The Guilt Trip(43)

Maybe she’ll try to talk to him about it again when they get back to their room. Though, if he’s going to throw Noah back in her face again, she’d rather avoid the subject altogether, because, until she knows what Ali saw or heard tonight, she doesn’t feel she should be volunteering to put herself in the firing line. Because, if it all goes against her, she won’t have a leg to stand on. He’ll be able to justify whatever he’s done because she’s done worse. The admission that Jack could have an affair, and she have no recourse, shames her.

But it suddenly occurs to her that although she might not have much to bargain with as far as Jack’s concerned, if Ali’s not yet told him about Noah, she might have some chips to use against her. What price would she pay for Rachel not to tell Will about Rick? Or that she has no intention of having children anytime soon? Rachel guiltily exhales as she sees the shimmering light at the end of the tunnel: her quid pro quo.





13



Once Rachel retires to her room, she feels an inexplicable need to speak to Josh; as if somehow the exchange between her and Noah had not only called into question who his father is, but doubted her as his mother too. It’s ridiculous, she knows, but after trying so hard all those years ago to dampen down the 1 percent of uncertainty that had snaked around her conscience, it now feels that it’s 99 percent certain in favor of Noah, throwing everything into question.

She checks the time on her phone, and weighs what Josh might be doing at two in the morning. It being a Friday, he’ll most definitely be up, but will he really want to speak to his guilt-ridden mother, who, if she is honest with herself, is only looking for some kind of reassurance?

“Love you,” she texts instead as she wipes off her eye makeup. She leans in to the bathroom mirror to look at herself as the last traces of eyeshadow vanish. Her mascara, which was advertised as being able to withstand even the longest night, is living up to its promise, the stubborn black paint drawing dark shadows under her eyes.

She looks old, older than she feels, which on a good day is somewhere around twenty-five. How can you be forty-two? she silently asks her reflection, before sighing. She can remember her own mother being forty and thinking she was so old. Way past being able to go out, get drunk and be attractive to the opposite sex. Yet, incredibly, she seems to have managed all of that in just one night.

As she flips the top of the bin open with her foot, a flash of color catches her eye. Peering closer, she can see that it’s the painted rooster, with the vibrant red love hearts on its tail, that Ali gave Jack.

“What is wrong with her?” Rachel says aloud as she takes it out. Regardless of whether it’s a Portuguese symbol or not, it’s not something you would give to your fiancé’s brother, and that’s without the double entendre that Paige so helpfully observed.

If there’s one thing Rachel’s sure of, it’s that Ali can’t know Jack very well, because there’s nothing about this he would like. It’s ostentatious, indiscreet and, dare she say, a little tacky. It takes Rachel a few seconds to realize that it has Ali written all over it. If she were ever to be immortalized in a sculpture form, this preening figure—so out there and cocksure of itself—would surely be it.

Thankfully, Jack is more refined, more discerning; he’d never dream of giving a gift like this. It’s only then, that it occurs to her that if he were to give a gift to someone he cared about, he’d take time to get it right, be sure that he chose it carefully.

She doesn’t know she’s going to do it until she’s in the closet, checking the pockets of his two jackets that are hanging there. His wallet must be there somewhere, as she’s pretty sure he didn’t take it out with him tonight, opting instead to take a bundle of euro notes and a credit card. Though, he hadn’t needed either as his parents had generously paid for everything. She finds it in his shorts pocket; the ones he was wearing earlier in the day, but now that she has it, she’s not sure what she’s looking for. She thumbs through the receipts that make the leather bulge, wondering if she’s got enough time to quickly go through them. She’ll know it when she sees it; an anomaly among the petrol-station counterfoils and black cab chits. The glaringly obvious proof that he’s been somewhere he shouldn’t, bought something he shouldn’t or done something he shouldn’t.

She listens to the noise still emanating from the room below, trying to make out Jack’s voice above the cacophony, which, unsurprisingly, is mainly Ali’s high-pitched squawking.

“I always knew you fancied her,” Ali squeals. “You wait until I tell her.”

Rachel opens the door a little, straining to listen. “I didn’t say I fancied her.” Will laughs. “You asked me which of your friends I thought was the most attractive.”

“Yeah, and if you had to spend a night with one of them, who would it be?”

“So, if you’re forcing me, I’d probably opt for Pippa.”

“I’ll have to keep an eye on you two tomorrow,” Ali says, giggling. “So, Jack, what about you?”

Rachel’s breath catches in her throat as a loaded silence creeps into the air. She wishes she could see the expression on Jack’s face, or maybe Ali’s would give more away as she looks at him, forcing him into a corner.

“What about me?” says Jack tightly.