Chapter 5
Five
I LAY IN BED. Victoria’s bed? Someone’s bed. It was late. Or maybe it was early. I tried shutting my eyes, but every time I did, the room spun like a fairground ride, lurching me awake.
I didn’t know where Obi was. Or Victoria. Or anyone.
Once inside, I’d headed straight for the fridge. There was a bottle of champagne already open. I’d lifted it out, slopped a generous helping into a discarded coupe and drunk it in one. Bubbles had fizzed up my nose. I’d coughed, poured myself another.
After that, things got hazy.
I remember seeing the Young Vic guy chatting with some people and marching over to him.
‘I know you,’ I said. ‘You’re The Dane.’
The small group of people tittered.
‘Please can I have some drugs, The Dane?’
They laughed again (with me? At me? Who cares?).
I remember crossing my arms, waiting, staring the guy down and him raising his eyebrows to his friends, feeling around in his pockets.
When he came up empty, one of the women he was with – horsey, skinny, bones jutting from tiers of organza – grabbed my arm and pulled me inside the nearest bathroom.
‘What do I do?’ I asked, as she divided up two lines of white powder with swift strokes of her American Express card.
She shrugged. ‘You just sort of snort it, I guess.’
She handed me a bank note, a pitying expression on her face, and I lowered my head to the counter.
I reared back. My nose felt stuffy, the back of my throat numb. I snorted and a glob of chemical snot hit the back of my gullet. I made a choking sound, and the girl laughed, her too-large teeth reflected a thousand times in the angled mirror.
And then I danced.
And then I kissed someone (I don’t remember who).
And then I danced some more.
And then I felt someone’s hand scramble up my skirt (I don’t remember whose).
And someone cried (maybe me).
And someone puked (definitely me).
And later – despite the huge cloakroom downstairs – I found myself surrounded by bags and coats in what I assume was a guest room.
Someone knocked at the door. I shut my eyes and ignored them. The door opened anyway and a crack of light appeared, slicing the bed and the girl upon it in two.
I felt someone lie down beside me. An arm appeared in my periphery and wrapped around my torso. I mumbled something and the arm retreated.
I was tired. I was so very fucking tired. I wanted a glass of water and for the spinning to stop and for this person to just leave me alone. But the words to explain this got caught in the back of my throat. And so, I said nothing. I did nothing.
We lay like that for a few minutes, me and the stranger. After a while I almost forgot they were there. But then they came closer. I could feel their breath on my neck, their inhales and exhales, excessive, like they were pretending to be asleep. In. Out. I breathed in time with them. In. Out.
Downstairs there was music and laughter, the noise of people holding tight to the night. One more drink, one more dance, just one more. Calmed by this Bacchic lullaby, I felt myself fading, drifting into a dreamless sleep. But then my leg twitched and I jerked awake again.
Taking this bout of sudden movement as an invitation, the stranger nestled closer. I could feel their nose and the soft flutter of their eyelashes against the nape of my neck. I groaned and wriggled away.
‘Hey, it’s just me.’
I froze.
I opened one eyelid a crack. In the mirror opposite, a face loomed above me.
Stefano.
His hand appeared on my waist. I didn’t move. The hand remained there, taut, waiting. And then before I knew what was happening, Stefano’s lips were on mine.
He smelled wrong. He felt wrong. His lips were too fleshy, too all-engulfing. Still he continued kissing me. I couldn’t breathe. Eventually I managed to roll my head away from his.
‘I came in to check on you,’ he said, panting. He brushed a hair away from my face. ‘I wanted to make sure you were OK.’
‘I’m – I’m fine,’ I whimpered. I was crying. I don’t know when, but at some point I’d started crying.
‘Hey, quiet now,’ he cooed. He cradled the back of my head, crushing my cheek against his chest. ‘It’s OK. I’m here now. I’ll take care of you.’
I heard the words, I knew their meaning, that they were meant to be reassuring, but still something inside me kicked like a frightened rabbit.
Stefano kissed my forehead, my damp cheeks, my lips. ‘I’ll take care of you,’ he repeated. ‘Don’t worry. I’m here now.’