The Guest List(73)

‘To the bar, boys!’ Duncan roars, leaping to his feet. ‘Time to raise hell!’

The rest of the guests follow them, taking this as their cue, laughing and chattering. I stay sitting in my seat. Most seem thrilled, titillated, by the speech and the spectacle that came after it. But I can’t say I feel the same – though Will was smiling there was a disturbing undertone about it all: the blindfold, tying his hands and feet like that. I look across to the top table and see that it is almost completely deserted apart from Jules, who is sitting very still, apparently lost in thought.

Suddenly there’s a commotion from the bar tent. Raised voices.

‘Whoa – steady on!’

‘What the fuck is your problem, mate?’

‘Jesus, calm down—’

And then, unmistakably, my husband’s voice. Oh God. I get to my feet and hurry towards the bar. There’s a press of people, all avidly watching, like children in a playground. I shove my way through to the front as quickly as I can.

Charlie is crouched on the floor. Then I realise that his fist is raised and he’s half-straddling another man: Duncan.

‘Say that again,’ Charlie says.

For a moment I can only stare at him: my husband – Geography teacher, father of two, usually such a mild man. I haven’t seen this side of him for a very long time. Then I realise I have to act. ‘Charlie!’ I say, rushing forward. He turns and for a moment he just blinks at me, like he hardly recognises me. He’s flushed, trembling with adrenaline. I can smell the booze on his breath. ‘Charlie – what the hell are you doing?’

He seems to come to his senses a little at this. And, thank God, he gets up without too much fuss. Duncan straightens his shirt, muttering under his breath. As Charlie follows me, the crowd parting to let us pass, I can feel all the guests watching silently. Now that my immediate horror has receded I simply feel mortified.

‘What on earth was that?’ I ask him as we return to the main tent, sit down at the nearest table. ‘Charlie – what’s got into you?’

‘I had enough,’ he says. There’s definitely a slur to his speech and I can see how much he’s drunk by the bitter set of his mouth. ‘He was mouthing off about the stag, and I’ve had enough.’

‘Charlie,’ I say. ‘What happened on the stag?’

He gives a long groan, covers his face with his hands.

‘Tell me,’ I say. ‘How bad can it be? Really?’

Charlie’s shoulders slump. He seems resigned to telling me, suddenly. He takes a deep breath. There’s a long pause.And then, at last, he begins to talk.

‘We got a ferry to this place a couple of hours’ ride from Stockholm, made a camp there on an island in the archipelago. It was very … you know, boy’s own, putting up tents, lighting a fire. Someone had bought some steaks and we cooked them over the embers. I didn’t know any of the blokes other than Will, but they seemed all right, I suppose.’

Suddenly it’s all tumbling out of him, the booze he’s drunk loosening his tongue. They’d all been to Trevellyan’s together, he tells me, so there was a lot of boring reminiscing about that; Charlie just sat there and smiled and tried to look interested. He didn’t want to drink much, obviously, and they mocked him about that. Then one of them – Pete, Charlie thinks – produced some mushrooms.

‘You ate mushrooms, Charlie? Magic mushrooms?’ I nearly laugh. This doesn’t sound at all like my sensible, safety-conscious husband. I’m the one who’s up for trying stuff out, who dipped her foot into it a couple of times in my teenage years on the Manchester club scene.

Charlie screws up his face. ‘Yeah, well, we were all doing it. When you’re in a group of blokes like that … you don’t say no, do you? And I didn’t go to their posh school, so I was already the odd one out.’

But you’re thirty-four, I want to say to him. What would you say to Ben, if his friends were telling him to do something he didn’t want to? Then I think of last night, as I downed that drink while they all chanted at me. Even though I didn’t want to, knew I didn’t actually have to. ‘So. You took magic mushrooms?’ This is my husband, Deputy Head, who has a strict zero-tolerance policy of drugs at his school. ‘Oh my God,’ I say, and I do laugh now – I can’t help it. ‘Imagine what the PTA would say about that!’

Next, Charlie tells me, they all got into the canoes and went to another island. They were jumping in the water, naked. They dared Charlie to swim out to a third tiny island – there were lots of dares like that – and then when he got back, they’d all gone. They had left him there, without his canoe.

‘I had no clothes. It might have been spring, but it’s the fucking Arctic Circle, Han. It’s freezing at night. I was there for hours before they finally came for me. I was coming down from the mushrooms. I was so cold. I thought I was going to get hypothermia … I thought I was going to die. And when they found me I was—’

‘What?’

‘I was crying. I was lying on the ground, sobbing like a child.’

He looks mortified enough to cry now and my heart goes out to him. I want to give him a hug, like I would Ben – but I’m not sure how it would go down. I know men do stupid stuff on stags, but this sounds targeted, like they were singling Charlie out. That’s not right, is it?