Page 23 of Lie For Me

Jack grabbed his toiletry bag and a towel from the bed and started heading for the shower.

‘Hang on!’ Lucy called. ‘We need to set the room up.’

Jack stopped and looked about.

‘Looks pretty set up to me.’

‘We’re hardly sharing a bed, are we?’ Lucy said, hands on hips.

She watched him glance about the room.

‘Ahh. Good point,’ Jack said slowly.

‘And that sofa won’t be much fun to sleep on.’

Lucy gestured to a decorative but uncomfortable-looking chaise longue.

‘Luckily for you, I came prepared.’ Lucy dragged a bag out from the pile. ‘Ta da! I brought a blow-up mattress.’

Jack turned his back to the bathroom and threw his towel on the bed.

‘Why is it lucky for me? How come I am the one who’s sleeping on the blow-up mattress?’ He folded his arms. ‘You dragged me into this. The least you can do is give me the bed.’

Lucy stared at him.

‘Well, I had thought you might be a bit more gallant about it. We could at least talk about—’

‘Gallant? Lucy, we haven’t been stranded in a hurricane with only one room left in a remote inn. You planned this. You asked me to give up my time and my weekend, but you managed to leave out the part where you expect me to sleep on the floor for three nights?’

‘Blow up mattress,’ Lucy corrected him. ‘It’s really very comfortable, it’s fleece lined.’

‘Then you’ll be just fine on it.’

Jack grabbed the towel and strode back over to the bathroom.

‘Remember,’ he said, as he turned in the doorway. ‘You’re a lucky girl.’

He grinned and disappeared.

Lucy glowered at the closed door as the shower cranked to life.

She dragged out the air bed foot pump.

7

The hotel function room was a huge, vaulted space with beamed ceilings and pairs of French windows along one side that led straight out into the gardens. The doors were flung wide to let in any breeze that raised itself to temper the heat of the late summer day. Along one wall ran a long table covered in crustless sandwiches, mini pizzas, tiny quiches, glazed ham and chutneys. A sweaty-looking boy of about seventeen with train track braces fidgeted behind the table, shifting his weight from foot to foot and avoiding eye contact.

He was doing his best to answer guests’ questions as people pointed and asked things like, Is that gluten-free? Or I can’t have dairy. I’ll be in the loo all night. Does that have dairy?

The boy blushed often and regularly dove back into the kitchen—to get answers or just to hide behind the swing doors to escape people’s dietary needs.

A bored-looking teenage waitress drifted past, balancing a tray of miniature burgers with tiny skewers down the middle, texting with her free hand and murmuring, burger? in the vague direction of groups of people.

Large circular tables filled the room, each surrounded by chairs with billowing lilac bows on the back. Pale purple-coloured helium balloons bounced along the ceiling and were fixed to every hook, curtain rail, pillar and beam with lilac ribbons twisted into curls. Drapes of lilac satin framed the doors, and huge centre-pieces of lilac, pink and white flowers filled every table. Clusters of guests stood around chatting in bright summer clothes.

Over the general melee and babble came squeals of, Darlings, you made it! as some new couple or family entered the room. Or You would not believe the traffic, as some harassed driver entered, straight from the car park, dragging cases and kids behind them. Or a discussion about the weather. My God, the heat, people gasped as they flapped at their faces with hands or napkins before someone else chimed in, But much better for the happy day than rain.

The occasional pop of champagne corks punctuated the chatter.

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