Page 93 of The Fall-Out

In a small voice, I said, ‘That’s because no one knew. They thought you’d already split up. I even thought that.’

‘Did you, now?’

‘I… Okay, we’d flirted. We even kissed. But that was literally all. That’s why I wanted to see you today – to say I was sorry for that. By the time – you know, before anything more than that happened – you weren’t together any more. At least that’s what I thought. I only found out recently that that wasn’t true.’

The sky had clouded over once more and the breeze was picking up. On the hard, cold stone of the step, I could feel my buttocks going numb. I shifted, pulling my jacket closer around my shoulders. Zara pushed her shades up again.

‘How did you find out?’ she asked.

‘He told me. But only because I asked.’

‘He’s quite the player, isn’t he, your husband?’

‘He says he made a mistake. He says he didn’t want to hurt you.’

‘Funny, that. That’s what he told me, the morning after Abbie’s wedding.’

‘That he didn’t want to hurt you?’ Even as I asked the question, I knew what the answer would be.

Zara laughed, a small, humourless sound. ‘That he didn’t want to hurt you.’

My mouth suddenly felt dry and my stomach tight, so it was hard for me to get air into my lungs. I remembered that next morning – waking up in Rowan’s room, hungover and confused. Borrowing some clothes from her because I couldn’t do what would look like the walk of shame along the hotel corridor in my bridesmaid’s dress. Hurrying back to my own room and finding Patch there in the shower, and wondering in confusion why housekeeping had already been in and made the bed, and him explaining that he’d woken early and already been down for breakfast.

And me not wanting to disbelieve him, not wanting to think for even a single second that there was any reason to doubt him, even though the last I’d heard the previous night he’d been outside with Zara, calming her down while she smoked in the garden.

Adrenaline coursed through me, making my skin prickle. ‘What are you saying?’

‘Do I really need to spell it out? We slept together that night. He never could resist me. I was pissed, but that’s not really why I did it. I can show you the texts he sent me, if you like. He did feel terrible about it, to be fair. Although not terrible enough not to come and see me in Paris a few weeks later.’

‘I don’t believe you.’ I could barely get the words out.

My mind was scrambling like a spider when you catch it in a glass to put it outside, struggling to recall those few weeks, when Patch had been up in Aberdeen with work, which had been normal then. But then there’d been a weekend when he was supposed to be home, but hadn’t because there was some problem that had kept him there.

It had all seemed plausible at the time – it hadn’t even crossed my mind that there was anything to worry about. Just a blip, an inconvenience. Just missing him. Not this.

‘If you don’t believe me, you should take a look on that camera,’ she said. ‘I can’t believe you haven’t already. There are photos of us together on there. Time stamped and everything. But it didn’t last; he said he wouldn’t do it any more, because he wanted to be with you. And it was pretty clear by then that what I’d thought would happen with you and the other girls wasn’t going to happen, so…’

She shrugged, as if dismissing a minor inconvenience – her favourite shade of lipstick being discontinued, say, or not being able to get a table at a restaurant she wanted to try.

‘So you gave up?’

‘I was busy. I had other things going on in my life. It just wasn’t that important.’

‘And then Andy died.’

‘And then Andy died,’ she agreed. ‘You know, I did care about him. He and I were quite similar in lots of ways. Both fucked up.’

I wanted to scream, Andy was nothing like you! Andy was kind, deep down. He cared about his friends.

But I could see where she was coming from. Whatever it was in her that was fragile – so damaged it was almost broken – must have found an echo in Andy, wrestling with different demons.

‘So you decided to come back for the funeral and try and wreak havoc with our friendship all over again?’

‘It wasn’t a decision, really. It just sort of happened.’

She made it sound so casual, as if what she’d almost succeeded in doing wasn’t in the least important.

‘And pretending you had cancer? Did that sort of happen, too?’

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