Page 70 of Not in a Million Years

So I asked for the bill, and Claude – to my relief – insisted on paying for the wine. We got up to leave (with me edging sideways around the table to avoid confronting the sight of the sheer drop through the glass panel that was all that stood between me and a screaming plummet down to certain death) then, stuffed and tipsy, we made our way back to the lift and gently descended to street level.

‘Kate.’ He placed both his hands on my shoulders and looked at me, his dark eyes serious. ‘I’d like to invite you back to my place for a drink – or a coffee. But there’s no pressure.’

Like I’d need any pressure. The wine had gone to my head – I felt pleasantly mellow and dizzy not only with wine but also with relief at feeling my feet firmly on the ground. If I went home with Claude, and stayed there, I’d not only be escaping whatever next-door’s DJ had in store for the night but also taking our relationship to the next level.

Plus, I had my usual date-night ammo with me in my handbag, so there’d be none of the sickening next-morning regret I’d experienced with Daniel.

‘Let me get the cab, then,’ I said, smiling up into his impossibly handsome face.

‘If you insist.’

For the first time since we’d arrived at the restaurant, I took my phone out of my bag. I’d been on too many dates where my companion had been constantly distracted by his screen – or, worse, actually glued to it throughout – and I’d resolved not to be that person. Claude, too, had politely confined checking his phone to the few minutes I’d spent finding my way to the plushy, fragrant ladies’ loo.

But now, I regretted my good manners instantly. Before I could even tap through to the Uber app, my notifications were clamouring for my attention. There were thirty-eight new messages on the Girlfriends’ Club WhatsApp, and I had five missed calls.

And there was a text message from Daniel.

Where the hell are you? Andy’s gone AWOL.

Twenty-Six

When I arrived at Daniel’s house twenty-five minutes later, there was already quite the party going on. If you count Abbie, Patch and Daniel all sitting around the dining table drinking coffee and tapping anxiously at their phones as a party, that is. To be honest, it didn’t feel much like one. Not only were Matt, who was away with work; Naomi, who was looking after her and Patch’s twins; and Rowan and Alex, who were visiting Alex’s sister, not present, but the atmosphere felt distinctly sombre.

‘Any news?’ I asked as soon as Daniel had opened the door and gestured to a seat and the cafetière, from which I helped myself eagerly. Sleep wasn’t going to be on the cards tonight anyway, and if search parties were going to be mounted, I’d better sober up as fast as I could.

‘Nothing.’ Daniel sat down next to me, his legs outstretched. I could see lines of dust on his faded black T-shirt, as if he’d leaned over his workbench to reach out for tools, and the edge of the surface had imprinted itself on his clothing. He returned my sidelong glance at him with one of his own, taking in my full face of make-up, swishy skirt and freshly manicured nails. ‘Where’ve you been, anyway, Kate? Out partying?’

‘Just out,’ I replied evasively.

‘On a date?’ Abbie asked. ‘Come on, share the deets.’

‘Look, it doesn’t matter where I’ve been,’ I said. ‘I’ll tell you later. Where’s Andy? When did you see him last?’

‘He went out at seven – said he needed saffron for the risotto he was making. And he never came back,’ Daniel explained.

‘And it doesn’t take that long to find a shop that sells saffron, even in Peckham, does it?’ Abbie joked half-heartedly.

‘Peckham’s a cultural melting pot, I’ll have you know,’ Daniel said. ‘There’s every ingredient known to man within about ten minutes’ walk of here. Why do you think I’m worried?’

‘It’s half past ten now,’ I said. ‘If something had happened to him, you’d have heard, surely?’

‘Depends on what happened.’ Grimly, Daniel picked up his phone and flicked it to life, staring at the screen but clearly seeing nothing that hadn’t been there last time he’d checked.

‘We can’t exactly call the rozzers, can we?’ Patch said. ‘He’s a grown man; he’s only been gone a few hours. They’d laugh us out of town.’

‘Did he take his phone with him?’ I asked.

Daniel nodded. ‘But it’s going straight to voicemail. His passport’s here, at least, so we know he hasn’t done a runner abroad again.’

‘If his phone’s off then he can’t be using it to get around,’ I mused. ‘Or to – you know. Contact people to buy anything.’

To buy drugs. My unspoken words hung in the air.

‘It’s not necessarily off, though,’ Abbie pointed out. ‘He could just have his calls diverted to voicemail. How the hell do you even buy drugs these days, anyway?’

‘Instagram, apparently,’ Daniel said.

‘Seriously?’ Suddenly, I felt very old, clueless and out of touch.

---