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He jumps back, almost falling over in his haste to get away.
“Fuck,” he shouts. Fuck. What was he about to do? Shit, shit, shit. A woman who works for him, who’s drunk past the point of comprehension? Oh, fuck.
He pulls his trousers up quickly. He rakes his hands through his hair in desperation, still staring at her. She’s lying on her back, mouth open. Completely dead to the world. Then she stirs. She makes a retching noise, her stomach contracting, and he jumps forward before she’s sick, rolling her onto her side. She throws up violently onto the floor; he grabs the first thing closest to him, her wastepaper bin, and holds it under her head as she vomits again. It goes everywhere, in her hair, on the carpet, over him.
She stops and rolls back onto the bed, groaning, her eyes still closed.
Adam sits back on the carpet, breathing heavily through his mouth. The smell is everywhere, it turns his stomach, and he gets up quickly, running to her bathroom. He vomits, once, twice, a gush of alcohol and acid and hatred. He smells it in his nose, the grit of it between his teeth, and he pukes again, retching up nothing but yellow bile this time. He crouches on the tiled floor of Ellie’s rented bathroom, gasping, eyes watering. He shouldn’t have drunk that much. But it’s not just that making him sick. It’s him. What he was about to do.
The man he’s become.
CHAPTER
42
Day 7
Friday
ADAM WAKES WITH a crick in his back from the sofa, a raging thirst, and a burn in the pit of his stomach that has nothing to do with the hangover. He stands in Ellie’s kitchen, a pint of water in his hand, dressed in his clothes from last night. He looks at the photographs on the fridge. Three women featuring in all, Ellie smiling and laughing.
He smells vomit on his shirt, the taste in his mouth.
What happened last night—it was unforgivable. After Ellie finished puking on the floor, he cleaned her up as best he could, then rolled her gently into the recovery position, pulling the duvet over her. He fetched a bucket and cloth, whatever he could find, and cleaned the vomit from the floor.
The smell was disgusting. He retched again, once, several times, but finished the job. Then he placed the now-clean bin next to Ellie’s head and left her to sleep.
He hears footsteps on the stairs and looks over as Ellie appears in the doorway of her kitchen. Her hair is roughly tied back, matted to her head on one side. Her makeup is caked around her eyes. She’s wearing light blue pajamas with stars on them. She stops and stares at him.
“I’m sorry,” he says hastily. “I didn’t want to leave you last night. You seemed … ill. I was worried you’d be sick again.”
“Er … right.” She clears her throat, closes her eyes for a moment, then opens them again. “Boss—”
“Adam.”
“Adam.” She shakes her head in confusion. “What are you doing here?”
“We … er …” Adam hesitates, not sure how much to share. “We were at the same bar last night. You invited me back here.”
“We … Oh, shit.” She closes her eyes tight and puts her hands over her face. “Did we …? I remember us kissing.”
“Yeah. A bit. Sorry.”
“But nothing else?”
Adam shakes his head quickly. “No. You were sick.”
“Oh God.” She slumps down into one of the chairs next to the table and puts her head in her hands. “Oh God, I’m so sorry.”
“No, no, you have nothing to be sorry for. It should be me who’s apologizing. I’m your boss—”
“I know …” She lets out a long wail and starts crying.
Adam stands awkwardly in front of her. “Do you want a cup of tea? I’ll make you a cup of tea.”
He puts the kettle on, grabbing a mug from the odd array in the cupboard above. It says “Happy 25th Birthday” on the side, and he wonders, with even more shame, exactly how old Ellie Quinn is.
He makes the tea and sits down opposite her. She wipes her eyes on the sleeve of her pajamas, sniffing loudly.
