‘It’s three-thirty,’ Guy said. ‘Try to last two more hours.’
They watched each other, locked in a silent stand-off, and the tightness in her chest unwound a little.
‘Okay,’ she whispered, and returned to her seat.
She bowed her head and tried to bring her mind back to her work but she couldn’t read. She couldn’t see what was in front of her.
The need was back, more compelling than before. Building, expanding, swelling, burgeoning, she couldn’t bear it.
She jumped to her feet and grabbed her bag. ‘The loo,’ she called, as heads snapped up to watch her.
She was out on the street, no coat, running, a vague impression of shops and offices blurring past, the cold wind skinning her face. The off-licence was at the far end of the street. Her legs were heavy, children tangled her path, she bumped her hip against a buggy, tinny Christmas music spilled from shops, people were staring and swearing after her.
Then, a pub. Right before her, as if it had dropped straight down from heaven. Through the doors, to the counter.
‘Vodka and tonic.’ Her tongue thick. ‘Large one.’
Drenched in sweat. Trembling. Ice cubes, fat and glassy, in a sweating metal container. Watching them slip from the pincers. Fall, pick up, fall, pick up. The world reduced to ice cubes. One tinkled against the glass; success. The pincers poised to pick up another cube.
‘No! Duss mata.’ She sounded drunk already.
‘What?’
‘Ice. Duss mata.’
‘You don’t want any?’ The barman poised the glass to tip the one cube away.
‘’Sokay! Whassintheresokay!’
The vodka, the vodka, the vodka, just do the fucking vodka
.
As if to deliberately thwart her, he approached a plate of lemon slices.
‘Nolemon!’
‘No lemon?’
‘Nono.’ Christ. ‘Justthe…’
She jerked her head towards the vodka. Optic. Finally. Pushing up into the bottle and releasing the flow of liquid crystal. She watched without breathing.
‘Did you say you wanted a large?’
Her heart stopped. Should she take the single measure now? Or wait an extra two seconds for the large?
‘Single’sokay.’
‘You said large.’
‘Allrightthenlarge!’
In slow motion, the optic pushed up again. Then the barman bent down, the glass placed out of her reach. What now?
‘Slimline or normal?’ The tonic. She swallowed a moan.
‘Norm.”
‘Looks like we’re out of normal. I’ll have to go downstairs.’
She was afraid she might scream. ‘Dussmata,’ she said desperately. ‘I’lltaketheslimline.’
‘It’s no trouble. I have to go downstairs anyway.’
‘No please! Just the…’ She reached for the glass.
Then it was in her hand and it was roaring down her throat and the heat was in her stomach and the stardust was stealing through her, thrilling her with its magic, drawing back a curtain to reveal a better, cleaner, sparklier version of everything.
The glass hit the wood of the counter. ‘’Nother.’
She drank the second standing at the counter, then took a seat for the third and, able to breathe again, considered her options.
She could go back to work, no bridges burnt there, she’d only been gone a few minutes, but on balance, she decided she wouldn’t. The boiling hunger had abated, in fact she was feeling good, great even, but she liked it here, she’d prefer to keep drinking. And why not? It would be Christmas in two weeks.
She swallowed another mouthful of liquid glitter and cushioned herself further into the glow.
She’d never before walked out of work in the middle of the afternoon.
First time for everything.
A stab of conscience. The documents that needed to go in today’s post? If they were that important, someone else would do them.
And Daisy and Verity? They’dbe fine. Everything was fine, fine, lovely and fine.
‘Another one.’ She waved her glass at the poker-faced barman.
Everything felt gorgeous, except she’d like someone to talk to. And who better than Rico? Just as Guy had promised, he had kept well clear of her all week, but actually,
actually
she was very fond of Rico,
extremely
fond, and suddenly she wanted to see him.
She fumbled for her mobile. ‘What’s the name of this pub?’ she called.
‘The Wellington.’
In the Wellington. V&T?
She held her phone, waiting for a reply. Go on, she urged. Go on.
B wit u in 5!
Five minutes! Fantastic! She ordered him a drink and watched the door, thinking about how fine everything was, and then there was Rico! Hurrying towards her, a big grin on his face. ‘I’m not supposed to talk to you.’
She couldn’t help laughing. ‘I’m not supposed to talk to you either. Here’s your drink.’
He downed it in one and they both dissolved into manic laughter.
