When You Are Mine(87)

‘I’m not staying.’ She motions to where the others have left the dance floor but are avoiding us. ‘They’re talking about me. They’re always saying things behind my back.’

‘No, they’re not.’

She looks at me sceptically. And leans forward. A delicate silver pendant swings from her neck.

‘Margot saw me earlier at the bar. She didn’t come over. She didn’t acknowledge me. I’m always the one who makes the effort. I’m the one chasing after them.’

‘You should back off – let people come to you.’

‘Fine,’ says Tempe, picking up her clutch bag, preparing to leave.

‘Stay.’

‘You’ll have a nicer time without me.’

‘I’ll buy you a drink.’

‘No, let me buy. Then I’m going.’

I watch her walk to the bar. Her hips hugged by her dress. The men are looking. She could have any of them, but she’s only interested in me. Margot appears at my shoulder. She has clearly been designated by the others to find out what’s happening.

‘Hey,’ she shouts. ‘What’s Tempe doing here?’

‘Don’t worry, she’s leaving.’

‘Any particular reason?’

I shake my head and sigh, tiredly. ‘Go back to the others. Tell them I’m fine. I’ll be over soon.’

Tempe returns. She has bought cocktails for both of us. A man approaches, his top button is undone and his tie at half-mast. He asks Tempe to dance, but she smiles and declines. He turns to me, his second choice, but I shake my head, feeling drunker than before.

Tempe says something to him. His eyes widen and he bows to me, apologising before leaving.

‘What did you say to him?’ I shout.

She shrugs and sips her drink.

‘What happened with Dr Coyle?’

‘He’s gone.’

‘Back to Belfast?’

Another shrug. A change of subject. ‘I can be a good friend, you know.’

‘You’ve done enough for me.’

‘But I could be better.’

She reaches out and takes my hand. Her touch is cool. She brushes my palm with her fingertip.

‘Promise you’ll never shut me out.’





48


My eyes refuse to open. Sticky. Blind for a moment. Mouth rank. Body poisoned. Head pounding. I’m awake, trying to hold the pain at bay but it comes in waves. I imagine that I’m in my own bed, in my own house, with Henry’s arms around me.

Only, it’s not Henry. Tempe is behind me. Her skin against mine. I roll away, moving too quickly. Vomit in my mouth. Swallowing hard. I drag a sheet around me. Tempe stirs.

‘What happened?’ I ask.

‘What do you mean?’

‘How did I get here?’

‘Don’t you remember?’

‘No.’

It’s like I fell asleep in one world and have woken up in another. I have pieces. Fragments. We were dancing. Drinking. I don’t recall leaving the nightclub. How did I get to Tempe’s flat? Who undressed me? An image flashes into my mind. Tempe talking to me. Saying things that I can’t understand. Her dress has slipped down. She kisses me. I’m kissing her back. She smells of smoke and perfume and something sweetly dirty and I have a strange feeling this is happening to someone else. It’s not unpleasant. It’s interesting. An experiment.

Tempe rolls out of bed and grabs her robe from a hook behind the door.

‘You were drunk. I mean really drunk,’ she says, lifting her hair over the collar. ‘I didn’t think it was safe to let you go home alone, so I brought you here. I didn’t want Henry seeing you like that.’

‘I remember being at the nightclub. We were talking to that young guy. Do you think he could have slipped something into my drink?’

Her eyes widen. ‘A roofie. I guess it’s possible. One minute you were fine and the next you were totally wasted.’

I look around the room. ‘Where are my clothes?’

‘You vomited on your dress. It’s soaking in the sink.’

‘I don’t remember being sick.’

‘Not in the Uber, thank God. He pulled over just in time. He didn’t want to take us after that. I had to promise him extra money.’

‘I’ll pay you back,’ I say, still not remembering. I’m wracking my brain.

‘You were having a really good time,’ says Tempe. ‘Dancing and laughing. You were flirting with two guys who kept buying you drinks.’

‘Really?’

I feel the bruising on my toes and notice the blisters left by the straps.

‘I need something to wear.’

‘Of course. Choose something from the wardrobe.’

When I first try to stand, I almost fall over. I steady myself against the wall. Head hammering. I look through her things, choosing a pair of cargo pants and a baggy T-shirt. When I pull the T-shirt over my head, I feel dizzy and I can’t rid myself of the sense that something dreadful has happened, and that I haven’t been paying attention.

In the same breath, the nausea overwhelms me. I dash to the bathroom and kneel over the toilet, heaving up a caustic stew of alcohol and fruit. In between the waves of retching, I prop myself against the wall, pressing my forehead against the cool tiles.