Page 45 of The Wake-Up Call

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Mrs. SB texts an update when we get to woking.

I’ve given Mrs. Rogers no. 1 our spare room in Opal Cottage for the night, and invited Mr. Graham Rogers and Mrs. Rogers no. 2 here for brunch and a civil conversation in the morning. Amazing what the promise of a free meal can do.

The message ends with a thumbs-up. Mrs. SB only ever uses a thumbs-up without irony, so she must be calmer than she was when Ollie called. Still, I feel awful for causing her all this trouble. It’s the last thing she needs right now—and even though she was super nice about us both being off on this trip, I do feelveryguilty for leaving the hotel on a job that really only needed one of us.

Woking station is packed with pissed-off travellers, all alternating between staring at phones and departure screens. It’s too cold; my nose hurts. I just want to go home and crawl into my bed.

“Replacement bus service cancelled,” Lucas growls, not looking up from his phone. He mutters something in Portuguese, and then says, “What do we do now?”

I’m surprised he’s asking me. Lucas usually likes to plough on, making his own decisions and expecting me to trot along after him.

“Cab?” I say, already wincing.

“Ican’t,” Lucas says, and there’s real anguish in his voice at the very thought of it.

I get it—I’m not rolling in it, either, and a taxi from here would cost us at least £200. I get my phone out and hit up Google. A cheap hotel right by the station has rooms available for £40. I doubt they’ll stay at that price for long—other people will have the same idea as me soon enough.

“Look, it sounds like everyone’s fine at Forest Manor now, and we can’t afford a cab, so...” I hold out the screen to him.

He stares at it for a moment. His eyes flick up to mine.

“We can get two rooms,” I say quickly. “If you want.”

“I would rather... Well, it’s up to you,” he says.

“One’s fine for me. I’ll just sleep on the floor.”

He looks irritated. “Iwill sleep on the floor.”

“I don’t know if there’ll be enough floor for you,” I say, nodding at the size of him.

His lip lifts ever so slightly. “Book it,” he says decisively. “Before it’s too late. I’ll transfer you my share now.”

He’s already back on his phone when I open my mouth to say don’t worry, it can wait. I swallow it back. I know Lucas is skint, but he’s also very proud.

“Thanks,” I say instead.

A few clicks later, and it’s done. Unbelievably, incomprehensibly, I am about to spend the night in a hotel room with Lucas da Silva.

•••••

The first thing that strikes me about the room is that nobody will be able to sleep on the floor in here. Every spare inch is taken up with a desk, a chair, side tables for the bed, and a footstool that’s way too big for the space. Plus that ridiculous thing they put out for your luggage, like a small hammock for your suitcase. Who uses those, and why?

We have no suitcases, obviously. I don’t even have a toothbrush. I try to give my teeth a particularly vigorous lick, which achieves nothing other than hurting my tongue, and then I throw myself down on the bed with a long, loudugh.

At least it’s warm. There’s an air-conditioning unit whirring away over the bathroom door, blasting out hot air. Everything in here is a very washable shade of dark grey. It’s completely impersonal—the opposite of Forest Manor Hotel and Spa. This hotel isn’t a place where people go the extra mile, it’s a place where colleagues go to bed with each other when they shouldn’t.

I lift my head to look at Lucas, who is still examining the room with his arms folded. We’re not doing that, obviously.

Except a few hours ago I really did want to have sex with Lucas, and that thought hasn’tcompletelygone away.

“You did a good thing today,” he says abruptly.

My thoughts immediately go to the dance floor. The sound of Anitta, the feel of Lucas’s hand pressing the small of my back...

“It’s better for both those women to know the truth.”

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