“I’m going to call my mother.”
“Is that a good idea?” He frowned. “Not that it’s my place to dictate what you do, but in my experience phone calls after three large glasses of wine—particularly when you haven’t built up a tolerance—usually turn out to be a mistake.”
“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never drunk three large glasses of wine before. This will be another first. And I think it’s a brilliant idea. Possibly one of my best ever.” All filters gone, she squinted at her phone and called her mother. “Voicemail. That’s typical. She never answers calls unless they’re scheduled in. She hangs up when she doesn’t want to answer a question. Well, right now I have a few questions of my own. I’m leaving a message.” She waited and took a breath. “Hi, Mom, it’s me. Abby—we were cut off earlier and there are things I need to say—”
“But not now,” Tristan muttered. “Don’t say them now.” He reached for the phone but she turned away from him and carried on with her message.
“Don’t be a people pleaser, that’s what you always said to me. Don’t let other people influence your decisions. But you influence my decisions all the time. Everything I do, I do to please you—”
Tristan closed his eyes. “You should definitely hang up. This is going to end badly—”
She took a few steps away from him and would have lost her balance if Tristan hadn’t grabbed her arm and steadied her. “You told me to always challenge things I didn’t agree with, so here I am challenging you. I’m not comfortable being under-cover like this. I like these people. Ilovethese people. For the first time in my whole working life I feel like a proper member of the team. I laugh at work. Do you know how that feels? To actuallylaughduring your working day? I walk into a room and people include me in the conversation, instead of blocking me out. I have friends! People who care about me. They deserve to know the truth, and that’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to tell them who I am. And I’m going to tell them what I know, which isn’t much because you refuse to answer my questions.” Her head swam and shepaused, waiting for her vision to settle. She was starting to feel weird.
She felt Tristan let go of her and she swayed slightly and tried to steady herself.
“I deserve to know the real reason you sent me here, because I know there is something else going on. And in case it’s relevant you should know that the weasel man was hanging around the place again the other day. Have you changed your mind about selling to him? Because if you haven’t, he doesn’t seem to have got the message. Not knowing what is going on is really unsettling.” The world spun and she lost the thread of the conversation.
What had she been saying?
Oh yes. “It’s making everyone unsettled. Evie is worried, and she shouldn’t have to worry. She’s brilliant and we should be working out ways to keep her. And while we’re talking—well, I’m talking—I really would appreciate it if you could tell me something about your past. Because your past is my past, and sometimes I feel as if I came out of a laboratory or something—”
She was sure there was a whole lot more she’d wanted to say to her mother but suddenly it seemed more important to sleep than to talk.
She stabbed at her phone, trying to end the call, but the characters on the screen were dancing around. Eventually she managed to hit the red button and then promptly dropped her phone in the sand.
“Oops.” She bent down and scrabbled around for it, lost her balance and landed hard. “Ouch. I thought sand was supposed to be soft. That’s what happens when you let go of me.” She felt Tristan’s fingers clamp around her wrist and then he was hauling her to her feet.
“Time for you to go to bed.”
“Good idea. Best idea you’ve had all night.” She leaned in to kiss him again but he grabbed her arm and propelled her up the beach.
The mood had shifted from playful and romantic to grim, and her spinning brain couldn’t quite figure out why.
“Where are we going? You’re impatient, which is pretty romantic, but also challenging given that my legs are wobbly.” They’d reached the pub and he nudged her through the door and up the stairs, his grip on her making sure she didn’t tumble again.
All the giddy euphoria she’d been feeling had drained away and now she felt dazed and desperately tired.
She caught a glimpse of Tristan’s serious expression and she giggled.
“You’re no fun when you drink. You could at least smile.”
She fell face-first onto her bed, closed her eyes and remembered nothing else.
She woke hours later and winced at the light. Where was she? And why was she lying fully clothed on top of the bed?
She started to sit up and then groaned and flopped back down again. It felt as if the entire Boston Symphony Orchestra was performing Beethoven’s Ninth in her head. Her mouth was so dry it felt as if she’d swallowed the entire beach.
A shrill sound made her jump and she clamped her hands over her ears, then realised it was her alarm clock.
It was 6 a.m. and she had to get ready for the day. For work.
How was she going to work? She felt as if she’d been trampled by a herd of wild animals. She’d never known pain like it. The whole room was swimming. Her stomach was churning. Her feet hurt. Why did her feet hurt?
Snippets from the night before gradually seeped back into her brain.
The piano. She’d played. And she’d danced. She’d dancedin the bar and—oh God, had she danced on the table? Yes, yes she’d done that. She remembered someone lifting her down, telling her that she might fall.
What then?
