Chapter 13
THIRTEEN
I was woken by a noise. Probably not a very loud one but, as is always the way in the dark, small hours of the night, it felt that way – like a huge crash, as if a tile had fallen from the roof and shattered on the pavement outside my window or a door had slammed violently somewhere in the house.
I sat up, instantly fully alert, my heart pounding. And again – as is the way with sudden awakenings – I instantly forgot what exactly the noise had been. Perhaps it had only happened in a dream, because everything seemed silent now. I glanced at my watch and saw that it was half past three in the morning, and remembered that it was Friday. I needed to be up in a few hours – if I didn’t go back to sleep soon, I’d be kept awake by the persistent trilling of blackbirds.
Then I heard another sound – the scrape of footsteps on the landing outside my door.
I froze, imagining an intruder having broken into the house, creeping up to murder us all in our beds – what other motivation could they have? There was nothing here worth stealing.
Perhaps Luke would wake up and deal with it. But I knew Luke was a heavy sleeper – often, I was disturbed in the mornings by his alarm clock going off for ages before he finally got up.
And then I detected another noise – the almost inaudible squeak of a doorknob turning. Not mine.
It was nothing, I rationalised – just one of the others getting up to use the bathroom, perhaps dropping something while they were in there, then letting themself back into their room as quietly as they could, hoping they hadn’t disturbed the sleepers.
Except they had, and for me sleep wasn’t going to return until I knew everything was all right. I pushed my feet into my slippers – knowing from experience that going barefoot in the house meant the soles of my feet would be coated in dust and grit that would transfer to my bedsheets – and pulled my towelling dressing gown on over the T-shirt and pants I wore to sleep in.
Then I walked across the room and carefully opened the door. The landing was in darkness, but I could see a crack of light below the door of Beatrice’s room. I stepped across to it and knocked gently.
She didn’t answer, but seconds later she opened the door. Her eyes were wide and she was fully dressed in the jeans and lilac linen shirt she’d been wearing at dinner that evening. The shirt was no longer clean – I could see greyish-brown streaks on the front that I could have sworn hadn’t been there yesterday.
‘Are you okay?’ I whispered. ‘I heard something and I wondered…’
‘I… I heard something too. I went downstairs to see what it was but it… it was just the cat. And then when I was coming back up I tripped and fell over on the stairs.’
‘You poor thing. Did you hurt yourself?’
She smiled. ‘I’m okay. But I gave myself a fright. You know what it’s like.’
I nodded. ‘I do now.’
Beatrice giggled, then yawned hugely. ‘I’m so tired but I don’t think I’ll get back to sleep now.’
‘Me neither. Do you want tea?’
She shook her head. ‘But I’ve got chocolate. Come in?’
Conscious that by standing around on the landing we were more likely to disturb Orla, if not Luke, I nodded again. Beatrice opened the door fully and I stepped inside, then she closed it silently behind me and sat down on her bed. It was made, I noticed, puzzled. Why would she make the bed before going to investigate a mysterious sound downstairs?
I couldn’t think of a way to ask, so I joined her, kicking off my slippers and sitting cross-legged opposite her. She rummaged in the suitcase that stood open next to the bed, clothes spilling out of it, and produced a pack of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups.
‘The crack of the candy world,’ she said, ripping open the pack and handing it to me.
‘Thanks.’ I took one and bit into it, the chocolate sweetening my sleep-soured mouth.
‘So what are you doing here, Livvie?’ Her question surprised me; until now, we’d exchanged only barest details of what our lives were now – work, the house, what Orla had made for dinner – and none about what they’d been before. But I knew that was what she meant – she wasn’t asking why I was sitting in her bedroom before dawn, that was for sure.
‘I needed a place to live,’ I said. ‘Kind of urgently.’
Beatrice raised an eyebrow, nibbled round the edges of a chocolate before putting the middle bit in her mouth all at once, and waited for me to continue.
There was something about that moment – the horribly early hour, the intimacy of the bedroom, the dim light of the small lamp next to Beatrice’s bed, my feet tucked warmly under my dressing gown – that made me let my guard down. I found myself spilling out the story of Samantha and Gary, their party, Gary’s kiss, Samantha’s rage and my abrupt departure.
‘And then I saw Orla’s ad in the newsagent,’ I finished. ‘And she was right there looking at it, and it just felt right, somehow.’
‘So you never knew her before?’ Beatrice asked. ‘Or the house? You literally knew nothing about her?’
‘Nothing.’ Thinking about it now, it seemed like a mad decision – but who cared? It had all worked out fine.
‘And it’s all worked out great.’ Echoing my thoughts, she smiled again. ‘That’s cool.’
I remembered the word Orla had used, and smiled back. ‘Serendipitous.’
Beatrice yawned hugely. ‘Looks like we’re safe for tonight, anyway. We ought to try and get some sleep.’
‘Yeah, I suppose.’ Reluctantly, I stood up, feeling a wave of tiredness sweep over me. Then a thought struck me. ‘We should go to the pub. You know, for a drink.’
