I feel uncomfortable at the closeness of us. I’m now perched on the edge of the sofa and, any closer, Tom would be sitting on my knee. ‘Luke’s a lucky man,’ says Tom. ‘He gets to eat his cake and keep it.’
I’m finding it hard to think straight and I massage my temples with my fingertips in a bid to clear my mind. ‘Two wrongs don’t make a right,’ I say. Now that my initial anger with Alice and Tom has subsided, my logical professional brain is kicking in. Well, as much as it can do through this thick fog that is drifting around in my head. I have no proof that Luke has slept with Alice. Earlier I was angry, hurt and jealous. It’s amazing how strong those emotions are when they all collide together in one big mess. They’re like a jumble of cooked spaghetti; all mixed up, twirling and swirling in a tangle. I much prefer the thought process that goes with uncooked pasta: straight lines, organised and easy to follow.
‘I’m not asking you to pack your bags, leave Luke and move in here,’ says Tom. ‘I’m just offering a safe place of refuge for as long as you like.’ He reaches over and picks up my glass of brandy. ‘Here, finish your drink and then see how you feel.’
‘No, not for me. Sorry. I shouldn’t have any more to drink. God knows what’s in that stuff, but it’s bloody strong. I feel so tired.’ My eyes are heavy and I’m sure I could go to sleep right there and then.
‘Just sit back for a moment,’ says Tom. ‘I’ll make you a coffee.’
‘Thanks, that sounds like a good idea.’
Tom picks up a cushion and as I twist around in the sofa, he places it behind my head. I rest back against it and close my eyes. I feel Tom’s hand stroke my forehead. ‘No hard feelings?’ he says.
‘No hard feelings,’ I confirm. My words sound as tired as I feel.
The next thing I’m aware of is the blanket pulled up to my chin and draped over the front of me, tucked in at the shoulders. I open my eyes and it takes a moment to focus. I can’t make out where I am. The light is dim but it’s not quite dark outside. I look around the room and then, with a sudden clarity, I know exactly where I am. Tom’s living room.
A gentle breathing is the next thing I register and I go to move my head, but it hurts too much, so I make do with moving my eyes only to my right. Tom is asleep on the sofa next to me. He is wearing a T-shirt and jogging pants. The events of the last few hours gradually unfold in my mind, rather like a game of pass-the-parcel, each minute gradually unwrapping another layer of memory.
I yank the cover from me and am relieved to see I’m still fully clothed, apart from my jacket, which is hanging over the arm of the sofa and my shoes, which are splayed on the floor, obviously kicked off rather than taken off. There are two brandy glasses on the table. One half-full and the other empty. There’s also a cup of coffee, full and stone cold. On the table is a camera, a mobile phone, a scrunched-up tissue and the McMillan file. Then I remember kissing Tom.
I’m filled with a blind panic. I kissed Tom! Not just a peck on the cheek, but a full-on kiss.
Shit!
The next layer of wrapping paper is peeled away and I remember saying no to Tom. To stopping things before they went any further. Thank God for that. Although I can’t ignore the guilt that is now hammering at my chest.
I need to get home to try to sort out this mess that has become my life.
I slip my feet into my shoes and stand up, rather wobbly, but I hold onto the back of the sofa for support while I steady myself. I grab my stuff and tiptoe out of the house. Once in my car, I rummage in my handbag for my phone.
When I see the list of messages and missed calls my heart leaps. Three missed calls and a text message from Pippa. Five missed calls, three text messages from Luke and what appear to be three voicemail messages. How the hell did I miss those? The volume has been switched off. I have no recollection of doing that at all. I fumble with the phone, unlocking the screen and scrolling through the messages.
‘Shit. Shit. Shit!’ I could cry. How has this happened? I hardly dare listen to the voicemail messages. One from Luke and one from Pippa. Oh, God. I totally forgot to get the girls from Brownies. How? What is wrong with me? Talk about self-indulgent. I was so busy worrying about Alice and how it was all affecting me, I didn’t give my child and my friend’s child a second thought. And now … shit … now there’s a rather severe voicemail message from Pippa telling me she’s at the hospital with Daisy and that she’s furious with me and holds me totally responsible.