A knock on the door signifies more neighbours arriving, and I find Carl and Mia clutching a bottle of champagne and a lavish multicoloured bouquet. ‘Thank you,’ I say, reaching out to accept them. But Mia tightens her grip and says, ‘They’re for Vince actually, after his wonderful talk today!’ And she virtually mows me down in her eagerness to get to him.
‘Kate?’ Vince says when I return to the kitchen. ‘These beers are really warm and there isn’t any ice.’ Should I have nipped home at lunchtime to pop them in the fridge? Or start firing ice cubes out of my arse?
‘Put them in the freezer,’ I snap.
‘Last time she did that they exploded,’ he tells Dr Kemp. ‘The beer expanded, forcing the cap off and spurting out—’
‘Really!’ our genial GP says. I hope it’s not reminding him about my gastric troubles.
Vince turns to me. ‘Do we have more red wine?’
Although I suspect that Boudicca would have thrown the virtually untouched rice-and-lemon-balm salad at him, I find myself saying yes, there’s somein the cupboard where we keep wine.Aware that my fury is building to unbearable levels, I scoot off to the bathroom and bolt the door.
Sitting on the closed toilet lid, I inhale deeply and try to tune out the noise. Just a few moments; that’s all I need.
The chatter goes on, and then another sound becomes apparent. It’s Jarvis retching – in the hallway by the sound of it. It’s certainly very close.
‘What’s he doing?’ Mia, the newcomer, asks.
‘Just his dry-heaving thing,’ Vince explains.
‘Does he often do that?’
Only when he’s fed scraps,I want to shout.Only when he’s given cheap quiche when he lives on specially prepared lamb from Rover’s Kitchen.
‘Yeah, he’s fine,’ Vince says blithely. The chit-chat, which had dampened down momentarily, builds up again. I’m thinking I really need to get out of here and rejoin the others. For one thing, our bungalow only has the one bathroom and pretty soon someone will need the loo. So I get up and check my bleak, shiny face in the mirror. The day’s make-up is long worn off, apart from my mascara, which has streaked beneath my left eye. I wipe it away with loo roll, willing myself to lighten up and be happy and fun—
An indescribable sound causes the chatter to cease immediately. There’s a stunned pause, then Deborah exclaims, ‘Vince, Jarvis has been sick. Should we do something?’
‘Nah, don’t worry,’ Vince says dismissively. ‘Kate’ll sort that.’
And that’s it. That’s when I know I can’t do it anymore – be ‘obliging Kate’, that is. I’m going mad, I think, but there’s only one thing for it. And there’s no going back.
CHAPTER SIX
Before I know it I’m up on the bathroom windowsill with one leg dangling out of the window.
Soft rain is still falling and a cool waft brushes my face. I breathe it in and glance at our garden table that’s littered with bottles and glasses. A blackbird lands on it. I watch him for a moment, trying to will myself to clamber back down, vacate the bathroom and apologise to anyone who’s been waiting patiently.
Sorry, just felt a bit weird. The wine must’ve gone to my head...
There are voices in the hallway. ‘Um, I don’t mean to be funny,’ Colin starts, ‘but shouldn’t we clear it up?’
‘Where’s Kate?’ someone else asks. Then seemingly the vomit is forgotten and the music’s cranked up.
My hand goes to my pocket and my fingers fold around my phone case. I pull it out and open the case, my heart lifting as I see my debit card there in its slot.
Phone and card. Two everyday items that represent freedom – from feeling like a colossal idiot because I hadn’t known that Agata’s herb was for tisanes. From being barked at for evenconsideringoffering Wotsits to our guests.
Of course it’s not just about tonight. It’s been building up for a very long time, this sense of losing the very core of who I am.
You’re good at that stuff that nobody ever notices but is actually pretty important.
Well, fuck that. Tonight is where it stops.
The seams of my skirt strain as, with difficulty, I manoeuvre my other leg out of the window. I perch there for a moment, bum on the window ledge with both legs dangling outside. Good job we’re in a bungalow after all. Because it’s not far to jump.
And that’s what I do, landing in an ungainly heap on the damp grass. Scrambling up, I tug my skirt back down over my hips.