Beatrice hesitated for a second. ‘Why not? Tomorrow? Today, that is?’
‘Let’s do it. And… shall we ask Luke?’
‘Roommates night out!’
I stood up, moved towards the door and then stopped. ‘What about Orla?’
‘What about her? She wouldn’t want to come. It would be weird.’
‘I suppose so. Okay, then. It’s a date. See you later.’
‘Sleep well, Livvie.’
To my surprise, although too briefly, I did.
That evening, I left work on time and hurried back home. I showered, washing my hair and shaving my legs, and put on some of the expensive face cream Emily had given me for Christmas, which I’d been illogically saving for best.
When I emerged from the bathroom, Beatrice was hovering on the landing in her dressing gown.
‘I spoke to Luke,’ she said. ‘He’s up for it.’
‘Awesome! See you downstairs.’
I spent longer than usual doing my make-up and straightening my hair, and dressed in baggy combat trousers, a cropped vest top and high heels. Passing Beatrice’s door, I could hear her hairdryer going and smell hairspray and perfume; the bathroom door was closed and the shower running again, so evidently Luke was getting ready too.
But my excitement faded and I felt a pang of guilt when I stepped into the kitchen and saw Orla there alone, opening the oven to check on the progress of a lasagne.
‘You look nice, Livvie,’ she said. ‘Off out?’
‘Just down to the pub. Beatrice and Luke and me. We thought, since it’s Friday…’
‘And since it’s Friday’ – Orla seemed unruffled by my news – ‘I’ve opened a bottle of wine. It’s only supermarket plonk. Would you like a glass?’
Half an hour later, Beatrice, Luke and I left the house. Any worries I might have had about overdoing my outfit for what was after all just a casual drink had been dispelled by Beatrice’s appearance – she was wearing a short summer dress that showed loads of cleavage, and shoes even higher than mine. Luke was wearing his usual jeans and T-shirt, but they were free of paint splatters and he smelled of lavender and mint.
‘We scrub up okay, don’t we?’ He grinned.
‘You look amazing,’ I told Beatrice. ‘I love your dress.’
‘Where are we going, anyway?’ she asked without returning the compliment. ‘You said “the pub”, but which one? I totally don’t understand pubs.’
I realised I had no idea.
But Luke said, ‘The Crooked Billet does happy hour on Fridays, and there’s a DJ later.’
‘Sold,’ Beatrice and I said together.
Walking past the square and towards the main road, I felt a sense of heady excitement. The sun was still out, the air warm against my bare arms. It was the weekend and I was out with two people who might be going to become my friends. Or more than friends? I caught the scent of Luke’s skin again and felt his arm brush against mine as we walked, and I shivered in spite of the warmth of the evening. My excitement increased when the pub came into view, people spilling out on the pavement around wooden tables, drinks and cigarettes in their hands.
‘You two grab a spot out here,’ Luke suggested. ‘I’ll get the first round in.’
Beatrice and I found a place at one of the picnic tables, facing away from the group who were already there. A few minutes later, Luke reappeared, carefully balancing three plastic cups of Pimm’s – ice, cucumber and strawberries bobbing on their surfaces. He handed one to Beatrice and one to me, then sat next to me on the narrow bench.
I felt the long, warm strength of his thigh pressing against mine and something inside my mind – or maybe my body – went, Oh.
Then I glanced at Beatrice on my other side. Beatrice, in her sexy dress, her long, corn-coloured hair flowing loose down her back. Beatrice, who’d been the one to invite Luke to join us in the first place.
I didn’t want to tread on anyone’s toes – especially not hers.
But she wasn’t looking at Luke, or at me. She was gazing around her, taking in the throng of people.
‘Look at those two,’ she said. ‘Reckon he’s her boyfriend or her dad?’
I could tell right away who she meant. The man was at least forty, paunchy and balding, the girl about our age. As we watched, he put his hand on her bum and steered her inside.
‘Eeuw,’ I said. ‘Her boss, I reckon. Having a crack at her after work on a Friday.’
‘I mean, at least then there might be something in it for her.’ Beatrice fished a piece of cucumber out of her drink and nibbled it.
‘Oh my God,’ I laughed. ‘You wouldn’t, would you? With Peter, your boss?’
‘Peter? Hell no. Then if Frances found out and ditched him, I’d be stuck with those kids.’
I laughed, but her words unsettled me for some reason I couldn’t quite grasp.
Then Luke said, ‘See those guys over there? I think they’re in a band. What’re they called? The Mudlarks? Sort of indie rock. They played at Glastonbury.’
‘Now in that case, I totally would,’ Beatrice said. ‘Having a rock star boyfriend would be great.’
‘Apart from him sleeping with millions of fans every time your back was turned,’ I pointed out.
The direction the conversation had taken made me feel weird, somehow. Like I wasn’t ready to talk about sex with Luke sitting right there next to me. Or maybe like I did want to, to see how he’d react, what his view was on rock stars cheating on their girlfriends – or anyone cheating on anyone, really.
