Chapter 64
My head pounded and I felt a surge of nausea rising.
I took deep breaths to contain it. In for four and out for six.
I raised my head from the pillow to further take in my surroundings.
It hurt. I quietly took three pills out of their blister pack.
I knew the recommended dose was two, but my brain felt inflamed this morning.
I felt sick, emotionally and physically.
The corniced ceiling, the luxuriant drapes, the soft bedlinen and plush carpet in tones of cream, beige and gold, told me he was a man of means.
Fitted mirrored wardrobes lined one end of the room, and against the interior wall, a walnut dressing table on spindly legs was strewn with cosmetics and jars of lotions and potions, the expensive brands.
I could see my handbag on the cushioned seat beside it, an imposter, it’s royal blue clashing with everything else in this room, apart from my matching shoes lying at opposing angles as if they didn’t want to be a pair.
My dress was crumpled into a ball in a corner.
I could see the strap of my bra sticking out underneath it and flashed back to vigorous kissing in that corner as we had torn at each other’s clothes. This stranger and me.
‘You’d better go,’ he said, startling me.
He was awake. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t … this isn’t …
’ he mumbled, his voice clouded by a hangover I shared.
I sat up and turned to face him, grabbing the duvet to cover my breasts, noting now the hair on his chest, more plentiful than that on his head. Was he an addict too?
‘Me neither,’ I lied. ‘I had too much to drink.’ And that was true.
‘I was upset,’ he said, clearly desperate to make excuses for cheating on his wife. ‘It’s Rebecca, you see, she’s been having immunotherapy in Germany, it’s experimental. It’s a stressful time.’
‘I’m sorry, I’ll go. Rebecca is your daughter?’ I nodded towards the photo of the graduate with her mother as I scurried to the corner, and he turned away, giving me privacy while I scrambled to get my underwear on and shrug the dress over my head.
‘She’s my wife. I know. I’m a terrible person.’
‘What’s your name?’ I wanted to know more about this terrible person. Was he worse than me?
He seemed surprised. ‘Christopher –’ He was about to give his surname but stopped himself. ‘You’re Ruby, right?’
‘Right.’
‘And you’re here on holiday?’
Is that what I had told him last night?
‘Um, no, I live here.’
A flash of panic crossed his face.
‘But you said … you’re American? Your accent …’
‘I moved here when I was seventeen. I guess I never entirely lost the accent. Where are we? I mean, this house? I’m a bit fuzzy about getting back here last night.’ I did not want to admit to a blackout.
‘You said you were going back home to Boston.’ He seemed outraged at the lie.
‘I live in Ranelagh, okay?’ I was impatient now. ‘Where are we?’ I said again. ‘I don’t want to bump into you any more than you want to bump into me.’
‘Castleknock,’ he said, ‘the other side of the city. You don’t remember the cab ride home?’
I ignored the question. ‘Okay, we’re unlikely to be in the same tennis club. We won’t be seeing each other in a local restaurant or the supermarket. It’s okay.’
‘Fine. You’d better go. Please. The cleaning lady often comes early.’
I left before he could tell me a third time, grabbing my handbag, reassured to feel the shape of my phone and keys inside it, although the orange and the Polo mints were gone.
I made my way down a mahogany staircase to a Georgian front door with a fanlight above it.
I pulled the door behind me and glanced around.
It was still early, there was nobody about.
I walked towards a junction at the bottom of the street and hailed a cab idling at the traffic lights.
Time to face the music. While I wracked my brain to come up with a plausible excuse, my thoughts were astray with Rebecca, Christopher’s wife. Poor Rebecca.