‘Cesca.’
‘Why?’
Because she’s my sister, I want to say. But I don’t. The way Alesha says it makes me think I’ve made a massive fuck-up. ‘Oh, just family stuff,’ I say instead. The obliqueness of my words failing to garner any further questions.
Two blue ticks on WhatsApp show my message has been read.
Half an hour later there is no reply.I’m sure she’s just busy.I have another glass of wine.
Another hour passes and still nothing.She’s probably out for the evening. I have another glass of wine, a whisky chaser.
Another hour.Yep, definitely out for the evening.The wine is making the edges fuzzy, the whisky blurring the lines even further.
Another hour and we’re in a club with a selection of Alesha’s rather sweet friends. They even pretend not to think it’s weird Alesha has brought her boss along on a night out. But I feel off, unable to settle; this is all so wrong. I don’t know who I am any more. And I’ve still not heard from Cesca. I drink a cocktail to prove I’m having fun. Then a shot of something suspiciously sweet and sticky.
The clock strikes two.
I think Goldschläger might have been a terrible idea.
Chapter Eight
The roof of my mouth is furry, my breath like a badger crawled into it and took a steamy shit in the middle of the night. Jesus. What did I drink? The memories flood my brain, jumbled on top of each other. Fragments only, like flashes of a movie only half paid attention to.
I remember a club, music beating down on me, bass reverberating through the floor.
A sweating man standing too close. ‘You messaging a secret boyfriend, love?’ he had asked, beery breath on my cheek forcing me to recoil.
But I wasn’t messaging. I was looking for a message. I was waiting and willing Cesca to reply. Not because the subject was important, but because my sister has never left me on read before. Never ever. She knows just how much it would drive me batshit. She always tells me in advance if she’s going to be in a place she can’t reply for a while. A long flight. A cabin with limited reception. The time she went away for a dirty weekend with this girl from work she’d had the hots for for months and months and she came back with a wicked grin on her face and told me she might actually be in love. Spoiler alert: it didn’t last, but it changed Cesca in a way that was infinitely better, and she’s been a hundred times happier ever since.
Head banging from all the alcohol, I reach for my phoneand drag it towards my face. She never replied. I feel my heart drop. Cesca has left me on read for over twelve hours.
Correction.ThisCesca has left me on read. What happened between us? What caused her to be so … distant?
Hang on. Does this mean I haven’t skipped? I look carefully around the bedroom, at the luxurious sheets and all the other bits of frippery this Bethany bought on that shopping app. Interesting.
The phone rings in my hand, a number I don’t recognize flashing on the screen, one that obviously this Bethany doesn’t know either as it isn’t saved in her contacts.
‘Bethany speaking,’ I answer, hating how much I sound like a kid answering their parents’ phone.
‘Bethany Raven,’ he says, voice like honey. Rancid honey, the type that lulls you in with its sweetness before poisoning you. Tyler fucking Adams.
‘Tyler?’
‘Just wanted to see how you were this morning.’ There’s laughter in his voice. What the hell is he talking about?
‘Erm …’ I grasp for time.
‘You remember calling me?’ he asks, laughter replaced with something else. If I didn’t think he was such a douche I’d almost think it was concern.
‘No,’ I whisper, squeezing my eyes shut as if that would make the whole situation right itself.
‘I think you might have had a bit too much to drink.’
‘You think?’
He clears his throat. ‘Are you sure you’re okay?’
‘I’m fine.’ But I don’t really think I am. My memories are coming back. Me. Drunk. Crying. Ringing Tyler. Begging him to help me. Begging him to stop this … whatever this is … this thing that’s happening to me, causing me to jump and skip across space and time to all these places where I’m not … well, I’m notme.
