Page 27 of The Fall-Out

We all paused, blinking in the glare of an oncoming bus.

‘I need a fag.’ Zara fumbled in her handbag for her cigarettes, but the strap slipped off her shoulder and the bag crashed to the ground, sending its contents spilling out. ‘Oh, bollocks.’

I dropped to my knees to help her, but she dropped at the exact same time and our heads bumped together with an audible thud that made my eyes water. On all fours, I looked up at her and we both started giggling helplessly.

‘Come on, you two.’ Abbie scrabbled on the ground for Zara’s scattered belongings. ‘Is that the new Tom Ford lipstick? Cool. Get up now, or you’ll be on the front page of the Daily Mail illustrating an article about ladette culture.’

I scrambled to my feet. Rowan held out a hand to help Zara up, but she was like a baby giraffe taking its first steps, her legs in her patent slingback stilettos going in every direction except the one she wanted them to. Eventually, with Rowan holding one arm and Abbie the other, she made it up.

‘God, I love you guys so much,’ she slurred. ‘You’ll always have my back, won’t you? Won’t you?’

And then she started to cry.

‘Oh, babe.’ Kate found a tissue in her own bag and Zara’s cigarettes in hers, and lit one for her with the practised eagerness of an ex-smoker. ‘Come on, no need to get all emosh. We’ve got you.’

‘No one’s ever said that before,’ Zara sobbed. ‘I’ve always been alone until I found you guys. I don’t want to ever be alone again.’

I put my arm around her and she buried her face in my shoulder, the smell of perfume and smoke surrounding me. ‘Sssh, you’re not alone. We’re here. And what about Patch?’

‘Patch doesn’t love me.’ Zara’s voice was muffled the fabric of my coat. ‘He can’t possibly. I don’t deserve to be loved.’

‘Oh, darling. He does love you.’ I said it even though I had no way of knowing whether it was true. The number Patch had given me at New Year’s Eve was still saved on my phone, uncalled and unmessaged by me. I was glad of that now, because even a ‘hello’ would have made me feel horribly disloyal to Zara.

‘And so do we.’ Abbie moved in closer, enfolding both Zara and me in her arms.

‘We need to get her home.’ Rowan’s voice was full of concern.

‘She can’t get the Tube on her own,’ Kate agreed.

‘Where are you staying, Zee?’ I’d never used Patch’s nickname for Zara before, but it came quite naturally now.

‘Bloomsbury.’ She lifted her head from my shoulder and took the cigarette from Kate, inhaling deeply, then coughing.

‘I’m going north too,’ I said. ‘Why don’t we share a cab? I can drop you at your hotel and then go on home.’

The cost of a taxi all the way home would be prohibitive, but Zara didn’t need to know that. I’d see her safely back to her hotel and then get a bus, I decided.

‘No dodgy minicabs for you, mind,’ Rowan said.

‘Here we go.’ Kate flagged down a black taxi. ‘In you get. Message when you’re both safely home, okay?’

‘I haven’t finished my fag,’ Zara complained.

‘Come on.’ I took her arm and opened the car door. ‘One more drag and off we go.’

‘Can’t I finish in it in there? We’ll open the window for ven-ven-titilation.’

‘Not in my cab you won’t, love,’ barked the driver. ‘And if you throw up on my upholstery…’

‘She won’t,’ I promised, although I was far from certain. ‘What’s the hotel called, Zee?’

‘The Regency.’ Reluctantly, Zara dropped her cigarette and allowed herself to be bundled into the back seat.

I followed her, sliding across and pulling Zara’s rucked-up skirt down over her thighs as best I could. Her legs were as limp and floppy as a rag doll’s.

‘Regency? Never heard of it, love.’

‘It’s just behind the Brish Mushum,’ Zara slurred.

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