Friend Request(53)

‘Have you heard anything more?’ he says. ‘From whoever set up the page, I mean?’

‘No.’ I don’t want to let Sam in any more than I have to. It’s bad enough that he knows about this. I don’t want it to be the way he seeps back into my life.

‘And are there… has she friend-requested anyone else?’

‘Just one. Nathan Drinkwater.’

‘Who is that, do you know?’ he says.

‘I’ve no idea. It’s not someone from school, is it?’

‘No, I don’t think so. I’ve never heard of him. Look, Louise, you know I’ve always stood by you over this, don’t you? I helped you, I was the only one who understood.’

He’s right, and it’s why I miss him so much still, despite everything. He is about to say more, but his attention is caught by Pete and Sophie across the hall, who appear to be arguing. She’s laughing but he doesn’t seem to be enjoying the joke; in fact he looks to be getting angrier and angrier. Sam eyes them with interest.

‘Anyway, I just wanted to say I don’t think you should mention anything to Tim about this Facebook thing if he turns up,’ Sam says. ‘It would be too upsetting for him.’

‘I wasn’t going to, Sam. What do you think I am, some complete emotional dunce?’ I’m back on the defensive. I’d forgotten what conversation with him could be like. Like being pulled from a deep sleep straight up onto your toes, skipping around like a boxer, constantly alert for the next jab.

‘No, of course not. Sorry, it was silly of me. I know you wouldn’t do something like that.’ There’s a silence while he seems to be weighing something up.

‘It’s great to see you properly, Louise. How are you? Are you doing OK?’

He puts a hand on my arm again.

‘I’m fine,’ I say, taking a step back, wine slopping from my glass and running down my wrist. I’m not so drunk that I’ve totally lost Polly’s voice in my head, telling me to keep my guard up, not let him see any vulnerability. I swap my glass to the other hand and raise my wrist to my mouth to lick the wine, stop it running any further down my arm and onto my dress. Then I see Sam’s eyes on my tongue and I stop, lowering my hand, the wine cold and sticky on my skin. He takes a step towards me and opens his mouth to speak, when there’s a commotion on the other side of the room. Pete throws up a hand in what looks like disgust, Sophie flinching dramatically as if he were going to hit her, and strides off, out of the hall. Sophie glares after him, her face alive with rage and humiliation.

‘I’d better go and see if Sophie’s OK.’ I need to get out of this conversation before things get out of control, before I start to lose myself.

Sam looks surprised and a little hurt. ‘I thought we could have a catch-up. I know you don’t want to hear about… you know… Daisy and all that, but there’s other things – how do you think Henry’s getting on at school? He never tells me anything.’

‘Fine, he’s fine. Make an appointment to see his teacher if you’re that interested. I’ll see you later.’ I practically run away, not to Sophie, but to the relative privacy of the toilets. I lean against the cubicle door, feeling my heart beating all over my body. I put my hands on either side of me, pressing against the wall, as if that will stop me from falling. I can still feel the heat of his hand on my arm, his eyes on my tongue.

The rush of optimism I felt a short while ago has totally dissipated. When my breathing has slowed to something approaching normal, I go back into the hall and across the room I see Sophie and Sam deep in conversation, his hand on her arm. My stomach gives a little twinge. The jokey flirtation of their teenage friendship always upset me, and although I have kept it carefully filed away, my jealousy has never been far from the surface, threatening to burst out, ugly and full of accusation. There’s also something else, something about the way his hand rests on her arm, that bothers me. I look around for someone to talk to. It’s only ten o’clock, I can’t admit defeat and leave yet.

Esther and Brett are sitting on the other side of the hall, holding hands and chatting animatedly to a couple of women I vaguely recognise. Brett has hardly left her side all evening, holding her hand, his arm around her. I guess she’s more nervous than she seems. For the next hour I sit with them, nodding and smiling if anyone looks at me, laughing when they laugh, barely joining in the conversation. Being the first to leave seems like such an admission of defeat, but as soon as others start to do so, citing babysitters and early starts, I make my excuses too. I can’t face saying goodbye to anyone else and I don’t want to risk another encounter with Sam anyway, so I find my coat and slink out of the hall, dropping my name badge on the table as I go.

In the school car park I call the taxi number I carefully programmed in earlier and ask them to come as soon as possible, sitting on a low wall to wait. The sound of the music from the hall rises every time the doors open to expel small groups, coming out in twos and threes to smoke. All of them laugh about how rebellious it feels to be lighting up on school property, as if they’re the first ones to think of the joke. My breath streams out as I sit unseen in the darkness and I pull my coat around me more closely. I’ve forgotten my gloves, so I fold my arms and tuck my hands under, hugging myself tightly.

‘Hello again,’ says a voice from the shadows.