Page 4 of Something Borrowed

“Just waving,” my twat of a friend says happily. “It’d be rude not to.”

I grab his hand and force it down. “Well, don’t.” I lower the window cautiously. “Thanks for last night,” I call. “It was wonderful.”

“Wanker,” the man cries.

“Is that someone he knows?” the driver asks Joe while thankfully engaging the central locking system.

“I think so, Nigel,” Joe answers with a great deal of relish. “But it’s always so difficult to tell with Rafferty.”

“Ah, probably a pissed-off boyfriend, then.” He observes the redhead standing outside the car. “Takes a few years to build up that head of steam,” he adds knowledgeably.

“Oh no,” Joe says. “Raff’s only known him for a few hours, but I regard them as dog hours, where each minute lasts for a century.”

I glare at them. “Could we please get a move on?”

Finally, Nigel starts off. Joe leans toward me and scans my face. “Let’s have a look at you.” He blanches. “Oh fuck.”

“Is it bad?” I ask frantically, pulling my phone out and clicking on the camera.

He bats my hand away. “Well, your eyes look a teeny bit hungover. The last time I saw that particular shade of red, I was watching the creepy room scene inThe Amityville Horror.”

“That house’s horrors will have nothing on my life if Jed finds out what’s happened.”

He hands me my bag, and I rummage frantically through it. “Aha,” I exclaim in triumph when I find my eye drops. I add a couple to each eye and another two for good luck. “How’s that now?” I ask.

Joe purses his lips. “You look like you’ve got myxomatosis.”

“Is that something I could offer as an excuse to Jed?”

“Not unless you’re a rabbit starring inWatership Down.”

“Shit.” I grab my toothbrush, squeeze out a line of toothpaste, and brush my teeth. “That’s bliss,” I garble through a mouthful of foam, and he hands me a bottle of water to rinse.

“You’ll have to swallow the foam, as I didn’t pack your spittoon.”

“How very disappointing.”

I splash water on my face and then reach for my face wash. Lathering up, I catch the driver’s eyes on me. He's staring at me in his mirror, fascinated as we sit in the queue at some lights.

“Okay?” I ask him.

“Absolutely,” he says. “Don’t mind me.”

“No problem.” I spill some water onto my hands and wash my face, before patting it dry on the towel Joe hands me from my bag. “That feels so much better.”

I reach for the moisturiser. “How long will this take, Nigel?” I ask, nerves squirming in my stomach.

He shrugs. “A while. There are roadworks on the route to St James.”

“Oh fuck,” I breathe.

Joe nudges me. “Don’t think about it. Concentrate on what you’ve got to do.”

I whip the T-shirt off and roll on some deodorant. Becoming aware of a commotion in the car next to us, I look over and see two women waving and cheering. I look down at my bare chest and laugh before giving them a lordly salute.

Joe clears his throat. He’s sitting calm and collected, one leg crossed over the other, sunlight gleaming on his intensely blingy wedding ring. “Back to the humdrum problems of your immediate future. Do you think Jed will disembowel you first, or opt for something slower?”

I roll my eyes and immediately regret it. They might drop out of their sockets. “He’ll probably do both,” I say gloomily,reaching for the tube of paracetamol in my bag and swallowing two with the last of the water.

---