‘Did he make you go to AA meetings too?’ she asked.
‘Yeah, but they had to be in the evening, they had to be different to your ones. Mad, isn’t it? The whole thing? Guy’s a headcase.’ He nodded at the barman. ‘Two more.’
She’d forgotten how good-looking Rico was. She nuzzled his neck. ‘I’ve missed you, you know.’
‘Missed you too.’ He put his lips to hers and thrust his tongue into her mouth. Nice. Sexy. Sort of.
The pub was filling up now; people in antlers and draped in tinsel.
‘Time’s it, Rico?’
‘Ten past five. You’re not going to skip out on me?’
She should go home, everyone was expecting her. But she had a husband and a nanny to take care of her children.
‘Me? No, going nowhere.’
Another unwelcome stab of conscience. She should ring them, it wasn’t right to worry them, but they’d only give her a hard time and she was feeling so happy and she so rarely felt happy…
‘Hey, hey, hey, I have to tell you about –’ She took a long swallow from her glass, ice cubes banging against her teeth, and when she put it down again, Guy had materialized in front of her. Cushioned though she was, it was a shock.
‘… Guy, I…’ She sought an explanation but couldn’t fashion one.
He loomed over them, tall and haughty, while she and Rico looked up like guilty schoolchildren.
‘Marnie.’ He handed her a white envelope. ‘One for you too,’ he said to Rico.
Then he left.
She and Rico turned wide-eyed to each other. ‘How did he find us?’
‘God.’ She snorted with laughter. ‘We’re sacked. He’s sacked us!’
She tore open her envelope and they pored over it together. Words jumped off the white page. ‘… drunk…’ ‘… patience…’ ‘… warnings…’ ‘… dismissed with immediate effect…’
‘It’s true, he’s done it, he’s sacked me.’ She couldn’t stop giggling.
Grim-faced, Rico ripped his envelope open and scanned the page. ‘I don’t fucking believe it. He’s sacked me too.’
‘I told you.’
‘I didn’t think…’
‘Why would he sack me and not sack you?’
‘Because I’m a fucking genius.’
‘And I’m not?’
He rolled his eyes. ‘Well, no.’
‘Well, fuck you.’
‘And fuck you. You’ve just lost me my job.’
‘Me?’
‘If he didn’t have a thing for you, he wouldn’t care what I did.’
‘Look, he doesn’t mean it.’ She ran her hand up Rico’s thigh, stopping just short of his crotch. ‘We’re not sacked, he’s just trying to scare us.’
‘How do you know?’
‘It’s obvious!’ Wasn’t it?
‘You sure?’
‘I’m sure. Look, am I wasting my time here?’ She drummed her fingers on the top of his leg.
‘Oh.’
Now she had his attention. Discreetly she began stroking the fabric, finding and encouraging his erection with her fingers. He kissed her again, deep and searching, and slid his hand down the back of her skirt, under her tights and knickers, cupping her buttock.
They drank and kissed and drank and touched and when the barman bent over their table, she thought he was collecting the empties. Then he spoke. Quietly he said, ‘We’d like you to leave.’
What
?
We’d like you to leave.
Her face flamed with mortification.
‘Finish up your drinks and leave.’
‘Now, look –’ Rico started threateningly.
‘Don’t,’ she said. ‘Come on, let’s just go.’
‘Fuck them, we’ll go back to mine.’
Their faces averted with embarrassment, they swallowed the remains of their drinks and gathered up their stuff.
At the door, Rico suddenly stopped and called back over his shoulder, ‘Fuck you. You couldn’t pay me to drink in this shit-hole.’
‘We
were
actually drinking in that shit-hole.’ Marnie couldn’t stop laughing and she knew she was getting on Rico’s nerves. The more irritable he got, the more she laughed.
‘Fuck you.’ She imitated his voice. ‘You couldn’t PAY me to drink in this shit-hole.’
‘Shut up.’
They fell in the door of Rico’s apartment and she tumbled onto the floor, pulling him down on top of her, causing him to bang his elbow hard.
‘Christ! For God’s sake, Marnie, that really fucking hurt!’
‘Shut up, you milk-sop, I’ve got THREE CRACKED RIBS. I know ALL about pain.’
‘Stop laughing! Get up and get your clothes off.’ He pushed her towards the bedroom, tugging at her skirt.
