Page 82 of Not in a Million Years

‘Nothing. I’ve done nothing. I came over to see Andy and he said he wanted a drink, so I made one. When he rang his dealer, what did you expect me to do?’

‘Stop him! God, don’t you get it? This is a massive relapse. He’s worked so hard to get clean, and you’ve chucked it all away.’

‘Not me, Kate. You don’t seem to realise it, but Andy’s an adult. He gets to make his own decisions and his own mistakes.’

‘Mistakes? This isn’t accidentally replying to all on an email chain, Daniel. This is literally life and death.’

‘Kate, it literally isn’t. You’re not Andy’s mother, you know. You need to stop trying to control him, because it won’t work.’

‘I’m not trying to control him! I’m trying to help him.’

‘It looks a whole lot like control from where I’m sitting.’

‘Does it? In that case, I suggest you go and sit somewhere else. I thought you were my friend – and more bloody importantly, I thought you were Andy’s friend. But I see what you are now. You’re a traitor, an enabler – a pusher. You might as well have shoved that coke up his nose yourself. I want you out – now.’

I freed myself from his grasp and marched to the door, flinging it open. Of course, Andy was hovering on the opposite side.

‘There’s literally nothing more thrilling than people fighting over you,’ he said.

His refusal to take the situation seriously – admittedly only because he was as high as a kite – enraged me further.

‘You heard me, Daniel. Get the hell out of my flat.’

‘Fine.’ Daniel got to his feet. ‘I’ll go. Hopefully you’ll see sense in the morning.’

‘How about me?’ Andy gave a nervous giggle. ‘Should I stay or go, as the song says?’

All at once, my anger drained away, replaced with a deep weariness. ‘Suit yourself. I literally don’t care what either of you do any more.’

Andy stayed. And I’d lied about not caring any more – probably to myself as much as to him. The next morning, I woke up with a mild hangover and a crashing sense of doom, which hovered over me as I lay in half-sleep before remembering what had happened the previous night. I got up, half expecting Andy to be out – or gone.

But he was in the living room, where he’d neatly folded the spare duvet on the sofa, tidied away all the detritus from the previous night and made coffee. When he saw me, he snapped shut the copy of GQ magazine he’d been reading and jumped to his feet.

‘Kate. Are you okay?’

I nodded, tight-lipped.

‘I’m so sorry. Seriously, I can’t apologise enough. For Daniel as well as for myself – although I doubt you’ll get an apology out of him. He’s as stubborn as an ox – typical Leo. Anyway, will you forgive me?’

‘It’s not about whether I forgive you,’ I said. ‘It’s about whether this happens again.’

I remembered the almost smug confidence with which I’d assured myself that I wouldn’t let Andy do to me what he’d done to Abbie and Matt. So far, he hadn’t – he hadn’t taken anything from me, not money or valuables, so there was that. But, with Daniel’s encouragement, he was already riding roughshod over the agreement we’d had, the trust I’d placed in him.

‘It won’t happen again.’ He took my hands, his eyes wide and pleading. ‘It won’t, I promise. I’m firmly on the straight and narrow, as of now. I’ll make us shakshuka for brunch. I’ll do the hoovering, now you’re awake. I’ll even iron your stuff for next week. Just don’t be cross with me, because I can’t bear it.’

In the face of his smile, I felt my anger thawing. Andy must have sensed it, because he leaped into pampering mode, pouring me coffee, cooking food for us, suggesting we watch Saturday Kitchen together while he painted my toenails.

His charm offensive worked, and he spent that night in my bed.

Thirty-One

Now

‘What do you mean, you don’t have a stepladder?’ Daniel looked at me in astonishment, like I’d just told him I didn’t have a fridge.

We were in my bedroom, a few days after our recording session, and he was holding the sound bar from my television, which he’d said needed to be fixed to the wall above my bed in order to ensure maximum penetration (so to speak) of our sex-noise recording into the neighbouring apartment.

‘I just don’t. I told you, I’m scared of heights. What would I want a bit of kit that plays right into that in my flat at all times for?’

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