I nod. ‘He explained about lending you the money.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she says. ‘I really wanted to tell you about it the other day, but Dom thought it would be easier to keep it secret. So when you found his glasses, I wasn’t sure if it would be better to tell you about it myself or let Dom tell you. I was completely out of order to go to Dom behind your back. I’ve got no excuse other than I was desperate. Don’t blame him for my mistakes. If there’s any way I can make it up to you…’
‘Forget about it,’ I say, meaning it. Suddenly, I’m exhausted with all the arguing and mistrust. I know I can’t erase the events of the past fortnight, but I just want everything to go back to normal. I want Dom and me to be close once more, and I want my best friend back. We’ll talk about the money she owes some other time. I just don’t have the strength to think about it at the moment. ‘Let’s just put it behind us, Mel. Be friends again.’
‘Really?’ she says. ‘Are you sure you’re not mad at me?’
‘I’m sure.’
‘Pinky swear?’
I roll my eyes. ‘Cross my heart and hope to die.’
She leans in and kisses Daisy’s cheek before giving me a hug. ‘I’m so glad. I’ve been miserable all week. And I promise to manage my money better.’
‘Let’s not talk about it any more, okay?’
‘Fine by me,’ she says.
‘Where are your two?’ I ask.
‘They’re with Chris’s mum today. She’s taking them to the theatre. Good luck with that, I told her. Those two can’t sit still for two minutes, let alone two hours.’ She takes a sip of her drink. ‘Uh oh, look who it is.’
I tense up, thinking she’s talking about Martin. But when I turn to look, I see it’s actually Lorna and Stephen Parkfield deep in conversation, heading our way. To be honest, I didn’t think they’d even be here. I wouldn’t have thought a barbecue at the Cliffords’ was their thing – but then again, it’s not my thing either. They haven’t spotted us yet, so maybe I can make a break for it. I could do without another awkward conversation.
Too late.
Lorna looks up with a scowl which stays on her face when she catches sight of us. ‘Kirstie,’ she says. ‘Melinda.’
‘Hi, Lorna,’ Mel says breezily. ‘Hi, Steve.’
I laugh inwardly, knowing how much Parkfield hates to be called Steve. But Mel has no qualms about pissing him off.
‘Afternoon,’ Parkfield says in that pompous tone of his.
I take a swig of beer to settle my nerves, and then I remember that it’s alcohol free.
‘When’s the big move?’ Mel asks.
‘Hopefully sometime next month,’ Lorna says.
‘Moving far?’ Mel probes.
‘Yes,’ Parkfield says without elaborating.
‘Okaay,’ Mel says.
‘I’ve just got to change Daisy,’ I say, making my excuses, my head beginning to pound. This barbecue is turning into some kind of twisted obstacle course, where the object of the game is not to get snarled up in uncomfortable conversations with your neighbours.
‘Want a hand?’ Mel asks, begging me with her eyes.
‘I’ll be fine,’ I say, feeling bad that I’m abandoning her, but I desperately need a minute alone. ‘Back in a second, okay?’ I make my escape into the hall and up the stairs. I push open the door at the top of the landing, behind which lies a stunning grey and white designer bathroom. The room to the left is a smart single bedroom, which I enter, closing the door behind me. Daisy doesn’t need a clean nappy, it was simply an excuse to get away from Martin and the Parkfields. I’m grateful for a few moments to get myself together.
I sip my drink and gaze out of the window to see if I can get a glimpse of Martin again despite being repulsed by him. Maybe I could go to his house while he’s occupied over here. He might have left a window open. I could climb in and check the basement. This really would be the perfect time. I can’t quite believe I’m considering breaking and entering, but if it’s to discover what’s going on next door, then surely the end justifies the means.
Scanning the guests below to see if I can spot him, I catch sight of Lorna’s two youngest girls sitting cross-legged on the grass, chatting. The music is more muffled up here, but the relentless beat is exacerbating my headache; the dull throbbing inside my skull has become a sharp pounding. My forehead suddenly feels clammy and my head is starting to whirl. I actually don’t feel good at all.
I sit on the edge of the bed for a second, sliding Daisy into my lap, taking slow breaths to try to stop my head spinning. Is this a panic attack? I don’t think so. I’m not short of breath. It feels more like I’m drunk. But that can’t be right. I examine the beer bottle and see that it contains zero per cent alcohol. So definitely not drunk. The bottle falls out of my hand onto the floor, amber liquid pooling on the cream carpet, but I don’t have the strength to lean down and retrieve it. How can this feeling have come on so quickly? Maybe I’m coming down with flu or something. I exhale. I’m not going to be able to check out Martin’s basement, not feeling like this. I think I need to go home. Now.
Making sure I’ve got a firm hold of Daisy, I rise to my feet. The room suddenly swirls, reams of walls scrolling past my eyes. I shuffle towards to the door as a wave of nausea sweeps over me. This is not good.
I put my hands out to steady myself against the wall, bite back another wave of sickness and pull open the door. The noise from the party below hits me. I need to find Dom. Give Daisy to him to look after while I get myself home and lie down. After everything he’s done to persuade me to come to the party today, he’ll think I’m making this up to get out of being here. He won’t believe I genuinely feel ill. Why is this happening to me? I swallow down my panic. I just need to keep it together until I can get home.
The staircase in front of me looks like a precipice. It’s too risky to walk down it while I’m carrying my daughter, so I sit on my bottom and shuffle down, one step at a time, hoping no one sees me. But my hopes are dashed as two giggling women appear at the bottom of the stairs, a blurry mass of shiny hair and bright clothing.
I sense both sets of eyes on me, but I’m too busy concentrating on not falling over or throwing up to worry about what they think.
‘You okay?’ one of them asks while the other splutters with laughter – at me, no doubt.
‘I’m okay.’ The words come out heavy and slow.
‘Oh my God, I know her,’ one hisses to the other.
‘Who is she? What about her poor kid?’
‘Her name’s Kirstie. Looks like she’s pissed out of her head.’
Through another wave of dizziness and nausea, I recognise that voice. I stop my downward shuffle for a moment and look up to see Tamsin Price staring at me with an ill-concealed grin on her face. What’s she doing here? How does she know the Cliffords?
‘Not drunk,’ I slur. ‘Feel ill.’
‘It’s probably better to stay off the booze when you’re supposed to be looking after your baby,’ Tamsin says.
‘You know her?’ the other woman asks Tamsin in a horrified whisper.
‘She never used to behave like this,’ Tamsin says. ‘She was always such a little square at school. Must be having a mid-life crisis.’
‘Why are you here?’ I ask, slurring my words.
‘Dom invited me,’ she says with a smirk. Or at least I think that’s what she said. But that can’t be right, can it? Dom would never do that.
The women step apart as I reach the bottom of the staircase. I don’t have the energy to respond to Tamsin’s lies. I’m too concerned with keeping myself upright and not dropping Daisy. In any case, they allow me to pass, their horrified stares and whispers following me.