She didn’t know how long she stayed like that before a crushing headache began to creep up on her. Keeping her right temple in contact with the bar, she flapped a mulberry hand at Nice Beard. ‘More gin,’ she mumbled, then giggled again, wondering if the Queen ever said the same thing to the nice bearded footmen at the palace.
But before the gin came, the headache began to spoil everything, sharpening her thoughts, bringing her closer to consciousness. Dammit.
Without warning, a memory from earlier in the evening assaulted her – the moment Brody had turned and looked at her. The sensation of sprinting into something solid repeated itself, the impact so powerful that Anna nearly toppled off her stool.
‘No,’ she whimpered to somebody (she wasn’t sure who). ‘Brody is a friend, that’s all. A very good friend.’
The someone laughed. They clearly didn’t believe her.
‘Shut up,’ she said, opening her eyes and swivelling her head to look around. The laughter only got louder. Harder. But there was no one looking at her, no one taunting her. Only the voice inside her skull. The room began to spin.
She pushed herself up and stared at the bartender. ‘I don’t love him!’ she declared emphatically. ‘I don’t.’
It didn’t matter how much the feelings had whipped and whirled inside her when she’d seen him. It didn’t matter how everything she knew about him – his quiet strength,his beautiful imagination, his rough laughter – wound themselves together and stabbed her straight through the heart. She just didn’t, and that was that.
Nice Beard raised his eyebrows as he filled another pint glass with water and placed it in front of her.
‘I don’t,’ she said again.
He shrugged. ‘You’re not the first person to cry on my bar and say that,’ he said. ‘But in my experience, they inevitably do.’
Anna shook her head, but it made it hurt all the more. She closed her eyes. ‘I can’t love him like that,’ she whispered. ‘He’s not Spencer.’
She waited for her little alarm to chime in, backing her up, but it was mysteriously silent. ‘Traitor,’ she whispered.
‘I beg your pardon?’ Mr Nice Beard said.
I beg your pardon.
Anna sat up straight. ‘Those exact words are what got me into this mess in the first place!’ she said vehemently, waving an arm so hard that she started to wobble and had to hold on to her stool.
‘I’m calling you a cab,’ he said.
‘Don’t need one,’ Anna said, fumbling around for her handbag, which was still slung across her body. ‘I have my Oyster. Oh. Where is it?’
‘I’m calling you a cab,’ he said again. ‘Drink your water.’
And that is how Anna found herself in the back of a minicab. The driver – a woman, surprisingly – had to go around the block twice before Anna managed to tell her where she wanted to go.
‘I’ve been appalling,’ she wailed at the woman. ‘I’ve been awful to him!’
The driver just chuckled. ‘When it comes to men, that sounds like tit for tat.’
‘But I need to apologize!’
The woman gave her a look via the rear-view mirror. ‘Happy to oblige,’ she said dryly. ‘You just need to give me a postcode.’
Anna frowned. Where was she going again? What was she supposed to be doing?
Oh, yes. She took a deep breath and told the driver the address.
THE CAB SLOWED and came to a halt. Anna stared out the window. Everything seemed blurry. On automatic, she pulled a wad of notes from her purse and handed them to the driver, and she only partly registered the smile on the woman’s face. Tomorrow, she’d probably regret what must have been a ridiculous tip, but right at this moment, all she cared about was getting to her destination, about saying what she needed to say to him.
Anna weaved her way up the path to her front door and, after a couple of attempts, she managed to get the key and lock to cooperate with each other. Once inside, she dumped her bag and coat on the hall floor, then she ran upstairs to her bedroom.
Her breathing was fast and shallow as she opened Spencer’s wardrobe. The bottom was filled with black plastic bags and she tore a slit in one at the top of the pile and pulled out a shirt,then buried her face in it and began to cry in loud, juddering sobs.
‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered when she managed to catch her breath. ‘I’m so sorry, Spencer. I didn’t mean to do it. I didn’t mean to fall…’ She stopped then, refusing to say the words that came next. She would never say them. Instead, she cleared her throat and took a different path, one that led away from that dangerous place.
