I did suggest you slowed down at one point, but you gave me such a filthy look that I didn’t dare intervene again.’
‘I’m supposed to be driving to Oxfordshire later. How am I going to do that without throwing up?’
‘You also promised to drop me home, remember? I’d like you a little bit more with it than you are now before I get in a car with you.’
I glance around the room. Something is missing, and it takes me a while to work out what it is.
‘Where’s my dress?’
‘I hung it up in the wardrobe for you.’
Suddenly, all the pieces of the jigsaw that I haven’t been able to put together yet, the T-shirt, bra, thong, make-up and water, slot into place.
‘Did you… Did youundressme?’
‘If I hadn’t helped you out of your dress, you probably would have gone to bed wearing it and ruined it. I knew I’d find the T-shirt under your pillow.’
‘Was I that bad?’
‘I’m afraid so. You were all floppy and you just kept muttering on about how much you wanted to sleep, except you were slurring your words, so it sounded more like “schleep”. It was quite funny, actually.’
‘It doesn’t feel very funny this morning, but at least it explains why I was still wearing that bloody uncomfortable thong when I woke up. Why did you leave my bra on? You know I don’t wear a bra to bed.’
Toby blushes. ‘Two reasons really. Although I’ve seen you naked lots of times, it still seemed too intimate a thing to do. Also, I’m not entirely sure how the clasp works.’
