Forget Her Name(78)

‘Just gone five. And there’ll be no warming up. Not until you’re better.’

I pretend to sulk for a minute.

‘You should try to get some sleep,’ he adds.

I say nothing.

It takes him another three or four minutes of waiting, then Dominic breaks. ‘Cat?’ Quickly, he corrects himself. ‘Rachel?’

I roll over and look for him in the darkness. There’s a shimmering, man-sized mass over where they placed the plastic chair. So he’s not even trying to sleep. Just sitting there, wide awake, watching me.

Now I call that cheating.

‘Aren’t you going to get some sleep yourself?’

‘I can sleep later. It’s no different from a night shift.’ He yawns audibly, then laughs. ‘Except for the sitting-still part. I’m used to a rather more eventful night shift than this.’

I slap the wall behind me with the flat of my palm. ‘This wasn’t eventful enough for you? I must be slipping.’

‘Oh, you were right up there with the greats.’

‘Name me a great.’

‘The morbidly obese woman with the hernia. Who was also incontinent.’ He pauses. ‘That was an epic night.’

I laugh and sit up. There’s an instant stirring from my guard, as though he’s steeling himself for some kind of attack.

‘Please may I have some water?’ I ask plaintively.

Another pause. Then he gets up and turns on the light. I blink, shielding my eyes. Unlike me, Dominic is still fully dressed. Jeans, sweatshirt, trainers, all the same as last night. I bet he’s dying for a shower. There’s a smear of dried blood on his thigh. I focus on it as he comes nearer, holding out a bottle of water.

‘Here.’

He’s already removed the cap. Just in case I try to swallow it, perhaps.

I take the bottle and drink greedily while he watches. My body is so dehydrated. I can almost feel my cells plumping up as I pour mouthfuls of cold water down my throat.

I hand it back, empty. ‘I needed that.’

‘All that wine earlier,’ he comments. ‘You knocked back most of a bottle in about ten minutes, by my reckoning. Not exactly clever.’

‘I was thirsty.’ I change the topic, pointing at the stain on his jeans. ‘Was that me?’

He glances down, then nods. ‘You hurt your hands.’

‘You tried to stop me.’

‘Unsuccessfully.’

‘I’m feeling better now, honestly. No more wall-gouging.’

His gaze moves down my naked body, then shifts quickly away. As if he’s unwilling to sexualise me in this state. To take advantage.

I’m not unwilling.

‘Seriously though, I’m freezing.’ I rub my bare arms and hug myself, pretending to shiver violently. ‘Can’t I have my clothes back?’

‘I was warned not to allow that.’

I make a face, dismissing his concerns. ‘Because of the thing with the tights, I suppose.’

‘What thing with the tights?’

‘Didn’t they tell you?’ I mime making a noose from tights, and then hanging myself with it. ‘After that, they took turns watching me.’

‘Jesus Christ.’

‘It’s okay though. I wouldn’t do that now. I was a teenager. Kids always do that wacky, look-at-me crap. It’s fine now. You can totally trust me with clothes. Even tights, though personally I hate them. So nasty and unsexy. Catherine used to wear them for work, I know. But God, you wouldn’t catch me dead in a pair. Well, maybe if I’d succeeded with the noose thing.’ I lean back against the cold wall, making sure he gets a good eyeful of my breasts before I draw my knees up to my chest. ‘Look, babe, I’m totally over the suicide vibe. And I’m freezing.’

He checks the radiator behind his plastic chair. ‘The heating’s on.’

‘Still cold.’

‘I can’t get your clothes back. Jasmine’s looking after them.’

‘So knock her up.’ I give a derisive laugh at my pun, imagining the ineffectual Jasmine pairing off with my husband. ‘So to speak.’

He frowns. ‘It’s five in the morning. She’ll be asleep.’

‘Where?’

‘Next door.’

‘You let her sleep in our bedroom? In our bed?’ My voice is high with outrage. ‘What the fuck, Dom?’

A muscle jerks in his cheek. ‘Lower your voice, please.’

‘Oh, go screw yourself! You’ve got no power over me.’

‘I mean it, Cat. Stop shouting at me.’

‘Not Cat!’ I scream at him. ‘Not Cat! Not Cat!’

‘Stop shouting, Cat,’ he repeats deliberately.

I want to get up and punch him in the face. To do something violent. Or better still, have it done to me. I glare at him through narrowed, speculative eyes.

‘Or what, fuckface?’

Dominic takes three swift paces and picks me up without effort, his hands gripping my upper arms painfully. He slams me against the wall so we’re at eye level and stares into my face, mere inches away. His chest is heaving, his face flushed, teeth bared. It looks as if he’s finally had enough of me and my shit.

‘You little . . .’