“I don’t know what to say.”
“What’s going on?” she says, looking concerned. She has a small, wrapped present in her hand. “Can I help?”
“Yeah, by backing off.”
Libby steps back. “I . . . I’m confused. You’re not angry with me, are you?”
“Oh, is it that obvious?”
She puts her arm around my shoulders, partly as a gesture of affection and partly to stop me from dying of hypothermia. “Come on, Lotte. Let’s go back inside and talk. You’re going to catch a cold. I have a little surprise for you.”
“I don’t want to go inside, and I don’t want any surprises.” I pause, gathering my courage. Finally, I say it. “I want you to stop talking to Edward.”
“Huh? I thought you wanted us to be friends.”
“Yeah—but only friends.”
“Okay, now I’m seriously confused.”
“Please. I have eyes.” The wine has definitely gone to my head. I’m sure there must be a more nuanced way to express my frustration and confusion, but it’s not coming out right now.
“Charlotte, I’m lost.”
“He’s mine, so you’d better not cross the line.”
Libby’s eyes widen. “Do you think I’m putting the moves on Edward?”
“Ten thousand points to the brilliant Libby Weston.”
“Bug, we really should go inside,” she says. “You’re not making a ton of sense. I think you’ve had too much to drink, okay? You have the big game tomorrow. I knew it was a mistake for Flossie to throw you a party the night before, but I didn’t want to take the wind out of everybody’s sails.”
“Stop acting like Mum and leave me alone.” I turn on my heel, heading back into the party.
I storm inside the barn, making a beeline for the bar. The bartender hands me a cup full of wine and I down it like a dehydrated rugby player. Too much to drink? How dare she?
Edward’s now standing in a corner of the barn, surrounded by our friends.
I sidle up to him. “Hi.”
He puts his arm around me. “Hi!”
“It was cold outside,” I say. “Thought you might like to warm me up.” I peer at him. Things are starting to become a blur.
He touches my elbow. “Let’s go sit?”
I look down and realize I’m swaying slightly. I giggle. “Whoops! A bit tough standing in these heels.”
I slide my arm through Edward’s. “Psst,” I whisper. “Come with me. I want to tell you something.”
We walk arm in arm onto the makeshift dance floor, and I notice Libby looking at me from the other side of the room. She looks concerned. Screw her and her concerned looks. I shoot her back a See? You were wrong look.
“Everything all right?” Edward asks.
“I just missed you, that’s all.” I throw my other arm around his neck, pulling his face close to mine. We make out.
The room is spinning. I’m feeling dizzy.
He squeezes me tightly, looking at me with concern. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, honestly,” I say. “Just a little dizzy.” I clap my hand over my mouth to block an escaping hiccup, but I’m too late. “I might have had a little too much to drink.”
“I think it’s time to get you to bed.”
“No, I don’t want to go to bed! I’m having too much fun here.”
“I know, I know,” he says. “But I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t take care of you.”
Edward beckons Libby over to help as I stumble.
“What can I do, Lotte? Are you okay? Can I bring you something?” she asks.
“I don’t feel well, Libs. I want to go to bed. Edward is going to take me upstairs.”
“That sounds like a perfect plan. Let’s go. Here, put your arm around me.”
Libby and Edward hoist me up, and together the three of us make our way through the crowd and out of the barn toward the house.
I focus on my breath, trying to keep it together until we make it back inside the house and upstairs. Libby and Edward are talking about me, but I don’t care anymore. I have a singular goal: bed.
We’re almost at the room when a wave of nausea overtakes me and I throw up in a crystal vase.
After that, everything goes black.
I wake up with a start. Where the hell am I?
There are framed herb prints on the wall and gold curtains with too much light streaming through.
I’m at Flossie’s country house.
Last night’s events come flooding back: flirting with Robert; Flossie confiding her concerns about Libby and Edward; fighting with Libby on the back lawn; downing glass after glass of wine and drunkenly slobbering all over Edward.
I try to remember how I got upstairs and have a vague memory of kneeling outside my room puking in a vase while Libby held my hair back. Was Edward there?
He was. I can’t believe he saw the whole thing.
I find a note next to my bed on top of a wrapped box. I think it must be the same box from last night.
Hope you’re feeling better, Lots. Sorry about last night, and sorry I didn’t have a chance to give this to you then. It was meant to be a surprise. Edward and I both chipped in and bought it together.
There’s water and paracetamol on the table. Come find me in the kitchen when you’re ready. I’m making a fry-up.
Love you. L
The clock says eight fifteen a.m. Libby no doubt bounced out of bed at dawn feeling like a new woman and decided to go for a five-mile run. No hangovers for the perfect sister.
I open the box: it’s the bracelet I’ve been coveting.
Well, now I feel like a total jerk.
I scrape myself out of bed and stare at my reflection in the mirror. My brown eyes are bloodshot and I have mascara and eyeliner smeared all the way down to my cheeks. My pillowcase is caked with foundation and eye makeup. I cringe. I must have been plastered.
The game is at three p.m. I have plenty of time to sober up and get my head on straight. I pull my hair into a bun on top of my head and make my way downstairs. The smell of sizzling bacon and onions makes my empty stomach grumble.
Flossie’s farmhouse kitchen is small and cozy—half the size of my own kitchen at home. Behind the stove, Libby stands, wearing an apron and wielding a pair of tongs. Everybody else sits at the table, wearing T-shirts and blearily holding mugs of coffee and cups of tea. India is wearing oversized black sunglasses.
“Morning!” Libby chirps. She turns and pours me a fresh cup of coffee, handing it to me as if she’s been waiting all morning for this very moment. “Two sugars, just the way you like.”
“Thanks,” I say, looking around warily.
Edward sits on the far side of the table. He holds open his arms for a hug.
“How are you feeling?” he murmurs. “You went pretty hard last night.”
“I feel like a bag of rubbish,” I say, looking at everybody. Only Flossie and Libby look clear-eyed. India looks like she might be asleep behind her glasses. Georgie and Oliver are leaning on each other in the corner, looking like zombies. Tarquin and David are too busy shoveling food into their mouths to notice me.
“Sorry,” Edward says, patting me on the back. “Libby made a delicious breakfast. It should make you feel better.”