Looking at him now, away from the house, I appreciated for the first time how handsome he was – not just my type, taller than me and lean, with broad shoulders and elegant, long-fingered hands, but anyone’s type.
My drink was empty, so I offered to get another round. The pub was busy inside, a press of people around the bar and others crowded around small tables holding shouted conversations over the blare of football on multiple television screens. I queued for our drinks and paid for them, then began to make my way carefully outside.
As I reached the door I saw something that made me stop, then hurry out, pushing the door open so violently I slopped Pimm’s over my wrists.
Beatrice and Luke were still sitting on the bench, the me-sized space still between them.
‘Shit,’ I said. ‘You won’t believe this.’
‘What?’ Luke asked.
‘My old flatmate and her boyfriend are here. Remember, Beatrice, I was telling you about them yest— this morning?’
‘They’re here? That bitch and Mr Sleaze? Where?’
‘Just inside.’ I turned my face away from the window, which meant turning away from Luke. ‘You can see them from here. She’s wearing a red top, long dark hair.’
Beatrice peered past me. ‘And he’s the guy with the tattoo and acne scars? Nice.’
Luke looked bewildered. ‘Are you okay, Livvie? Do you want to go somewhere else?’
‘I—’ I began.
But Beatrice spoke over me. ‘No way. Come on, Livvie, you did nothing wrong.’
‘What happened?’ Luke asked. ‘Did you fall out with them?’
Reluctantly, I repeated the story I’d told Beatrice that morning, conscious that while it didn’t make me look that bad, it didn’t make me look good, either. I should have done something different. I could have handled it better.
‘I’m sorry, Livvie,’ Luke said. ‘I’m sorry that happened to you. So that’s why they were weird when we picked up your stuff. They can’t do anything to you now, you know.’
‘I know.’ I took a sip of my drink, the Pimm’s dulling the edge of my anxiety. ‘And you two will protect me if they come over, right? Pretend I’m someone else – my doppelganger.’
‘I’d offer to fight him and protect your honour,’ Luke joked, ‘only he’s the type to glass me and I don’t want my beauty ruined.’
‘Nothing could ruin your beauty,’ I teased, feeling that – thing – pass between us again, a small jolt of electricity between our touching thighs.
‘My turn to get a drink,’ Beatrice said. ‘Same again?’
She disappeared inside. It was getting dark now, but the evening was still warm. The air was heavy with the smells of cigarette smoke and women’s perfume, mingling with diesel fumes from the main road. Inside, music began to play – the DJ starting his set.
‘So that guy your old roommate’s with,’ Beatrice said, bringing over our fresh drinks. ‘He spoke to me.’
‘Gary did? What the— what did he say?’
‘He was next to me at the bar. He said, “Nice tits.” What a prince.’ Beatrice made a being-sick gesture with her index finger in her mouth.
‘Jesus.’ Luke grimaced, rolling his eyes.
Chatting and laughing, we finished our drinks and then Luke bought another round. The alcohol was going to my head – I felt relaxed and giddy. Luke’s shoulder was touching mine now, as well as our legs pressing together. As the night cooled, the warmth of his body felt more and more welcome.
‘I have to pee,’ Beatrice said. ‘Be right back.’
‘And then we should probably go,’ I told Luke reluctantly. ‘It’s getting late.’
‘We could stop on the way at the off-licence,’ he said. ‘Have a glass of wine in the garden.’
I imagined the two of us sitting under the stars, the smell of green, growing things surrounding us.
‘That would be nice.’
‘Are you warm enough?’ he asked.
‘Just about. It’s getting chilly.’
I edged even closer to him, and felt his warm arm slip around my shoulder. Goosebumps sprang up on my skin, and not from the cold. I leaned my head against his shoulder, feeling the rise and fall of his breathing, inhaling the clean smell of his T-shirt.
After a while, I said, ‘I should go and find Beatrice. She’s been ages.’
‘Don’t get lost in there.’ Luke grinned, and I said I wouldn’t.
I couldn’t see Beatrice inside, so I made my way to the toilet and had a wee. As I was washing my hands, Samantha came in. Taking a deep breath, imagining Luke’s arm around me, Luke’s presence protecting me, I ignored her and left.
And then I saw them. Gary and Beatrice, on the dance floor. Their bodies were pressed close together, and their mouths were, too. His hand was high on her bare leg, snaking beneath her dress. I stopped, the music and my own blood pounding in my head. Behind me, I heard the toilet door slam.
I saw Beatrice break away from the kiss, glancing towards me. I knew she’d seen me, and seen Samantha behind me – and I knew Samantha must have seen her.
Beatrice raised a hand to me in a thumbs-up gesture, then she broke away from Gary and headed towards the exit, laughing. Samantha pushed past me, through the throng of people towards her boyfriend, shouting something, her voice shrill with rage.
And I realised that Beatrice had done that for me. For me – but also maybe for fun, and just because she could.