The Party. Lisa Hall

it. You turned me down. Too busy with your aromatherapy business. Honestly, Rachel, keep it simple and it’ll work, that’s if we even need it to.’ Ted’s hand covers mine, and I pull my hand away, too unnerved by Aaron’s appearance to even think of letting Ted near me.

      ‘OK. Oh God, what was I thinking, Ted? This is all wrong, I shouldn’t be here.’ Panic makes my heart stutter in my chest, and the burden of guilt sits heavily on my shoulders. ‘Please Ted, can you just take me home?’

      Ted drops me a couple of streets away, behind the High Street that will still be busy even though it’s past seven o’clock. Digging in my bag for my key as I approach the front door my phone bleeps in my bag, but I ignore it, intent on getting indoors and into my usual slouchy outfit, one that I wear around the house, before Gareth gets home. Thankfully, there is an undisturbed air as I let myself in, telling me that I’ve beaten both Gareth and Robbie home.

      Breathing a sigh of relief, I head upstairs, kicking my sandals to the back of the wardrobe and brushing my teeth to rid my mouth of the sour taste of the wine I’ve drunk. I tell myself that’s the reason – but deep down I know it’s so that Gareth doesn’t smell it on me and then question why I’ve been drinking in the afternoon. As I brush, I berate myself for being so stupid – how could I have let myself stay so long? Someone was bound to see us. And if Gareth finds out … well, it’s not just the two of us who will be affected. Am I really ready to jeopardize my marriage, to potentially lose Robbie who will no doubt take his father’s side, all for a quick fling? I spit out the toothpaste, eyeing myself critically in the mirror as I wipe my mouth. Stupid. Stupid and reckless, that’s what today was.

      Comfortable now in yoga pants (I think of adulterous Angela when I pull them on) and an old Suede T-shirt I grab a glass of water and slump on the couch in front of the TV, wishing I’d just worked as originally planned. Tired from the stress of the afternoon and with a mild headache starting behind my eyes thanks to the wine, I huff in irritation as my phone bleeps again in my bag, before I get back up and grab it. A text from Gareth telling me not to wait up (no surprises there – my guilt lessens slightly as I read it), and a notification from Facebook telling me I have a friend request. Sighing, I text Gareth back, before opening the Facebook app and tapping the requests button. My heart sinks as I read the words on the screen.

      ‘Aaron Power has sent you a Friend Request.’