Page 37 of The Fall-Out

‘It’s shit, the long-distance thing,’ she went on. ‘I mean, we see each other maybe once every six weeks. We message all the time, obviously, and sometimes it gets quite – you know – spicy.’

I flinched, not wanting to imagine her and Patch sexting each other, sharing over their phones the things they wanted to do in real life – had done, would be doing later that night.

‘Are you embarrassed?’ She laughed. ‘Bless you, Naomi. If you knew the stuff we get up to, you’d just die. I’m very highly sexed, you see, and so’s Patch.’

I remembered that dingy hotel room, the shape beneath the bedcovers, the sound of a snore that I could have sworn was a man’s. Was that an example of Zara being highly sexed? If so, surely it was something Patch couldn’t be expected to put up with, no matter how enthusiastic about bedroom shenanigans he was himself.

What went on between them was none of my business. But I felt compelled to know – did they have some sort of consensual open relationship thing going on?

While I was trying to frame the words to ask, Zara took another long drag on her cigarette and then went on, ‘Here’s the thing – I trust him, obviously. I know he’s smitten with me, and I am with him. But I meet loads of hot men at work. Most of them gay, obviously, but not all of them. And I have to admit I sometimes feel – you know, tempted. And I can’t help wondering if it’s the same for him.’

‘Honestly, Zara – how many hot women do you think work on oil rigs? Gay or not? But if you’re’ – I could hardly bear to use the words – ‘seeing other people, don’t you think he deserves to know?’

She laughed again, that throaty cackle. ‘I’m not “seeing other people”. Bless you, Naomi. Not in the way you mean, anyway. I’m not unfaithful in any sense that matters. But Patch is different. For him, when he’s back on shore, letting off steam, or in London seeing his mates when we haven’t been together for weeks – if something happened, it would matter. To him and to me.’

‘But you trust him, surely? He must trust you, knowing all the hot men you meet here in Paris.’ Did he, though? I remembered the shadow of sadness I’d seen on Patch’s face at the New Year’s Eve party, right before he’d given me his number. He hadn’t looked particularly trusting then.

‘Trust.’ She grimaced, her crimson lips curling downwards like a sad clown’s. ‘I mean, it’s all well and good, isn’t it? But I’d rather have certainty than trust.’

‘You can’t be certain though, can you?’ I leaned in closer to her, feeling the warmth of her shoulder, smelling her perfume and her cigarette smoke. For a second, I felt like I’d felt back in the very earliest days of the Girlfriends’ Club, when we’d all got drunk together and shared secrets, revelling in the joy of our new-found friendship. Before I’d known how I was going to feel about Zara’s boyfriend. And feeling as I did, who was I to judge what Zara was doing?

‘Sure, there are no guarantees. I can’t keep the man under lock and key – although if I could, he’d probably quite like it.’

‘So then all you have left is trust.’

‘Trust – and maybe a little insurance policy as well. Belt and braces.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean you, Naomi. Will you help me? As my friend?’

‘Help you do what? Seriously, Zara, I don’t under?—’

‘It won’t take much. It’ll be the ultimate cushy number, actually.’ Again, I heard the slurred mushiness in her words. ‘Just touch base with him. When he’s in London, meet up with him. Go for drinks. Have coffee. Go see those action comedy films he likes so much. Hang out. That’s all.’

‘You want me to spy on him?’ Her request took me completely by surprise – as did the spark of excitement it gave me. She wasn’t just giving me permission to see Patch when she wasn’t around – she was practically ordering me to.

‘Haha. Not spy. That would be mad. Just be his friend. And if he suddenly isn’t free to see you, or he mentions another woman, or you think something’s off, you let me know. Simple.’

‘Zara, this is mad. You can’t be serious. It’s no way to have a relationship – you doing… whatever you’re doing, and then asking me to keep tabs on him. It’s not healthy. You need to tell him what’s going on.’

She looked at me through a haze of smoke, her eyes narrowed. ‘Why? You don’t want to split us up, do you, Naomi? Because if you did, I’d have to wonder about the reason for that.’

‘No!’ I felt like I’d walked into a trap. ‘Of course that’s not what I want.’

‘That’s settled, then.’ She dropped her cigarette butt and ground it under her heel. Then she reached out and gripped my hand with her cold fingers, so hard it hurt. ‘Naomi?’

‘What?’ I wanted to pull back from her, but I couldn’t.

‘You won’t tell anyone about this, will you? Because it could literally destroy me.’

Her intensity frightened me. I wanted this conversation to end; I wanted to get back inside the warm restaurant and drink wine and laugh with our friends. So I said the only thing there was to say.

‘Of course I won’t.’

‘Thank you, Naomi. I knew I could count on you.’

FIFTEEN

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