Part 10 (1/2)

'Nope. Just tea, remember?' I reached for a jumper, pulled it over my head and smoothed my hair. 'Clare doesn't drink coffee, so neither do we.'

'Oh, G.o.d, f.u.c.king Flo and the satellite of love. How's she taking Melanie's departure?'

'Hmm. Listen, and you might be able to ...' I trailed off, and we both heard the unmistakeable sound of heavy sobs coming up from the kitchen. Nina rolled her eyes.

'She is unhinged. I really mean that. She was weird when they were at university have you noticed how she copies what Clare wears? She used to do that back then too. But now ...'

'I don't think she's unhinged.' I s.h.i.+fted uncomfortably. 'Clare's a powerful personality if you're not very confident ...' I stopped, struggling to put into words the feeling that I'd always had that my own personality was a s.p.a.ce, a vacuum that someone like Clare could rush into to fill. It was something that I knew Nina would never understand with all her faults, lack of personality is not one of them. She lay there, eyeing me speculatively from the pillow and then shrugged.

'Clare's perfect, do you know what I mean?' I said at last. 'It's easy to want that for yourself, and feel like imitation is the way to get it.'

'Maybe.' Nina sat up, pulling her skimpy vest top straight. 'I still think Flo's a few cherries short of a trifle. But whatever. Look, I've been meaning to say, I really am sorry about last night. I had no idea it was such a sore spot for you. But seriously, why did you come if you still feel like that about it all?'

I pulled on my jeans and then stood, chewing my lip, thinking over what I had and hadn't told Nina. It's always my instinct to keep my cards close to my chest, I don't know why. I dislike giving people, even friends, the smallest hold over me. I've always been a private person, and that tendency has grown since I started to live alone and work alone. But I knew, too, that tendency could send me as crazy as Flo in my own way if I let it.

'I came because-' I took a breath, and then forced myself on '-because I had no idea that Clare was marrying James.'

'What?' Nina swung her legs out of bed and looked at me. I gave a tremulous shrug. Put like that, it did sound ... kind of pathetic. 'What, are you serious? So Clare, like, lured you here to spring that s.h.i.+t on you?'

'N-not exactly.' s.h.i.+t. Stop stammering. 'She said she wanted to tell me to my face. That she felt she owed me that.'

'f.u.c.k that!' Nina pulled a s.h.i.+rt over her head, and for a moment her voice was m.u.f.fled, then it cleared as her head popped out, her cheeks pink with indignation. 'If she wanted to meet you face to face the normal thing to do would be to invite you out for a drink! Not lure you into some G.o.d-forsaken forest. What was she thinking?'

'I ... I don't think she meant it like that.' Christ, what was I doing defending her? 'I think she just didn't think-'

'Ugh!' Nina stood up and began brus.h.i.+ng her hair angrily, the strands crackling as she dragged the brush through them. 'How does she get away with pulling this c.r.a.p? And she comes out of it smelling like roses every time! Do you remember when she told everyone in Year Ten that I fancied Debbie Harry? And then claimed it was because she felt bad that I was having to 'live a lie' and everyone acted like she was doing me a f.u.c.king favour?'

'I-' I didn't know what to say. The Debbie Harry incident had been brutal. I still remembered Nina's shocked expression when she came into the cla.s.sroom and Clare was humming 'Hanging on the Telephone' with that particular smile on her face, and the whole cla.s.s sn.i.g.g.e.ring.

'It's all about her. It's about how she looks and feels. Back then she wanted to look like the caring, liberal, accepting friend and so out it comes, sod whether I'm ready to tell people, and now she wants to feel like she can swan off into the sunset with James and no guilt so hey presto, force you into a position where you've got pretty much no choice at all over whether you forgive her.'

I hadn't looked at it like that. But in a way, Nina was right.

'I'm not upset about what Clare's done,' I said, although I knew in my heart that this was only partly true. 'What's really been bothering me ...'

'What?'

But suddenly I couldn't say it. The feeling of nakedness was back, and I only shook my head and turned away, pulling on my socks.

What I had been about to say, before I lost my nerve, was: how much did James know about it? Had he gone along with this plan?

'We can go,' Nina said conversationally as she b.u.t.toned up her own jeans and stood up to stretch, all six-foot-one of her. 'We could drive off into the sunset and leave Clare and Flo to the crazy together.'

'And Tom.'

'Oh, yeah, and Tom.'

'We could, couldn't we ...' It was an enticing picture and I thought about it for a minute as Nina began brus.h.i.+ng her hair.

But we couldn't. I knew that really. Or rather I couldn't.

If I'd said no, before I even got here, that would have been one thing. But backing out now, halfway though the hen there was only one interpretation. I could imagine them all speculating about it after I was gone: poor Nora, poor cow, she's so screwed up over James, she ruined Clare's hen because she couldn't be happy for her.

And worst of all would know. I could see it now, the two of them in their perfect flat in London, curled up in bed together, Clare sighing with concern over me. I'm worried James, it's like she's never got over you.

And he and he I found my hands were clenched into fists, and Nina was looking at me curiously. I had to consciously relax them, and I gave a little, false-sounding laugh.

'If only right? But we can't. It would be too much of a f.u.c.k you in the aftermath of Melanie leaving.'

Nina looked at me, long and hard, and then shook her head.

'All right. I think you're kind of m.a.s.o.c.h.i.s.tic. But all right.'

'We've only got one more night.' I was convincing myself now. 'I can take one more night.'

'All right. One more night it is.'

13.

IF ONLY. If only I had gone then.

I wish I could sleep, but I can't, even with the soft click and whirr of the morphine driver. Instead I lie awake, listening to the voices in the corridor, the policeman and woman discussing in low voices what has happened, and that one word reverberates inside my head: Murder. Murder. Murder.

Can it be true? Can it possibly be true?

Who is dead?

Clare? Flo? Nina?

My heart stops at that. Not Nina. Not beautiful, brash, vibrant Nina. Please ...

I must remember. I must try to remember what happened next. I know that come daybreak they will come in here and ask me questions. They're waiting outside for me to wake up, waiting to talk to me.

I must have my version of events straight by then.

But what did happen next? The events of that day swirl and pound inside my head, mixing themselves up, tangling themselves together, the truth with the lies. I've only got a few hours left to try to sort it out.

Step by step, then. What happened next?

My hand goes to my shoulder, to the spreading bruise.

14.

WHEN NINA AND I got downstairs Flo had stopped crying and cleaned herself up, and was eating toast and jam, evidently determined to pretend that nothing had happened.