Chapter Sixty
Of course I can’t actually go home home. But anywhere is more like home than that weird house with Nick.
I take myself to the nearest hotel and check in.
‘It’s good to see you again, Ms Raven,’ the receptionist says with a small smile.
Ms Raven? Not Mrs Ingram? I open my mouth to say something but close it again.
If I’ve come here after an argument with Nick, then perhaps this world’s Bethany did that too.
And booked in under her maiden name so she could pretend, if only for a night, that the whole of her marriage was just a bad dream and this hotel was her real life.
‘I’ve upgraded you to a suite,’ she adds as she hands me a small plastic key card. ‘There’s a huge bathtub and a fabulous array of products all set up for a pamper session. I’ll have someone bring you up a bottle of wine and some of that sticky toffee pudding.’
‘Erm … thanks?’ I reply, failing to keep the question out of my tone. Why is she being so nice?
Her face falls slightly. ‘You don’t remember?’ Her tone is soft.
‘Sorry, I had an accident. I’m fine now, but my memory …’
‘You were ever so kind last time you stayed.’ She grins. ‘You helped me with my uni assignment. And I passed the course. Got the highest mark in the class.’ She sounds so proud and I feel my heart squeeze for this young woman who obviously has so much potential and such a life ahead of her.
‘Well done, you. And congratulations.’
‘All thanks to you. Right then, I’d better get back to it.’ She nods towards the concierge desk where a stern-looking man is standing, a scowl creasing his face.
‘Your boss?’
‘Yeah.’ The word said on an outward breath. ‘He can be a bit …’ She trails off.
‘Are you sure you won’t get in trouble? For the suite and everything,’ I clarify.
‘Oh no, no. He has no idea how to even access the computer system. He just hates people smiling.’
‘Sounds like a peach.’
She laughs in reply.
‘Well, thank you.’
‘You’re welcome. If you need anything else just shout.’
I leave her and head up to the suite. Which is gorgeous. A huge bed and a corner sofa and a bathroom that’s like a marble cathedral with a tub big enough for two. She wasn’t kidding about the array of products either. I’m not sure what half of them even are.
Just as I’m lowering myself into a heaven full of tropical-scented suds, my mobile rings.
Leave it, the voice in my head tells me, it’s probably Nick being a dick.
A tiny bubble of a laugh threatens to escape as I remember the way Cesca had made up a rap – yes, it was as cringe as it sounds, but also totally hilarious – about Nick in the months after we broke up.
It was amazing how many words rhyme with Nick: slick, prick and dick being Cesca’s personal favourites.
Plus of course she made good use of his occasional penchant for going commando with a lovely bridge about ‘knickerless Nicholas’.
Childish maybe. But extremely satisfying all the same.
My phone stops ringing and I slip further into the water, trying to keep that image of Cesca in my head.
Where she is alive and happy and very much an integral part of my life.
But I can’t hold on to it and it begins to evaporate, turning grey and smoky around the edges like a half-formed thing.
Reality crashes back over me. I’m in a world where Cesca isn’t.
Where she can never be. I let the water take me, fully immersing myself into its warm embrace.
And then I open my mouth and scream silently, letting the rage out.
It doesn’t work. If anything my anger grows, boiling me alive inside this cocoon of fake luxury. Fuck this. I get out of the bath, dripping over the marble floor and wrap myself in a huge bathrobe. I need a drink.
The first glass of red wine slides down quickly and I raise a toast to the kind receptionist who sent it up. I sip the second glass, waiting to feel the edges of my rage starting to soften. But they don’t. The wine only serves to sharpen them, glass shards waiting to slice open anyone around me.
Ha! You’re alone here. I really wish my inner voice was less of a vindictive bitch. Even if she’s right. I’m on my own here, trapped in a world without Cesca, without my career or my flat or even a mobile phone contract that isn’t tied to a husband I hate.
I spill a bit of Merlot as I pour myself a third glass.
I wake up to the sound of a fist pounding on the door. ‘What the fuck?’ I say out loud as I struggle to sit up. There’s a bathrobe wrapped around me and I struggle to free myself, panic rising as I try to figure out where the hell I am.
The hotel.
Right, that makes sense. My head is throbbing.
The pounding on the door intensifies.
‘Coming,’ I shout. What if it’s Nick? I freeze in place.
‘It’s me. Amina.’
Oh. I wrap the bathrobe back around me before opening the door. She tumbles into the room. ‘You didn’t answer.’ Her tone is accusatory.
‘I was—’
‘Getting shit-faced,’ she interrupts me. Then she steps back and stares at me for a few moments.
‘Sorry.’
She turns away and reaches out for my phone resting on the bedside table. ‘I tried to call you.’ She squints at the screen and turns it to face me. ‘I’m not exaggerating when I say I tried twenty times over the last four hours.’
‘Sorry.’
‘I thought something awful had happened.’
‘Sorry.’
‘Stop apologizing.’
‘Sor—’
‘You are fucking infuriating. Do you know that? Sitting here in a goddamn hotel.’ She waves around the space.
‘Although thankfully you came to the same one you did, the other you did, when she had a breakdown. So at least I could find you. But here you are, just what? Wallowing? Getting pissed on wine in a bathrobe in a hotel as if that will solve anything?’
‘I …’ But there’s not really anything I can say in my defence. ‘Sorry.’ Tears prick at the backs of my eyes.
Fire flashes in Amina’s eyes. ‘Oh hell no. We are not doing this shit. Okay?’ She draws herself up a few inches as if preparing for a fight. ‘You need to pull yourself together. We have work to do.’
‘Work?’
‘Yes. Work. Because while you’ve been sitting here getting pissed, we’ve been busy.’
‘We?’
Amina scoops my jeans and hoodie up from the floor where I discarded them earlier and thrusts them into my hands. ‘Get dressed. Brush your hair and wipe the mascara from under your eyes. I’ll make coffee. He’ll be here soon.’
He? ‘Who’ll be here soon?’
She spins round to look at me, one hip popped. ‘Get dressed. Now.’ She points towards the bathroom.
There’s a knock on the door of the suite.
‘Now,’ Amina hisses, jabbing the air.
I do what I’m told, closing the bathroom door as she crosses the room to let whoever is here inside.