Читать книгу Killing Kate - Alex Lake, Alex Lake - Страница 12

When Kate got back to the hotel room May and Gemma were still sleeping. There were two double beds in the room; Kate and May were sharing one, leaving the other to Gemma. It wasn’t a generous gesture; they knew from long experience that Gemma was a very active sleeper who would stealthily colonize your side of the bed, gradually creeping closer and closer to you until she was pushing you over the edge. If you got out and switched sides, she would start to move towards you again; you’d hear her coming and the stress of it would keep you from falling asleep. Allied to the fact that she was a very deep sleeper, who was near impossible to wake up, and she was not anybody’s preferred sleeping partner.

Her boyfriend – a maths teacher called Matt – claimed that he had to decamp to the couch five nights a week in order to get some sleep. He had, he said, been collecting data on his sleeping arrangements and was using it to teach statistics to his students. He showed it to Kate once: he’d plotted a bell curve, showing that five nights per week was the mean average, with a standard deviation of three sigma. Kate had no idea what that meant in statistical terms, but she was pretty sure that in the real world it meant that he was not getting enough sleep and was in danger of becoming obsessed with it.

Kate opened the bathroom door and turned on the shower. She stripped off and climbed under the hot water, letting it first soothe and then invigorate her. The shower shelf was crammed with bottles of shampoo and conditioner and she grabbed hers, a tea-tree oil shampoo from Australia. A large part of her was sceptical about the value of these toiletries; Phil always said that they were all just soap anyway so she may as well buy the Tesco value pack for a few pounds, rather than spend a small fortune on the designer stuff. She suspected he had a point, but it wasn’t about the chemistry of whatever was in the bottles. It was about the routine, the feeling that she was, in some way, pampering herself, treating herself to something special.

She stepped out of the shower and wrapped herself in a towel. It was a plush, white Egyptian cotton towel and it felt luxurious against her skin. It was these little things that made staying in a hotel so amazing: clean, soft towels every day, a freshly made bed, coffee and breakfast at the end of a phone line.

She went into the bedroom. May and Gemma were still sleeping. May’s side of the room was tidy, the carpet empty apart from a small pile of neatly folded clothes from the night before. Her other clothes were either hanging up in the wardrobe or carefully arranged in a drawer. Gemma’s side, on the other hand, was a total mess: inside-out jeans hanging off a chair, bras and underwear littering the floor, one of a pair of flats on the pillow next to her head.

It had always been this way: Gemma and May were total opposites. May: organized, precise, together, always on time, following the plan. Gemma: unaware there was a plan, haphazard, confused, totally oblivious that she was supposed to arrive at whatever place she was going to at any particular time.

But they, along with Kate, had been friends forever. Since the day they met as five-year-olds at St Stephen’s Primary they had been a unit. They’d been friends for over twenty years: they’d grown up together, seen each other’s characters develop and emerge. They knew each other as well as they knew themselves, understood how and why they had become the people they were, and they loved each other in a deep and profound way.

Kate opened the minibar and took out a small, over-priced, glass bottle of orange juice. Normally she wouldn’t have spent three pounds fifty – she did the maths to convert the currency in her head – on what was little more than a tiny sip of juice, but she was suddenly overwhelmed by the desire for something sweet. That, she thought, was the price you paid for a hangover, and the reason they had these ludicrously expensive minibars in the first place.

Behind her, May stirred. Her eyes opened and she looked hazily at Kate while she emerged fully from unconsciousness.

‘Splashing out?’ she said.

‘Thirsty,’ Kate replied. ‘I needed something sweet.’

‘Me too.’ May held out a hand. ‘Can I have some?’

‘There’s not much.’

‘Just a sip. I’m feeling a bit delicate.’

Kate swallowed half the contents and handed the bottle to her friend. ‘Finish it.’

‘So,’ May said. ‘You arranged your own accommodation last night?’

‘I suppose so,’ Kate said. ‘I wasn’t sure where I was this morning.’

‘Did you guys – you know?’

‘No.’ Kate shook her head. ‘I tried to, but he told me I was too drunk.’

‘Nice guy. Most would have taken advantage.’

‘I guess.’ Kate paused. ‘But nothing about last night feels good. What I remember of it, that is.’

‘It’s not like you.’

‘I know. I feel awful. I can’t believe it. I had way too much to drink. Don’t let me do that again.’

‘We would have stopped you, but you disappeared with that guy.’ She sipped the orange juice. ‘We were worried, Kate, in case he turned out to be some crazy weirdo, but then you texted to say you were OK, so we left you to it.’

‘He was fine. He didn’t do anything, thank God. In fact, it was me who suggested we have sex.’ She shook her head. ‘I can’t quite believe it.’

‘Are you going to see him again?’

‘No,’ Kate said. ‘He wanted to, but I can’t face it. He was nice enough, but I’d rather forget it happened.’

‘We’ll have to avoid that club, then. In case he’s in there. And if we’re in other places I suppose we’ll have to keep an eye out for him.’

Kate raised an eyebrow. ‘That’s not the only place we’ll have to keep an eye out for him. Guess where he lives.’

‘Where?’

‘Guess.’

May shrugged. ‘London?’

‘No. Guess again.’

‘Manchester?’

‘Warmer.’

May raised her eyebrows. ‘Somewhere close to us?’

‘Very close.’ Kate sat on the end of the bed. ‘He lives in none other than Moore.’

May leaned forwards, propping herself up on her elbows. ‘You mean Moore? The Moore down the road?’

‘The same.’

‘You are fucking kidding me.’

‘I wish I was.’

‘You’re saying he’s from the same pokey part of the world as us? Did you know him?’

Kate shook her head. ‘No, although he did seem familiar once I knew. I suppose I might have seen him around. He’s older, though, so he wouldn’t necessarily hang out in the places we do.’

‘How much older?’

‘Late thirties. Something like that. I didn’t ask.’

‘Got yourself a sugar daddy,’ May said. ‘Lucky you.’

‘Don’t even joke about it,’ Kate replied. ‘This is not funny. Maybe I’ll be able to laugh about it later, but not now.’

‘What’s he doing here?’

‘Holiday. He’s been here a couple of weeks already, hanging out with some friends.’

‘And you’re not going to see him again?’

‘No,’ Kate said. ‘Definitely not.’

The hotel phone started to ring. May looked up at Kate. ‘Do you think that’s him?’ she said.

‘I hope not,’ Kate replied. ‘I didn’t give him the name of the hotel. Shit, I hope he didn’t follow me here.’

‘I’ll get it,’ May said. ‘If it’s him, I’ll tell him I don’t know you and he’s got the wrong number. OK?’

Kate nodded. ‘OK.’

May reached out and picked up the phone.

‘Hello?’ she said. There was a long pause, then she held out the receiver to Kate. ‘It’s for you,’ she said.

‘Is it him?’

‘No,’ May said, and rolled her eyes. ‘It’s Phil.’