‘I want a drink.’ She lay on his bed and yelled with mirth, ‘IWANT A DRINK.’
‘There isn’t anything.’ His eyes were half shut and his mouth was slack. Being drunk didn’t suit him, it made him blurry and soft around the edges. ‘I’ll have to go out and get some.’
‘What do you mean?’ she cried. ‘Really? Nothing? Why not?’
‘I drank it all.’
‘Hah! You
drunkard.’
‘Marnie, if you don’t stop laughing, I swear I’m going to smack you one.’ He loomed over her and pressed himself against her, his erection digging painfully into her pubic bone. She made herself focus on him: his face looked like it was melting.
He ground himself against her and thrust his tongue into the back of her throat. She wasn’t enjoying this and she didn’t know why.
She wasn’t drunk enough. That was what the trouble was. They’d been ousted from the pub too soon.
‘Stop.’ She was pushing his face away and trying to clamber out from under him.
‘What? Why?’
Why?
‘I’m married.’
He pulled back in amazement. ‘It’s never stopped you before.’
So she
had
slept with him. Oh no, no, no. She couldn’t behave as if this was news.
‘It should have stopped me.’ She wanted to leave. She was revolted by him. ‘I love my husband.’
‘What?’ He was shocked.
I love Nick and I love my children and I don’t know what I’m doing here. ‘Rico, I want to go.’
‘Go on, then, go.’
Out in the street, a taxi driver with a yellow light slowed down, then speeded up again when he got close enough to take a proper look at her. She shivered on the street corner, scanning the cars. Without a coat, the cold took bites out of her. Lots of taxis were around but they were jam-packed with office-party types, leaving a suggestion of discordant bugles and cheap red-satin dresses in their wake as they whizzed past. By the time the yellow light of an empty taxi finally hoved into view, her feet were numb – but this driver also refused to take her!
‘I’m freezing,’ she pleaded.
‘You’re pissed,’ he said, and accelerated away.
She stared after him; she had no choice but to walk back to the office and get her own car. It wasn’t so far, perhaps a mile, but it took a long time; people were everywhere, spilling out of pubs, singing, shoving and shouting.
When she reached the car park, she had a moment when she wondered if she was sober enough to drive – and decided she was. That walk would have sobered up George Best. And although she grazed the car slightly on a pillar as she pulled out of the parking space, it was a good thing because it reminded her to drive extra carefully.
The roads were full of pre-Christmas traffic. People driving like
nutters, and pedestrians falling out into the street, almost under her wheels. It was like an obstacle course. Then she got stuck in front of a police car, racing off to some crime scene, blue lights flashing, sirens wailing. Right up behind her it drove, destroying her concentration.
She slowed down. ‘Go on,’ she called in frustration. ‘
Over
take me.’
Unable to take the wailing, she nipped into a bus stop so they could zip past her.
But when they pulled in behind her, filling her car with blue light, the truth was like a punch in the stomach. They were for her. For
her
.
There were two of them, men. She rolled down the window.
‘Step out of the car, madam.’ A look passed between the two coppers. ‘Have you been drinking?’
A police car brought her home. She’d gone through a red light. She’d been arrested for drunk-driving. It was eleven o’clock at night. Nick would go berserk.
The lights were off, thank God. They were all in bed. She might have got away with this. Quietly she let herself in and went straight for the cupboard under the kitchen sink; some months ago she’d decanted a bottle of Smirnoff into an empty bleach container, as an emergency stash. There was some upstairs in her wardrobe, a bottle that Grace hadn’t found, but she’d wake Nick if she tiptoed in and rummaged for it.
She’d noticed the envelope propped up against the pepper grinder, as she located a glass and a bottle of tonic, but it was only when she sat at the table with her drink that she picked it up. No address, just her name in black type.
Another letter from Guy, perhaps? Reinstating her?
The memory of getting caught by him in the pub felt like a cloud passing over the sun. And then being asked to leave…
God.
She opened the envelope. The letter was typed on heavy cream paper and it wasn’t from Guy. It was from a company: Dewey, Screed and Hathaway, Attorneys at Law.
What was this?
It wasn’t about her job.
It was something to do with Nick.
She forced her eyes to focus and to stop sliding into double vision long enough to make sense of the words.
Nick had left her. He had taken the children. The house was on the market.
She’d thought there had been a strange feeling in the house, now she knew what it was – there was no one here.