Page 56 of The Fall-Out

I minced over to her and sat down. ‘Jeez, these boots are killing me already. I’ll be in agony by the end of the night. Yeah, he’s got a girlfriend. My friend Zara. But the thing is…’

‘The thing is you fancy the pants off him and you don’t want to do the dirty on your mate?’

‘No! Sisters before misters, like always. But she’s not really acting like she’s got a boyfriend right now, and I don’t know how to tell him. Or even whether to tell him.’

Amina pushed the teapot over to me, reaching behind her for another mug. ‘Go on.’

I hesitated, inhaling the steam from my tea. I’d made a promise to Zara two months before, when she’d asked me to tell Patch she was in Stockholm. As it happened, he hadn’t asked, but I hadn’t told anyway – not him, and not Rowan, Kate or Abbie. I felt even worse about keeping secrets from them than I did about keeping them from him.

And now I felt worse still. Because Zara had asked me to lie again, and the lie was bigger. A few days before, I’d woken up to a text from her that had made me feel kind of cold and dirty, like I’d fallen face first into a muddy puddle.

Zara:

Shit, Naomi. I have the hangover from hell and I’m the worst person ever

The message had been sent two hours before, at what would have been about five in the morning in Paris. I lay on my back in bed, my phone propped on my chest, and replied:

Naomi:

What happened? Are you okay?

Her answer came straight away.

Zara:

Apart from poisoned by absinthe. Yeah, I guess I’ll live. Not that I deserve to.

Concerned, I pushed myself higher up on my pillows.

Naomi:

It can’t be that bad! You’ve got beer fear, that’s all. Or absinthe anxiety, which must be worse.

Zara:

Haha, v funny. You always make me feel better. Please, Nome, tell me to stop getting pissed and doing things I shouldn’t do.

Naomi:

Stop getting pissed and doing – whatever you did.

I didn’t want to know. I really didn’t. But I could sense that she was going to tell me anyway, and there was nothing I could do to stop her.

Sure enough, she texted back:

Zara:

As Oscar Wilde didn’t say, to shag one random stranger looks like misfortune, to shag two looks like carelessness. I’ve been careless, Nome.

Before I could compose a reply, she messaged again.

Zara:

Please don’t tell Patch. Pleasepleaseplease, I beg you.

‘Shit.’ I frowned at my phone’s screen, torn between anger at Zara – why was she doing this to me, putting me in this impossible position? And even more to the point, why was she doing this to Patch? – and my instinct to support my friend when she needed me.

Naomi:

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