Chapter 2
T he man was apologising profusely as he squeezed away past Clem’s seat.
The smell of the beer was overpowering, climbing her nostrils.
Matt was trying to help her mop up the mess, throwing napkins at her and shouting down the table for more.
‘Don’t worry, Clem, we’ll sort you out!’ he was saying.
The noise, the activity, the attention, the overwhelming curveball Sylvie had thrown her way – she had become like a particularly crumbly cake, ready to disintegrate beneath someone’s fingers.
When the other group had finally gone, and she’d held it together long enough to let them pass, Clem scraped her chair back and mumbled, ‘Bathroom.’
She snatched up her bag and jacket from her chair, and darted away from the table so quickly she nearly barrelled into a waitress carrying two plates of hot, steaming noodles.
The toilets were through the other room, and up a set of wooden stairs.
She hurried past more rows of filled tables, keeping her head down, trying to breathe even though the air felt cloying and thick.
When she burst inside, the toilets were mercifully empty – and clean.
She splashed water on her dress with shaking hands, hoping to erase the smell of booze, rubbing over one of the little orange foxes.
All that did was remind her of the booming, sarcastic laughter and the man’s comments, grating against her eardrums. Nice dress!
Foxes! They’re vermin, but at least they kill the rats, eh?
He was joking , she tried to tell herself. But it was only bringing her back to that time, with her friend Genie, the laughter ringing in her ears at her expense. It was like someone was holding her in a tight fist.
Positioning her dress under the hand dryer only made her feel hotter and sicklier, and she suddenly wished she hadn’t eaten as much as she had. Oh no, please don’t be sick, please. All she could think about was home, and her cat Misha, and her cosy, comfortable bedroom.
The door to the toilets burst open, and Clem kept her back to it, not wanting a stranger to see her trembling hands, her lack of composure.
The cacophony from the restaurant flooded in: noisy conversation, children crying, the clatter of knives and forks on plates, drinks being set down. It set her teeth on edge.
As the heat and roar of the hand dryer petered out, a tentative voice said, ‘Clem? Are you okay?’
She knew that voice. And she really didn’t want to turn around – this was so embarrassing – but she drew back her shoulders and tried to paste on a normal expression, even if it did come out as more of a grimace. Clem turned to find Emmie standing behind her, a worried frown on her face.
‘I’m okay,’ she said. Her voice was an empty shell, giving her away, and a clamp was fastened around her chest, trapping in her breath.
‘You sure? I saw what happened.’
‘Just . . . the smell . . .’ Clem gestured down, at the damp patch where the beer had spilled on her dress, still visible.
She attempted a deep breath but she could still smell it, as if it were trying to claw its way into her nose.
A lump rose, hard and painful, in her throat.
She didn’t want to fall apart here in front of Emmie, least of all on her birthday. This was meant to be a celebration.
‘Here,’ said Emmie. Clem hadn’t noticed it right away, but she’d brought her little star-shaped handbag with her, hooked into the crook of her arm.
Emmie pulled open the zipper and dug around inside, holding out a small packet of wet wipes.
And in true Emmie fashion, the packet was decorated with little pink bows and a cartoon cat.
‘Use these. They’re scented so they might help? ’
‘T-Thank you . . .’ Clem took them, clenching her hands around them, hoping Emmie hadn’t noticed the shaking.
‘Keep them. Freshen yourself up.’ Emmie zipped her handbag up again and smiled, tucking her light brown hair behind her ear. ‘I better get back. Matt wanted me to cut the cake so we could all have some, but I thought I’d make sure you were okay first. Take your time – I’ll save you a piece.’
‘Okay . . . thanks, Emmie.’
Emmie left, the door banging shut behind her, and Clem’s shoulders sagged.
She didn’t feel any calmer, even as she rubbed a scented wet wipe across her dress, because her brain was ringing with alarm that Emmie had seen her, acting like this over something so normal.
Could she face them all, after that? She didn’t know if she could. Her throat was burning.
She pulled out her mobile, cycling through her gallery for videos of Misha.
Back pressed against one of the walls, she watched a video – on mute – of Misha leaping excitedly around Clem’s bedspread, chasing the crinkles in the bedsheets.
