Chapter 30
‘But Darcy was continually giving offence.’
The phone on the bedside table rang out, its shrill bell tearing through the comatose sleep I’d been clinging to for the last few hours. I groaned, reached a hand-out from under the sheet and fumbled the receiver into my palm.
‘Good morning, Mrs Fuller. Your wake-up call.’
I mumbled ‘thank you’ and clattered the receiver back into its cradle. My skull felt like it had been clamped in a vice and run through with a jackhammer. I’d had better mornings, plus I’d had better hangovers, too.
Our taxi was due in thirty minutes.
I rolled over to nudge Chase and found… nothing. His side of the bed was pristine. The pillow lay undented, the sheet tucked in with military precision. My stomach twisted.
I sat up, eyes scanning the room, half-expecting him to be asleep on the sofa. But it was empty.
‘Chase?’
I stumbled into the bathroom. It was untouched since I’d taken off my make-up in the early hours after the last of the music had faded and I’d staggered back to the hotel with Dom and Tania. Lipstick smudged across the tissue in the bin, damp towel flung over the rail. But no sign of him.
My heart started to thump, not from worry, exactly, more a rising cocktail of dread and anger. Chase had never not come back before. Whatever else he was – flaky, selfish, coke-fuelled, he always came back.
I jumped in the shower, not waiting for the water to warm up. Out in under a minute, I towelled off as I dashed back into the bedroom, threw on jeans and a T-shirt, and sprinted down the corridor to Dom and Tania’s room.
‘Dom?’ I knocked, louder with each rap. ‘Dom, sorry to wake you!’
There was grumbling, shuffling, and finally a bleary-eyed Dom appeared in his boxers, hair like a haystack.
‘It’s Chase. He’s not here and the taxi’s coming.’
Dom yawned and scratched his head. ‘Have you checked the bar downstairs?’
‘No. Good idea. Probably still drinking and trying to make friends with some dick.’
‘You finish packing,’ he said. ‘I’ll go see.’
I hurried back to our room, threw Chase’s rumpled clothes into his case, stacked the suit carrier on top and zipped it shut.
Back in the lift, I descended with both cases. The lobby was silent, a single receptionist perched behind the desk. Dom was already at the counter, shaking his head. ‘No one’s seen him. Bloody tosser,’ he muttered, turning to me. ‘What do you want to do?’
‘I’ve got work tomorrow. I have to get back.’
‘Is that his case?’ he nodded at the grey one.
‘Yes.’
‘I’ll come with you. He might show up at the airport. We’ll be covered.’
The horn of our taxi blared outside.
‘What about the room?’ I asked, hesitating.
‘Nah. I’ll sort it with Chase later,’ Dom said, already wheeling the grey case out. ‘You’ve got enough on your plate.’
I left the key on the marble counter.
‘If Mr Fuller appears,’ Dom said to the receptionist, ‘tell him we’ve gone to the airport.’
She gave me that look. The one women give each other when they know exactly what’s going on.
Dom fell asleep in the taxi, dead to the world. I stared out at the streets of Milan. Fiats were jostling with Ferraris, mopeds were weaving through the early morning rush-hour traffic. Tomorrow I’d be back in California, battling SUVs and existential dread.
Inside, I was raging. I hated Chase. I wanted to cry, scream and throw something. I wanted him to be at the airport so I could deliver a perfectly timed, well-deserved monologue of fury. But another part of me, a small, unwelcome part, worried. What if he was dead in a ditch? Or in bed with Carmen?
Check-in was chaos. ‘Is the other party on your ticket with you?’ asked the airline agent.
Dom was scanning the queue behind us. ‘No sign of him. Bloody idiot,’ he said, turning back.
The woman raised an eyebrow.
‘No, just me,’ I said.
Her face softened – pity, again. She flipped through my passport and Green Card, printed my boarding pass.
‘I’ve put you in an exit row. Gate closes in five minutes.’
‘Thank you.’
Her decency almost undid me. My throat tightened.
‘I’ll stay with the wanker’s bag,’ said Dom. ‘In case he turns up. You go.’
He wrapped me in a bear hug. ‘Take care, Flo. And don’t worry, I’ll give him both barrels if he dares show his face.’
‘Love you,’ I whispered.
‘Love you more.’
I walked fast to the gate so I wouldn’t fall apart. The business class days were long gone. Chase had torched through his air miles, half of them spent on flying his dealer around for ‘better product’.
I stuffed my carry-on into the overhead bin, slumped into my seat next to a pair of elderly American tourists, and stared straight ahead. Passengers filed past. No Chase.
The plane was about to pull back from the gate when someone tapped me on the shoulder.
‘Mrs Fuller?’
A flight attendant was standing, looming over me.
‘Yes?’
‘Your husband, Mr Fuller, is at the gate. He says he needs to board for “medical reasons”. The captain’s asked me to confirm this with you.’
I could picture him, sweating, slurring, and spinning tales about family legacies and his wife’s fragile nerves. This was it, the moment.
‘There are no medical reasons,’ I said. ‘He just wants to get on the plane.’
The attendant hesitated, then leaned in, her voice softer. ‘Shall I confirm the flight is closed?’
I didn’t pause. ‘Yes. Please.’
She gave a small nod, touched my arm, briefly, and turned back towards the cockpit.
I sat still. Straight-backed. Composed. All around me, I could feel the heat of glances and the weight of murmured speculation. People had overheard. Of course they had. But for once, I didn’t care.