The It Girl(58)

“Sod flowers. You should have brought something stronger than that,” April said. “Just what the doctor ordered, am I right?” She winked at Hugh and tucked her arm possessively through his. Hugh blushed again, more violently this time, and Hannah had the strong impression he was forcing himself not to pull away.

“S-so what, then?” he countered. “Champagne?”

“I doubt they run to vintage here, but a double G and T would be a good start,” April said. Hugh nodded, unlinked his arm with an ill-concealed air of relief, and began threading his way through the crowd to the bar. April turned to Will.

“So? No congratulations from you, Will de Chastaigne?”

“You were very good, April,” Will said, but there was an edge in his voice that made Hannah look up. Apparently whatever it was, April heard it too, for she frowned.

“Very good? That’s it? That’s all I get?”

“Okay, you were great. Is that better?”

“What I want,” April said through gritted teeth, “is something a bit more effusive than great. If Hugh can come up with absolutely superb I think my actual bloody boyfriend could manage more than a one-line review. How about a congratulatory kiss?”

There was a charged silence, and then Will leaned down and kissed April dutifully on the lips.

Hannah knew she should turn away. She wanted to turn away, but instead she stood, hypnotized, as April threaded her hands through Will’s hair, pulling his head down to hers, forcing his mouth open into a long, wet-tongued kiss that seemed to go on, and on, until with a desperate kind of wrench Will pulled himself away.

He stood, his chest rising and falling, staring down at April without saying a word. There was copper-colored makeup smeared across his chest and face, and the black of April’s lipstick was on his mouth like a bruise. April stared back with something like triumph.

Then, without another word, she turned on her heel.

“Must go,” she shot back over her shoulder. “I’m straight on after the second act.”

And then she was gone, disappearing into the crowd, just a small black head bobbing through the sea of students.

“What the fuck was that all about?” Emily said with astonishment. Will shook his head. He touched his fingertips to his face and looked down at the makeup there.

“Has anyone got a tissue?”

“There’s paper napkins at the bar,” Emily said. She raised her voice to where Hugh was standing by the counter. “Hugh! Grab us a few paper towels, would you?”

“Everything all right between you two, mate?” Ryan said. His voice was uneasy and he rocked on his heels, his hands shoved in his back pockets as if he didn’t trust them not to betray something about his mood.

“Fine.” Will’s voice was short. Hugh had come back from the bar with a plastic cup of gin and tonic and a handful of cocktail napkins, and now Will took them and wiped his mouth and chin. “How do I look?”

“Hang on,” Emily said. She took the cleaner of the two serviettes and dabbed at the streaks of orange still on Will’s cheekbone and jaw. “There you go. There’s not much I can do about your T-shirt, though.”

“It’s fine,” Will said again, his voice tight as a snare.

It’s not fine, Hannah wanted to say. She stared at him, trying to understand what was going on. Had April found something out? Had Will told her?

She was opening her mouth, groping for what to say, when the interval bell rang, and they turned and began filtering back into the auditorium.

It was only as they took their seats that Hannah noticed something—or rather, someone. Someone she was sure had not been there in the first half. It was a man sitting about two rows back from the front, very tall and broad.

It was John Neville.





AFTER


After she leaves the Bonnie Bagel, Hannah finds herself wandering, aimlessly, through the drizzly streets of New Town, her mind buzzing with thoughts of April and Neville. She’s walking the cramped aisles of a Tesco Express, more to get out of the rain than because they really need anything, when her phone goes.

“Hey!” It’s Will. “Have you booked anywhere, or should I?”

Shit. Date night. She had completely forgotten, and now the thought of sitting opposite Will for two hours in a restaurant, no phones or TV or work emails to distract them or fill the gaps in conversation… she’s not sure if she can face it.

“I thought maybe Mono,” Will is saying now. He’s clearly on his lunch break; she can hear the hubbub of a sandwich bar in the background. “But do you reckon we’d get a reservation at such short notice? Or there’s always Contini’s, but we go there so often. I don’t know. What do you think?”

What does she think? She has no idea. She only knows that the question of which restaurant to go to seems painfully insignificant in the aftermath of Geraint’s bombshell—and that she can’t have that conversation here, in the supermarket. She swallows.

“Look, would you mind if we didn’t go out tonight? I’m just—I feel like we ought to be saving money.”

There’s a short silence.

“Sure,” Will says. His voice is crackly on the other end of the line, but she can still hear the faint puzzlement. “But, you know, we don’t have to go fancy, we could just get fish and chips.”