frost-covered garden, watery rays streaming in and highlighting the dust motes that dance in the air.
Turning away from the window, I catch sight of myself in the mirror that hangs above the fireplace, and double take; sure at first that someone else is in the room with me, my reflection looks so unfamiliar in that fleeting glimpse. Stepping closer, avoiding the still damp wine stain, I peer into the glass. I was obviously one of those partaking in the red wine last night – a faint purple stain marks my lips. I run my tongue over my teeth, cringing at the furry feel of them. My face is pale, my long, dark hair framing it in a tangled mess. I run my fingers through in an attempt to smooth it. My eyes look too big for my face, ringed as they are by dark circles. In short, if I thought I felt like shit, I look worse. My belly rolls over as the scent of frying bacon hits my nostrils, and I bend to slide my sandals on to my feet, intent on leaving and getting home before anyone realizes I’m still here.
‘Rachel!’ A deep, hearty voice behind me almost makes me overbalance, one sandal on, as I wobble precariously on the other foot.
‘Neil.’ I place my foot back down on the floor, the bruises twinging at the strain in my thigh, and inwardly sigh at not getting out before I was seen, unwilling to engage in conversation when I am so unsure of the events of the previous evening. ‘Sorry, I was just …’
‘I didn’t know you were still here!’ Jovial, and with no hint of a hangover, Neil grins at me, and gestures towards the kitchen. ‘We wondered where you got to last night … end up in the spare room, did you? Come on through, Liz is in the kitchen, and I’ve got coffee and bacon on the go.’
My stomach gives another undulating roll at the thought of the greasy, salty meat. I give a small shake of my head and open my mouth to say, ‘I’m sorry, I should go,’ but Neil holds out an arm and gestures for me to go first, and despite the ache in my head, the rolling nausea in my stomach, and the underlying fear that streaks through my nerve endings thanks to my black hole memory, I have no option other than to walk across the cold, tiled floor into the kitchen. I have obviously stayed here without my hosts knowing – so who undressed me? I remove the one silver sandal that I’m wearing and pad through into the open plan kitchen dining area, the bright sunshine that pours in through the patio doors at the back of the room making me feel even more nauseous, if that’s at all possible. My neighbour, Liz, sits at the kitchen table, sipping intermittently from a travel mug that sits on a coaster in front of her. She turns as I enter the room.
‘Look who I found.’ Neil pulls out a kitchen chair and motions to me to sit down, before walking over to the hob and flicking the gas on. He dumps more bacon in the pan and I have to swallow back the saliva that fills my mouth.
‘Rachel!’ Liz smiles and waggles her fingers in my direction. I slide into the chair next to her – she smells of bacon fat and stale coffee, and I have to hold my breath as she gets close to me. ‘How are you feeling this morning? A little worse for wear?’ She chuckles, but her face is pale and devoid of make-up, unusually for her. ‘I think we all are. Some party, eh?’
‘Yes. Some party.’ I shift uncomfortably on the kitchen chair, the hard wood of the seat pressing against my bruises.
‘Bacon sandwich?’ Neil holds out a plate to me, and I try and fail to stop myself from recoiling. ‘No New Year’s diet actually starts on New Year’s Day, does it?’
‘No, thank you. Could I just have a glass of water, please?’ I don’t want to be rude, but I’m not sure I could keep the sandwich down if I ate it. My throat is still painfully dry, and I feel as though my entire body is craving a cold glass of icy water.
‘Here.’ Liz fills a glass from the water dispenser built into the fridge, her fingers leaving a trail in the condensation on the surface as she hands it to me, and as I reach out to take it from her, I get a flashback. Last night, Liz opening the door to me, a glass in her hand, the smile on her face much the same as it is now – slightly smug, a mildly boozy air about her. I feel the frosty air on my bare arms, as she opens the door and pulls me inside; warm, sweaty air enveloping me, the beat of the music – something Christmassy? An old song, perhaps – thumping through the house. The smell of cloves and woodsmoke in the air – Liz has the open fire lit, even though the house is sweltering. I shake my head to clear the image, setting the bells clanging inside again, and sip at the water.
‘Thank you … for letting me stay, I mean.’ I sip again at the water, as Liz pulls a chair out across the table from me and sits back down. I try not to wince at the harsh scraping noise the chair makes as she drags it across the tiles. Neil hums under his breath as he slaps bacon between two slices of bread and drops the plate in front of Liz. ‘I didn’t mean to impose.’
‘Oh, don’t be silly, you’re not imposing.’ Liz takes a bite of her bacon sandwich, before dropping a Berocca tablet into her own glass of water. She offers the packet to me and I take one, gratefully, dropping it into my glass and watching the bubbles start to erupt. ‘I didn’t realize you’d stayed to be honest; I thought you must have left with Gareth.’ Oh shit. Gareth. He’s going to be furious, I should imagine.
‘Well, thank you. For the hospitality, I mean. I don’t really remember going to bed.’ I watch her carefully, hoping that she’ll tell me who it was that must have helped me upstairs. Who bruised my arms, and my thighs, and … worse? And did I go willingly? Liz gives nothing away, sipping at her travel mug and still munching on her sandwich, taking each bite with relish.
‘God, I don’t think many of us do.’ She gives a huff of laughter through a mouthful of food, a stray crumb flying from her mouth and landing on her plate. It makes me feel sick. ‘Never let it be said that the Greenes don’t know how to throw a party.’
‘Right.’ I look away, wanting to ask her if she saw anything, but not wanting at the same time, afraid of what she might say. ‘Was I … was I bad? Like, drunk?’
‘Oh darling, we were all tipsy. I don’t remember you doing anything you shouldn’t have, if that’s what you mean. Gareth left early, and you wanted to stay for another drink, no harm in that. It was New Year’s Eve, after all.’ She pushes her plate to one side, and makes to take my hand but I pull away, grabbing at my glass of water. No harm. Only, I think maybe there might have been.
‘It’s bloody New Year! Gareth needs to lighten up,’ Neil says, as he slides his own sandwich onto a plate. ‘Rachel, it’s lovely to see you, and if you’re sure I can’t tempt you with my fried pig slices, I’m going to slope off and watch last night’s Hootenanny.’
I wait for Neil to leave the room, headed for Jools Holland and a mild food coma if the amount of food on his plate is anything to go by, before I speak again.
‘Did we … did we argue, do you know? Me and Gareth?’ I pick at the skin around my nails as I ask, not wanting to make eye contact with Liz, as I feel as though I’m confessing to being absolutely hammered last night. You’re a disgrace. The words float through my mind, spoken by someone else, an unseen, unknown someone, and I feel a hot flush of shame. ‘I know he must have left without me, but I just wondered if we’d had a disagreement about things and that’s why he left.’ I raise my eyes to look at her, as she sips from her travel mug again, gripping it tightly in her hands as if afraid I might snatch it away.
‘No, not that I’m aware of,’ Liz says briskly, but her eyes slide away from mine, and I get the feeling that maybe she’s not telling me something. ‘He’s probably at home wondering where you are.’
‘Oh God, probably. I need to go. Thank you for … everything.’ The urge to leave overwhelms me and I push back the chair roughly, slipping my sandals back onto my feet, the straps rubbing across the top of my foot. Startled, Liz gets to her feet but I hurry out of the front door before she can speak again, calling out a goodbye to Neil, and step out into the cold January air. Frost glitters on the front path, and I carefully make my way across the square to my own house, where I can make out the glow of the Christmas tree lights through the front window, calling me home. Home, to Gareth. Hoping that he can shed some light on what happened last night – why I can’t remember