When You Are Mine(86)
I mumble a reply and keep moving. My hands are shaking when I reach the VW. I struggle to find the ignition, then first gear, second, third … accelerating. Too fast. Slow down. Stay calm.
I’m furious with myself. What a pointless, ridiculous exercise – to risk so much and gain so little. I don’t have the ring, which means I can’t use it against Goodall, or return it to Imogen’s family. All I have is a secret that I can never share with anyone.
Book Three
I want her to melt into me, like butter on toast. I want to absorb her and walk around for the rest of my days with her encased in my skin.
SARA GRUEN
47
This is our third nightclub and each one has been louder than the last, with darker corners, brighter flashing lights, and more bodies on the dance floor. I can’t remember how long it’s been since I went out dancing, but nothing much has changed, particularly the cost of drinks and the chat-up lines.
I went through a clubbing phase in my late teens, wearing clingy dresses and high heels, sweet-talking bouncers, and getting free entry because girls bring in guys. Usually, we couldn’t afford to buy more than one cocktail, but there were always stockbrokers and traders who kept us supplied. Today’s suitors don’t have the same sort of cash or cachet. They’re younger and braver, strutting around like playboys, hoping to ‘hook up’ with a ‘bit of posh’, but happy to fight with a jealous boyfriend if that’s how the night unfolds.
A group of young guys have been doing their best to get us to dance with them. They barely look eighteen, although it’s hard to tell in this lighting. One guy in particular seems to have taken a shine to me. I explain that this is my hen night, but I don’t think he understands, or he doesn’t hear me. His name is Jasper and he has a Russian accent and looks like he should be in a boy band, with his gelled hair and on-trend shirt.
Jasper keeps asking me to dance, but my feet are sore because I listened to Margot and wore high heels, which are giving me blisters. I’m also quite drunk because Brianna keeps buying me cocktails, which I’ve taken to pouring into a potted plant when she’s not looking. I hope it’s plastic.
Yelling over the music, I try to explain to Jasper that I’m getting married. He wants to know why my fiancé let me come out on my own.
‘I’m not on my own,’ I shout. My lips brush his ear and I pull away, embarrassed, and point to my friends.
‘Are they single?’ he asks.
‘Some of them, but I think you should look for someone younger.’
‘How old do you think I am?’
‘Forty-five,’ I say, jokingly.
He looks aggrieved.
‘Are you allowed to be here?’ I ask.
‘Of course. I have proof.’ He shows me a UK driver’s licence.
‘Well, that’s fake. I hope you didn’t pay a lot.’
‘How do you know?’
‘I’m a police officer.’
He laughs, thinking I’m joking, but then looks concerned that he’s been caught out. He makes an excuse and disappears, looking for someone else to chat up.
I’m sitting on my own again, watching the others dance. Carmen has joined them, clearly and proudly pregnant, and high on life rather than alcohol or drugs.
Sara has her arms around a boy, who is thrusting his pelvis into hers, but she seems amused rather than annoyed.
I hear Tempe’s voice before I realise that she’s sitting beside me.
‘You’re not dancing,’ she says.
‘My feet are hurting.’
I try not to look surprised and wonder for a moment which one of my friends invited her. The song is ending, but bleeds into the next one, which is slower. Tempe is wearing a short black dress, which rides up, exposing the top of her stockings.
‘That’s rather old-fashioned,’ I say, pointing to her suspenders. ‘Are they comfortable?’
‘Not really, but they make me feel sexy.’
Her cocktail matches mine, a strawberry daiquiri. After a long pause, she asks, ‘Why didn’t you invite me?’
‘Sara arranged it. It was a surprise.’
‘You’re lying.’
I can’t match her gaze. I take a sip, then another, trying to delay the conversation. I have to say something.
‘Please don’t be upset.’
‘I’m not,’ she says blithely. ‘It’s not my fault if your friends don’t like me.’
‘Can we talk about this tomorrow. I can barely hear myself think.’
Tempe is sitting close. I can smell her perfume and her shampoo.
‘I try so hard,’ she says, yelling in my ear, on the verge of tears. ‘What more can I do? I listen. I don’t talk about myself. I ask questions about their work and hobbies. Nobody ever asks me questions.’
‘I do.’
‘But I wasn’t invited.’
‘These are my oldest friends. It’s like a school reunion.’
‘This is your hen night. I helped arrange your wedding.’
‘You’re a new friend, not an old one.’
‘Don’t treat me like a child,’ she says bitterly.
‘You’re here now.’