shook his head from side to side. ‘Well, I’m off. Ladies, watch out. The birthday boy’s a-comin’!’
He yelped and tried to moonwalk out of the sitting room. Laura heard him yelp again as he crashed into the hall table, and then the door closed behind him and the flat was silent again. She lay staring up at the ceiling, quite still, for a long time, and then she reached onto the floor and picked up the phone.
‘Dan…’ she said. ‘Yes, I know. Yes, I know. Listen! Can we meet tomorrow? I know…yes, me too. No, not for that. Paddy’s in. No, he’s in tomorrow, we can’t. No, I want to talk to you. About the holiday. And things. Where…? Where? Oh, OK then. Is it on Rathbone Street? Yep. OK, see you – yes, see you there. Me – me too. No Dan. OK.’
Laura was still on the sofa when Paddy got back. The flat was stifling hot, it was a humid, sticky evening. The TV was on, there was a nearly empty bottle of Sauvignon Blanc rolling around on the floor, and an empty packet of pistachio nuts. Most of the shells were also on the floor, although a few had made it into the bowl. She was fast asleep, left arm over her stomach, her right arm dangling over the sofa. Two nut shells were glued to her breastbone. Paddy stared at her for a minute, then crouched down and threw a pistachio nut at her face.
‘Wha—?’ Laura said thickly, blinking rapidly. ‘Paddy? What – where am I?’
Paddy rocked back on his heels, then stood up. He turned away from her. ‘Get up, old girl,’ he said softly, and pulled the blinds down. ‘Time for bed. Go on.’
He followed her as Laura shuffled into the corridor, clutching the empty wine bottle.
‘Did you have a good time?’ she asked blearily. ‘How was it?’
‘Good, good,’ said Paddy, and even half-asleep she could tell he was quite drunk. ‘Good, good, good. Missed you though, everyone did. How’re you feeling? Any better?’
Laura looked down at the wine bottle in her hand, then up at Paddy. ‘Er…much better, thanks.’
‘Did Dan come round?’ Paddy said blankly.
‘What?’ said Laura, still clutching the bottle. ‘Dan?’
‘Did he come round?’ Paddy repeated, and he blinked.
‘No!’ said Laura. ‘I wasn’t feeling well.’
‘Right,’ said Paddy. ‘I know.’
Laura said, ‘I didn’t miss your birthday so I could stay in and get Dan round, you know.’
He said nothing, but nodded at her.
‘I didn’t,’ Laura said obstinately, but she almost didn’t believe herself.
‘Sure,’ said Paddy.
‘I promise. Hey, Paddy.’ She put her hand on his. ‘Seriously, man. I wouldn’t lie about that.’
‘I know,’ said Paddy, but it wasn’t convincing. He raised his hand in greeting, turned and went into his room, and Laura was left standing on her own in the corridor.
Her brain was juddering into gear. How has it come to this? she thought, curling her fingers tightly round the neck of the bottle. How can things have got to this? She thought about her date with Dan tomorrow, about what she was going to do, and her resolve strengthened. Right, she said to herself, going into the kitchen. That was the last time. The last time I lie about something, the last time I hurt the people who really love me. She threw the bottle into the recycling box in the kitchen, and stretched, yawning. Her eye caught sight of a curling photo on the fridge. It was of her, Simon and Paddy at Simon’s fourth birthday party. Mary crouched down beside them, holding a cake alive with four candles. Simon’s cheeks were puffed out, and beside him sat a smaller but identical Paddy and Laura, aged five and six respectively, their faces agog with the action. It always made her smile.
It made Laura smile then, comforting in its familiarity, and she turned out the kitchen light and went into her room. She didn’t clean her teeth or wash her face, she simply fell into bed and pulled the cool sheets up and around her. She was going to take action tomorrow, she was going to do something to pierce the bubble that she’d been living in, to face up to the truth and let the real world in again. So she could get on. So she could get over it. Her last thought before she fell asleep again was, If I can get through tomorrow, I’ll be fine.
Early evening, and the heat of the day hung over the city. It was inescapable, both in Laura’s flat, which was airless and oppressive, and out on the street where it was dirty and badtempered. The city smelt, not of the delicious smells of summer in London, mown grass and barbecues and cigarette smoke and petrol, heat rising from the ground. No, tonight, on this unbearably hot Friday night, it smelt of sweat, stale beer, a whiff of dustbins and people. Too many people.
Laura stood against the upholstered pad by the stairs of the bus as it lurched its way from the cooler, leafier roads of North London down into the heart of the city. The bus was sweltering, crowded, uncomfortable, and she grew angrier and crosser as it jolted down Oxford Street.
She was late to meet Dan. Even though she’d had nothing to do all day, even though no one knew she wasn’t in work, not even Paddy. No one had called, no one had noticed her absence from email or the phone. She had sat in the flat all day, talking to no one, eating nothing, smoking a lot and thinking about this evening with an increasing sense of dread. There was no one she could talk to, anyway. No one who knew how badly she’d fucked up, and she wanted it to stay that way. And no one who knew about her and Dan – apart from Paddy. Throughout the day Laura’s mind swam back to the scene in the sitting room late the previous night. She had to make it up to Paddy somehow. And Jo. Yes, Jo too. She had enough on her plate at the moment, though. No, she’d sort this situation out first, and if it worked out – a big if, but she knew it would, it had to this time – then at least, no matter what else happened, she and Dan Floyd would finally be able to tell everyone they were in love, they were a couple, and Amy was history. If she could only get off this horrible bus. Laura ran her hand over the back of her neck. Her hair was twisted up in a clip, but her neck still felt sweaty. She leant against the wall, and the bus lurched forward, jolting her into a hot flush again.
‘Why the hell do they heat these things in summer?’ she muttered, then realised the perfectly normal nice girl next to her had moved away, clearly thinking she was one of those crazy bus people who feel the need to carry on conversations with themselves. The heat of the walls seemed to burn the backs of her legs, and the prickly synthetic upholstery she leant against made her want to itch all over. All the windows were open – tiny, mean slivers one had to pull down with a bang. But no fresh air came in and there was no breeze to cool her down.
Laura sighed. She shut her eyes and tried to pretend. It was two weeks’ time. She was in Florida somewhere, on a beach with Dan, wearing a kaftan and her cool new pink jewelled flip-flops. The heat was unbearable, but it was OK, she could go inside to the air-conditioned terrace bar and get a drink with lots of straws and sparklers in it. And lie on the cool linen cushions, feeling the material crisp and crunchy beneath her back. She and Dan were walking along the beach hand in hand. It was night, and the sound of music and chatter could be heard in the near distance. Dan stopped, pulled her to him, and said, ‘Darling, I love you – will you –’
‘Get out
