And he – and he –
I found my hands were clenched into fists, and Nina was looking at me curiously. I had to consciously relax them, and I gave a little, false-sounding laugh.
‘If only – right? But we can’t. It would be too much of a fuck you in the aftermath of Melanie leaving.’
Nina looked at me, long and hard, and then shook her head.
‘All right. I think you’re kind of masochistic. But all right.’
‘We’ve only got one more night.’ I was convincing myself now. ‘I can take one more night.’
‘All right. One more night it is.’
13
IF ONLY. If only I had gone then.
I wish I could sleep, but I can’t, even with the soft click and whirr of the morphine driver. Instead I lie awake, listening to the voices in the corridor, the policeman and woman discussing in low voices what has happened, and that one word reverberates inside my head: Murder. Murder. Murder.
Can it be true? Can it possibly be true?
Who is dead?
Clare? Flo? Nina?
My heart stops at that. Not Nina. Not beautiful, brash, vibrant Nina. Please …
I must remember. I must try to remember what happened next. I know that come daybreak they will come in here and ask me questions. They’re waiting outside for me to wake up, waiting to talk to me.
I must have my version of events straight by then.
But what did happen next? The events of that day swirl and pound inside my head, mixing themselves up, tangling themselves together, the truth with the lies. I’ve only got a few hours left to try to sort it out.
Step by step, then. What happened next?
My hand goes to my shoulder, to the spreading bruise.
14
WHEN NINA AND I got downstairs Flo had stopped crying and cleaned herself up, and was eating toast and jam, evidently determined to pretend that nothing had happened.
‘Any coffee?’ Nina asked innocently, but I knew from her tone she was only needling.
Flo looked up miserably, and her lip wobbled again.
‘I … I forgot, remember? But I promise I’ll get some today when we go to the shooting range.’
‘What?’ We both stared at Flo, who gave a watery smile.
‘Yeah, I wanted it to be a surprise. We’re going clay-pigeon shooting.’
I gave a short, shocked laugh. Nina didn’t move.
‘Seriously?’
‘Of course. Why?’
‘Because … it’s just like … a hen night? Shooting?’
‘I thought it would be fun. My cousin went on his stag.’
‘Yes, but …’ Nina trailed off and I could see the thoughts running through her head as clearly as if they were written on her forehead in ticker tape: Why can’t we go to a bloody spa and then clubbing like normal people? But then again, she can’t possibly make us wear pink feather boas at a shooting range, right? So it could be worse.
I wondered, too, if she was thinking of Columbia. Of the gun shot wounds she’d treated there not so long ago.
‘Um … OK,’ she said at last.
‘They’re just like clay plates,’ Flo was saying earnestly. ‘So you don’t need to worry if you’re veggie or anti-blood sports.’
‘I’m not veggie.’
‘I know. But if you were.’
‘I’m not veggie.’ Nina rolled her eyes and made her way over to the bread bin, looking for more bread to toast.
‘I thought we’d have a spot of brunch here – with some games maybe? I’ve done a quiz!’
Nina winced theatrically.
‘And then we can head out after that. And come back here for drinks and curry.’
‘Curry?’ We all turned to see Tom padding downstairs in his pyjamas and an open dressing gown, rubbing his eyes. His pyjama bottoms were knotted very low, barely above his hipbones, and there was an impressive amount of buff muscle on display.
‘Tim, hate to tell you, you forgot your shirt,’ Nina said. ‘I think you should put it on. You don’t want to tempt poor Nora beyond what she can bear.’
I threw a toast crust at her. She dodged, and it hit Flo.
‘Oops, sorry Flo.’
‘Stop it you two!’ Flo scolded. Tom only yawned, but he belted up his dressing gown and winked at me.
‘What’s the plan for today then?’ he asked as he took a piece of toast from the plate Flo shoved at him.
‘Shooting,’ Nina said, deadpan. Tom’s eyebrows nearly disappeared beneath his hair.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Shooting. Apparently that’s Flo’s idea of a jolly.’
Flo gave Nina a look, not quite sure if she was having the piss taken out of her or not.
‘Clay-pigeon shooting actually,’ she said defiantly. ‘It’s fun!’
‘OK.’ Tom chewed his toast and looked round the table. ‘Am I the last one up? Oh – no. Melanie’s still asleep, I presume?’
‘Melanie—’ Flo began indignantly, but at that moment Clare came in from the living room and answered, raising her voice firmly above Flo’s.
‘Melanie had to go,’ she said. ‘Family stuff. Don’t worry, Tom, either me or Nina will give you a lift back to Newcastle. But the good news is, it means we can all fit in the same car now, so we don’t have to worry about navigating – I’ll drive, and Flo can direct, as she knows where it is.’
‘Great,’ Nina said. ‘Super. We can all sing “Ten Green Bottles” and fight in the back seat. I can hardly wait.’
‘OK, so I think it’s time for the quiz,’ Flo said. She craned round in her seat to look at me, Nina and Tom in the back. I was crushed in the middle and feeling car sick already, not helped by Tom’s headily overpowering aftershave. Or maybe it was Clare’s perfume. It was hard to tell in the confined space. I wanted to open a window but it was snowing outside, and the heater was on full blast.
‘It’s Clare vs you guys,’ Flo continued. ‘Fingers on buzzers please for round one.’
‘Wait, wait,’ Nina shouted. ‘A quiz on what, and what’s the prize?’
‘A quiz on James of course,’ Clare said from the front seat, amused. ‘Right, Flops?’
‘Of course!’ Flo said. She was laughing. I felt more and more like vomiting. ‘Prize … I don’t know. Glory? Oh, no, I’ve got it. The losing team can wear these for the rest of the day!’
She dug around in her rucksack and brought out a handful of skimpy underwear, emblazoned with the slogan I ♥ JAMES COOPER on the bum.
I felt every muscle in my body go stiff with anger. Nina coughed, and glanced at me sympathetically.
‘Um, Flo …’ she said diffidently, but Flo ploughed on.
‘Don’t worry! Over trousers I mean – or on your head or something. Right, first question. This is for Team Backseat, with a bonus point to Clare for any that you fail to get that she guesses correctly. What is James’ middle name?’
I shut my eyes against the car sickness and listened to Nina and Tom arguing it over.
‘Pretty sure it begins with a C,’ Tom was saying. ‘So I’m thinking, Chris?’
Karl. With a K.
‘It’s not,’ Nina insisted. ‘It’s something to do with Russia. His dad was a professor of Russian politics. Theodor. Or what’s Stalin’s first name?’
‘Joseph. But I’m sure it’s not Joseph. Besides, who’d name their kid after Stalin?’
‘OK not Stalin then. Name another famous Russian.’
I gritted my teeth. Karl.
‘Dostoevsky? Lenin? Marx?’
‘Marx!’ Nina shouted. ‘It’s Karl. I’m sure of it.’
In spite of my growing nausea, I had to crack a smile at her competitiveness. Nina was incapable of losing at anything – an argument, a board game – she often said it was the reason she didn’t do any competitive sport, because she couldn’t bear losing to someone, even if that someone was Usain Bolt.
‘Is that your final answer?’ Flo asked seriously. My eyes were still closed but I felt Nina nodding vigorously beside me.