‘I want to go.’
‘Okay, we can do that,’ I say.
‘I want to goalone,’ she says, sobbing into her hands.
‘Okay, let’s get out of this rain for a minute, and then you can go,’ I reply, taking Heather by the hand and leading her into the bar area. I can’t let her bump into Irene without warning her, and Irene is still in the tent, as far as I know.
‘Can you get her a glass of whisky?’ I say to Bill, who has returned and is hovering, looking panicked.
‘Might it be better for you both just to leave?’ he says.
‘We’re going,’ I snap, turning to him. I’m frustrated. I don’t have time for this now.
‘I can’t lose my job,’ he says, sounding desperate. I could cover for him – tell Irene that I fooled Bill too. I could never mention the stolen wine, leave it all as it is.
‘It’ll be okay,’ I say. ‘Go back to the cottage, all right? I’ll be there soon.’
Bill nods, looking utterly defeated.
I take in the bar area, and there are only a few guests milling around. Brett is behind the bar, mixing cocktails. Then the kitchen door swings open and I see James grabbing a bottled water from the fridge. He clocks me, sees I’m soaked, then sees Heather and looks quizzical. Suddenly the situation overwhelms me and I turn to her, grabbing both her hands.
‘Let’s go.’
She shakes her head. ‘I don’t want to go with you.’
‘Fine. Fair enough. There are two taxis waiting, so we can go separately, okay?’
She nods, lifting her head for the first time since we came inside. Her curly hair hangs in wet links around her face, and her eyes are bloodshot and swollen.
I glance across at James, who is still standing there, concerned now, and I feel panicked.We have to go. I tug on Heather’s coat.
But then Irene walks in. Her smile wide and her arms outstretched. ‘Heather!’
I hear Heather sniff. She looks at me, and then to Irene.
But then Irene pullsmein for a massive hug. ‘You were absolutely amazing! I’ve been looking everywhere for you. But you’re quite frozen, and so are you, dear,’ she says, turning to Heather. ‘Brett, can you bring us some blankets? Or maybe a couple of towels? I’m so proud of you, Heather,’ she says, pulling back to look at me, holding both my hands in hers.
‘She’s not Heather. I’m—’
No, no, I can’t let her find out like this.
‘Um, the thing is, Irene,’ I say, taking a deep breath, ‘I’m not Heather.’
Irene has shepherded us to a quiet table away from the guests. She is confused, though seemingly more concerned with towels and blankets and that everyone has a warming cup of tea than with what she’s heard.
‘What on earth do you mean – you’re not Heather?’ she says, as Brett arrives with two fresh dressing gowns, so that we’re all surrounded by fluffy white cotton.
I look over at James, who has now moved from behind the bar to stand in front of it – not wanting to get so close as to interrupt, but close enough to listen in. I suppose that I may as well get this out in front of everyone.
‘When I met you, Irene, at the Wine Awards,’ I say, ‘I wore Heather’s name badge.’
‘I don’t follow, dear,’ Irene says. ‘And what is your name?’ She directs this to Heather, who just sits there, watching in complete shock. Has she recognized Irene?
‘What I’m trying to say,’ I jump in, ‘is that I was wearing Heather’s badge.’
‘I’m confused, Heather,’ Irene replies.
‘I’M NOT HEATHER!’ I snap, my hands covering my face. And then I can hear it: the silence of unwanted attention. The room is looking at me. I pull my hands down from my face and I see that Anis has joined us. Okay, like a plaster, I have to rip this off. ‘When I met you at the Wine Awards, I had gone in Heather’s place. I was wearing her name badge.’