She swiped to the next one: Misha sitting in her lap, blinking up at her lovingly, her long white whiskers pronounced, Clem’s fingers rubbing her stripy head.
She tried to imagine she was at home in that spot right now, Misha’s silky fur under the pads of her fingers.
The videos calmed her somewhat. Enough for her to feel ready to leave the toilets.
She ordered a taxi first – she hadn’t brought her car so she could have some wine – and was soon heading back downstairs, through the throngs of tables, and outside, grateful Sylvie and the others couldn’t see her from their position in the restaurant.
When she was in the taxi, she would text Sylvie and say she was sorry but she’d gone home early.
She was sure Emmie would understand. Clem didn’t doubt she’d picked up on how off-kilter she was feeling.
And Clem had stayed for the main meal – that meant something, didn’t it?
If she tried to go back now, after that bump in the evening . . . She couldn’t do it.
She stood outside, away from the door and on the corner, beneath the eaves.
The whiff of alcohol on her clothes was still making her uneasy, though the orange citrusy scent from the wet wipes had masked most of it.
The spring air was mild but not too stifling yet, and she was glad of the breeze rustling the trees across the street, bringing with it fresh air.
She could still smell the beer and her hands were shaking, every loud and rowdy voice inside setting her teeth on edge.
She glanced at her lock screen, and Misha’s striped face, but it didn’t have the same soothing effect as it had earlier.
Clem fumbled in her bag, searching for the raspberry gum she often carried with her.
‘Where is it?’ she muttered under her breath. The tremors in her hands made her clumsy, and her mini hairbrush and lipstick clattered to the pavement.
She was about to bend to pick them up, but someone beat her to it, holding them out to her.
When she looked up, there was a man standing before her.
He was flooded by the sinking sunlight, and Clem wasn’t sure if the hitch in her chest was the anxiety, or those piercing green eyes framed by thick, dark lashes.
He was older than her, though perhaps not by much, with pale skin cast slightly warm-toned in the light of the setting sun.
He had messy dark brown hair – artfully messy, as though done with purpose – thick brows and a scattering of shadowy stubble to match.
To say he was downright gorgeous was an understatement.
‘Easy there, don’t want to lose the essentials,’ he said smoothly, holding the items out to her.
‘Th-Thanks,’ she said, taking her things from him and doing her best not to drop them as she shoved them in her bag, her phone wedged under her armpit.
‘Are you okay?’ he asked gently, and glanced back towards the restaurant, tracking the route she’d taken.
Had he seen her rushing outside? The idea that strangers had probably witnessed her idiocy as well made her feel light-headed.
But the way he’d picked up her things, casually asked if she was okay .
. . It was almost calming to her, putting her at ease, his tones soothing.
The expression on his face was one of concern, not mockery.
She let out a shaky laugh, glad he wasn’t the type to laugh at someone for being so vulnerable.
‘I’m fine. Thanks.’
She finally picked out the gum she’d been searching for and unwrapped it, popping a piece into her mouth, focusing on the burst of gooey flavour as her teeth broke the shell.
Even though she felt a fraction calmer, she couldn’t still her quaking fingers as she straightened up, phone in her hand again, almost dropping it.
It wouldn’t be long before her taxi got here and she could escape this evening altogether, although she couldn’t help but feel as though it would be a shame to escape this gorgeous man.
A part of her wanted to stay, drawn to those forest-green eyes of his.
He half-turned to the restaurant and hesitated. ‘Did you come here with someone?’ he asked. ‘It looks like you’re not feeling well. Do you need—’
‘Oh! N-No, I just ordered a taxi, so I’m going home anyway . . . But thank you.’
Her taxi was already here, rolling up to the kerb.
Turning from the stranger, she hurried to clamber inside.
When she looked out of the window as they pulled away, the man was gone, disappearing inside the restaurant.
Probably going back to a girlfriend – with good looks like that, there wasn’t a single doubt in her mind that he was taken.
Clem focused again on the chewing of her gum and the raspberry flavour rushing over her tongue, unable to get the image of him out of her mind.
*