Page 13 of The Fall-Out

‘So this way, Zara gets to look like a genius surpriser, and if Patch doesn’t like it he just has to suck it up,’ concluded Kate. ‘I never thought of it that way.’

‘Oh come on,’ argued Rowan. ‘You two are so cynical. Maybe Zara just wants to do something nice for her boyfriend.’

‘Trust me,’ Andy said, ‘when you’ve been round the block as many times as I have, petal, you’ll have learned that the Zaras of this world never “just” want to do anything for anyone.’

But before I could ask Andy what he meant, the longed-for ring of the doorbell sounded.

‘Quiet, everyone!’ Zara hissed over the chorus of voices and clink of glasses. ‘He’s here! Everyone hide.’

Somehow, with much giggling and jostling, everyone did.

‘Wait until you hear me say happy birthday,’ Zara commanded in a whisper, then I heard the click of her heels on the parquet floor as she hurried to open the door.

‘Hey,’ she said, almost purring, ‘how was the journey?’

‘Shit,’ Patch said. ‘Hot as hell and took forever.’

‘Well, you made it,’ Zara soothed. ‘Welcome back. And happy birthday.’

There was a moment of silence, then the rustling of many bodies and the shuffle of many feet all awkwardly moving together, then the first voice called out, ‘Happy birthday!’ and another added, ‘Surprise!’ and soon everyone was shouting at once, crowding round Patch and Zara to share in his amazement and her achievement. Patch looked tired – as he would after two weeks of long, physical days doing whatever engineers did on North Sea oil rigs – and a bit scruffy, as he would after a seven-hour train journey.

His jaw was shadowed with stubble and there were shadows under his eyes, too. His faded grey T-shirt was creased and I could see a darker triangle of sweat on the back of it. His hair looked like he’d showered that morning and just left it, without putting on styling products or whatever he normally did – it was sticking out at the sides and the fringe wasn’t lying smoothly over his forehead.

Not so delicious to look at now, I thought, wondering if Zara thought the same and if she was reminded of his other shortcomings, whatever those were.

But Patch was certainly putting on a brave face. After the initial, What the fuck just happened? moment, he was laughing and shaking his head, rueful at how thoroughly he’d been surprised. He’d accepted a beer from someone. He had his arm round Zara’s waist and was giving the right answers to all her questions – no, he’d had no idea she was planning this. Yes, it was totally amazing. Around me, the party seemed to be gathering pace. Zara was handing around plates of food – ‘Oh God, I didn’t cook it myself! I called in a favour from the caterer we use for work events’ – some people had drifted out on to the balcony to smoke and others were kneeling around the coffee table while someone tipped white powder out of a Ziploc bag.

I saw Andy glance in their direction, then break away from us to join the group. Kate took a step after him, then changed her mind, sighed and turned back to us, her smile a frozen facsimile of what it had been before.

There was no sign of Patch.

Without really thinking about it, I went towards the door that had to lead to the bathroom, turned the handle and pushed it open.

And there he was.

Not having a wee, thank God – if I’d walked in on him doing that I’d have been mortified. He was standing at the basin, splashing water on to his face, his long dark fringe dripping, his shirt on the floor at his feet.

‘Oh my God, I’m so sorry,’ I gasped.

‘No worries, at least I’m decent. Give me a second, I’ll just – would you mind passing me that towel?’

‘Sure.’ I handed it over. ‘Don’t mind me, I can come back. I was just?—’

I broke off. Patch was towelling his face, his arms flexed, and the beauty and power of his body took my breath away. His back and chest were sculpted like he was made of marble. A kite shape of dark hair began at his throat, spanned his nipples and trailed down to the waistline of his jeans. His abs were so defined they cast shadows on his skin.

Okay, Zara, I thought, I’d look past shortcomings too, for that.

‘I’m Patrick, by the way,’ he said, ‘in case you hadn’t guessed. But everyone calls me?—’

Embarrassed for him as well as for myself, I said, ‘I know. We met a few months back – pub after football? I’m Naomi.’

‘Of course. I’m so sorry – I should have remembered. I thought you looked familiar – your hair…’

‘That’s okay. And happy birthday. I brought you a thing.’ The home-made CD felt foolish now, almost inappropriate given he hadn’t even remembered meeting me. But I’d mentioned it now, so it was too late to change my mind. I fumbled in my bag and took out the gift, wrapped in paper with birthday cakes printed on it. ‘It’s a mix CD. I’m not fourteen, I promise.’

He laughed. ‘I can see that. Hey, I really am sorry I forgot your name. It’s just – this is a lot, you know. All these people.’

‘I’m not great with crowds either. Forget my own name, never mind some random who I met months ago.’

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