The Things We Do to Our Friends(72)

“Samuel,” I said into my phone.

“Clare.” He didn’t exactly sound happy to hear from me, but he didn’t sound unhappy. I was filled with an excruciating pang of longing for them as I heard him stretch my name like he was chewing the vowels up, like they all did.

“I need your help. You have a doctor friend?” I asked.

“Yes, he’s a registrar down at the Royal. Why?” He couldn’t help but sound a little smug that I needed his assistance. While Samuel loved to dish out acts of kindness, I knew he didn’t do it for nothing. He never forgot what was owed.

“Do you think he’d do us a huge favor and come out to the bar?” I asked.

“I’m sure he would. To be honest, he owes me one. What’s happened? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. If you could get him to come out here. It’s Finn, and he won’t go to the hospital.” I thought I could sense him cool at the mention of Finn.

He recovered. “On it. I’ll call him right now. Have you spoken to Tabitha?”

I wondered why he was asking about Tabitha. “No,” I said. “Is there something I need to know?”

He let out a kind of cough. He seemed a little lost for words and I didn’t have time to push him to speak sense.

“Look, I have to go,” I said, because Finn was slumped on the stool like a sack. He was blinking fast and he seemed to be using all his energy to keep himself from toppling to the floor.

“Right, why don’t you tell me about your cousin again?” I said.

Finn started to go through the story as we waited for the doctor to arrive. He turned out to be an amiable man in his late twenties. He took Finn’s blood pressure and temperature and sat next to him on a stool, then shone a torch in both his eyes. How odd to see them together, because they were about the same age, and I was like a child watching two grown-ups.

“Okay. I need to ask you, have you taken anything?” he asked Finn.

Finn shook his head and the movement was shuddery.

“No, I swear, nothing.” His words came out slurred.

The doctor turned to me. “I think he’ll be okay. Whatever it is, it looks like it’s wearing off. His blood pressure is fine and his breathing’s pretty regular. I don’t think there’s any real imminent danger, but I would suggest going to the hospital to get fully checked out. And, even if you’re not going to do that, keep an eye on him for the next few hours.”

“Absolutely, and thank you so much for coming out so late.” I nodded, played the sweet, concerned girlfriend and co-worker.

The doctor smiled at me. He looked tired. “Really, it’s not a big deal. Any chance you could call me a taxi?”

I went to my bag in the staff room and was rummaging through for a battered card with the details for a taxi firm when my hand brushed against something. Pulling it out, my whole body went cold as I read the label. It was faded, but the brand on the bottle was still identifiable.

It was the medication we’d used that night in Périgueux.

I could feel something high in my throat about to spill out—a scream or howl or something—and I covered my mouth; a knuckled fist pushed against my lips to stop myself making a sound.

My first thought was Tabitha.

It must be.

Reminding me of how much she knew, showing me that I couldn’t just walk away.

She knew what we’d used, which would have taken some digging. I’d suspected that she had some contacts out there. And she’d managed to get a French prescription for it. Maybe the others had helped?

I thought of the fire escape door flailing in the wind. It would have been easy to do, to creep in. Whoever had done this couldn’t have known that it was his drink they were spiking, and they likely knew that it didn’t matter. If I’d been drugged, I would have been equally shaken by the whole thing. It was clever in that way.

I managed to pull myself together enough to call a taxi for the doctor and pushed the pill bottle deep down into my bag. I tried to concentrate on Finn, who sat there, looking forlorn.

We ended up back at his flat. He had little curiosity for what had happened: It’s just one of those things! An unexplainable turn.

His breaths became heavier and slower as he drifted into sleep. I lay next to him, without moving my body an inch.

I thought back to my turret room at Minta’s house in France, and I remembered the familiar sensation that I was staying awake to monitor things. If I dared to close my eyes, everything would fall apart and tumble down around me.

Nothing bad could happen if I kept watch.





61


The next day, I lay on my side staring at his face until, after a while, he woke up and blinked at me.

“Jesus, how long have you been staring at me? You’re creeping me out.”

“Why do you like me?”

He sighed. “Really? That’s what we’re doing now?”

He rolled away from me and took a big gulp of water, then sat up in bed. Through the haze of sleep, he looked as though he was genuinely considering the question, adjusting to having a serious conversation so early in the morning. “I guess I thought you were hardworking. Shy. I thought there was something behind the shyness and that you’d open up. I mean, I still haven’t worked out quite who you are. What do you even like? What even makes you happy, Clare?”