Page 75 of Not in a Million Years

Each day, Andy seemed more serene, more content. Gradually, the wariness with which I’d been watching him eased. I grew more comfortable with Daniel, too – spending a couple of nights a week and most weekends in his company made me realise he could be engaging, irreverent and funny.

I let my guard down. Foolishly, perhaps – but I was happy. I believed everything would be all right. I thought I’d saved the day – saved Andy from himself, even.

Then, one Friday night, I went out after work. It wasn’t meant to be a massive night, but one pub turned into three and then someone suggested going to Brick Lane for a curry. I didn’t want to say no – these were my colleagues, and I’d been missing out on socialising. Daniel was at my flat keeping Andy company (or babysitting, as he’d ironically said in his text message). I had no reason to believe everything wouldn’t be okay.

It was midnight when I got home. Expecting Daniel to have left and Andy to be asleep (he’d developed an almost unnerving appetite for sleep), I let myself into the flat as silently as I could.

But they were both there in the living room, awake. Cocktail glasses stood on the coffee table, next to a shaker and a full ashtray.

And when Andy turned to greet me, there was white powder on his top lip and panic in his eyes.

Twenty-Eight

Now

I dreamed I was back in Alsaya.

I was in bed, and Daniel was next to me – I could smell him and hear the rhythm of his breathing. But I couldn’t touch him – when I reached out a hand, there was only emptiness there, as if the bed had been cut in half and the side where he was sleeping moved away. I tried to reach further, but I couldn’t – sleep held me firmly still.

I could hear the rush of waves breaking on the shore, far louder than it had been in my actual room, where the hum of the air conditioning had dulled the sound of the sea. And I could hear gulls, too, their shrieking calls so loud overhead I feared they’d flown in through the open balcony door and were wheeling above me, their bright eyes watching me, their cruel beaks opening to—

With a muffled scream and a gasp, I sat up. I was on the sofa in Daniel’s front room. Someone had covered me with a blanket during the night and slipped a pillow under my head – that must have been what smelled of the lemony shampoo Daniel used. It was a flock of green parakeets I could hear outside, not gulls at all. And the sound I’d thought was waves, or breathing, was coming from Daniel’s workshop, presumably a saw or sander.

I was still in the clothes I’d worn for my date with Claude. My tiered maxi skirt was bunched up around my thighs and the underwire of my bra was digging painfully into my armpit. I stood, easing the knots out of my shoulders and spine. Amazingly, in spite of my less than comfortable night, I felt refreshed and calm. Whatever challenges the day had in store for me – and there were likely to be plenty – I was ready to face them.

Or I would be, once I’d had a wee and a coffee, and hopefully borrowed a toothbrush.

The bathroom door opened, and Andy emerged in a T-shirt and underpants, leaning on one crutch. His hair was damp from the shower and his face very pale, dark shadows ringing his eyes.

‘Morning,’ I said cautiously. I knew from experience that Andy’s mood after a heavy night was never sunny – he’d be morose at best, bitter and quarrelsome at worst.

But he smiled, although it was a sickly shadow of his normal radiant beam. ‘Morning, Kate. Coffee?’

‘Yes please. I just need to…’ I gestured to the bathroom.

‘There’s spare stuff in the cupboard under the sink. Our Daniel runs quite the luxury lodging house here.’

I wondered whether the stock of spare toothbrushes and the like had been placed there for the benefit of guests who’d stayed over in Daniel’s bed, rather than crashing on his sofa. The idea brought a stab of jealousy that was startlingly intense.

I cleaned my teeth, borrowed Daniel’s hairbrush (so there were at least some advantages to the wanky hair) and removed last night’s make-up as best I could with shower gel, then rejoined Andy in the kitchen.

He pressed the button of the coffee machine and it roared to life, sending a stream of almost-black liquid into the espresso cup waiting below.

‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘You’re a lifesaver. How are you feeling this morning?’

Andy passed me my coffee and we went to sit on the sofa together. Up close, he looked even worse than I’d thought at first – exhausted and haunted, flakes of dry skin coming away from his lips, his eyes bloodshot. For the first time, I noticed that the hair around his temples was thinning.

‘I’m so frightened, Kate. I’m sorry for last night, but mostly I’m scared shitless.’

‘You don’t have to apologise to me. It’s not your fault.’

‘Yes, it fucking is. I went out to the shops and I passed a pub and thought, “You know what, I’ll just grab a quick drink.” Not in the nice pub, mind you, in the sketchy AF one. The vodka practically took the skin off my tongue.’

‘You always were a picky bastard,’ I joked.

He coughed out a half-laugh. ‘I knew, Kate. I knew what I was doing there. I didn’t admit it to myself, but I did. As soon as I saw a group of guys going into the toilet, I tagged along and got their dealer’s number. And – well, you can imagine what happened next.’

I could. The lost hours, doing a line then having another drink and doing another line, until the coke was finished and he came home, pissed and buzzing like he’d had the best fun ever.

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