Tom leans in again and tries to kiss me. I pull even further back. ‘No. Seriously, Tom, I mean it.’ God, my head feels fuzzy. My limbs and arms are finding it difficult to respond, they’re sluggish and tired.
Tom looks at me. ‘You sure?’
I nod. ‘I’m sure.’
For the briefest of moments, I think I catch a glimpse of anger cross Tom’s face, but it’s gone in a flash and he offers what I can only describe as a sad smile. ‘That’s a shame,’ he says.
I feel uncomfortable at the closeness of us. I’m now perched on the edge of the sofa and, any closer, Tom would be sitting on my knee. ‘Luke’s a lucky man,’ says Tom. ‘He gets to eat his cake and keep it.’
I’m finding it hard to think straight and I massage my temples with my fingertips in a bid to clear my mind. ‘Two wrongs don’t make a right,’ I say. Now that my initial anger with Alice and Tom has subsided, my logical professional brain is kicking in. Well, as much as it can do through this thick fog that is drifting around in my head. I have no proof that Luke has slept with Alice. Earlier I was angry, hurt and jealous. It’s amazing how strong those emotions are when they all collide together in one big mess. They’re like a jumble of cooked spaghetti; all mixed up, twirling and swirling in a tangle. I much prefer the thought process that goes with uncooked pasta: straight lines, organised and easy to follow.
‘I’m not asking you to pack your bags, leave Luke and move in here,’ says Tom. ‘I’m just offering a safe place of refuge for as long as you like.’ He reaches over and picks up my glass of brandy. ‘Here, finish your drink and then see how you feel.’
‘No, not for me. Sorry. I shouldn’t have any more to drink. God knows what’s in that stuff, but it’s bloody strong. I feel so tired.’ My eyes are heavy and I’m sure I could go to sleep right there and then.
‘Just sit back for a moment,’ says Tom. ‘I’ll make you a coffee.’
‘Thanks, that sounds like a good idea.’
Tom picks up a cushion and as I twist around in the sofa, he places it behind my head. I rest back against it and close my eyes. I feel Tom’s hand stroke my forehead. ‘No hard feelings?’ he says.
‘No hard feelings,’ I confirm. My words sound as tired as I feel.
The next thing I’m aware of is the blanket pulled up to my chin and draped over the front of me, tucked in at the shoulders. I open my eyes and it takes a moment to focus. I can’t make out where I am. The light is dim but it’s not quite dark outside. I look around the room and then, with a sudden clarity, I know exactly where I am. Tom’s living room.
A gentle breathing is the next thing I register and I go to move my head, but it hurts too much, so I make do with moving my eyes only to my right. Tom is asleep on the sofa next to me. He is wearing a T-shirt and jogging pants. The events of the last few hours gradually unfold in my mind, rather like a game of pass-the-parcel, each minute gradually unwrapping another layer of memory.
I yank the cover from me and am relieved to see I’m still fully clothed, apart from my jacket, which is hanging over the arm of the sofa and my shoes, which are splayed on the floor, obviously kicked off rather than taken off. There are two brandy glasses on the table. One half-full and the other empty. There’s also a cup of coffee, full and stone cold. On the table is a camera, a mobile phone, a scrunched-up tissue and the McMillan file. Then I remember kissing Tom.
I’m filled with a blind panic. I kissed Tom! Not just a peck on the cheek, but a full-on kiss.
Shit!
The next layer of wrapping paper is peeled away and I remember saying no to Tom. To stopping things before they went any further. Thank God for that. Although I can’t ignore the guilt that is now hammering at my chest.
I need to get home to try to sort out this mess that has become my life.
I slip my feet into my shoes and stand up, rather wobbly, but I hold onto the back of the sofa for support while I steady myself. I grab my stuff and tiptoe out of the house. Once in my car, I rummage in my handbag for my phone.
When I see the list of messages and missed calls my heart leaps. Three missed calls and a text message from Pippa. Five missed calls, three text messages from Luke and what appear to be three voicemail messages. How the hell did I miss those? The volume has been switched off. I have no recollection of doing that at all. I fumble with the phone, unlocking the screen and scrolling through the messages.
‘Shit. Shit. Shit!’ I could cry. How has this happened? I hardly dare listen to the voicemail messages. One from Luke and one from Pippa. Oh, God. I totally forgot to get the girls from Brownies. How? What is wrong with me? Talk about self-indulgent. I was so busy worrying about Alice and how it was all affecting me, I didn’t give my child and my friend’s child a second thought. And now … shit … now there’s a rather severe voicemail message from Pippa telling me she’s at the hospital with Daisy and that she’s furious with me and holds me totally responsible.
I slam the phone into the hands-free cradle and hit the dial button for Luke. My hands are shaking as I ram the key into the ignition and tear out of the parking space, heading towards the general hospital in Brighton. It crosses my mind that I had two brandies earlier and nothing to eat. I feel okay, just a little headache coming now. I wish I’d had that coffee. Then I remember a bottle of water in my bag and, with one hand, manage to fish it out, snapping open the sports cap and glugging the water down. It’s a bit warm, but I don’t care. Luke picks up.
‘Clare! Where the fuck have you been? I’ve been trying to get hold of you. So has Pippa. You were supposed to get the girls. Did you get any of my messages?’
He’s angry. No doubt about it but, to be fair, he’s been angry with me for a while now. ‘Yes. I’m sorry. My phone was on silent. What’s happened?’
‘Basically, you didn’t turn up for the girls after Brownies, so the Brown Owl, or whatever the fuck she’s called, phoned home. Alice had to go and get them. She took them to the park on the way back and Daisy had an accident. Fell off the climbing frame or something. Anyway, she’s broken her arm and Pippa is up the hospital with her now.’
‘Oh, God. I’m sorry. Is Hannah okay?’
‘Yes, she’s fine.’
‘Why did Alice go?’
‘She was the only one who could go.’ I detect a little apprehension in Luke’s voice.
‘Why? Where was Mum? Where were you?’
‘Your mum went out to her WI meeting and I, err, fell asleep. Alice didn’t want to wake me, so she just went straight over to Budlington.’
‘She walked?’
‘No, she took my car.’
‘Can she do that? I didn’t think she’d be insured. What if she’d had an accident?’
‘For fuck’s sake, Clare. You’re not the prosecution now. Where were you, anyway?’
‘I needed to bit of breathing space. Look, I can’t speak now, I’m nearly at the hospital. I’ll talk to you later.’ I hang up before we can take the conversation further. To tell Luke that I spent the afternoon and evening with Tom won’t go down very well. I need to be able to tell him face to face when I can explain it properly, not some hashed phone call while I’m driving and worried about Pippa and Daisy.