Читать книгу The Missing Wife - Sam Carrington - Страница 14

After what felt like five minutes of silently staring, Louisa’s brain kicked in, her feet finally moving. Without being able to speak, she pushed past Oliver and the unknown woman by his side and, with as much composure as she could muster, descended the stairs. Tiff’s blonde hair was visible above the group of punters congregating at the bar, and as Louisa struggled to get to the exit, she heard Tiff shout to her.

‘Where are you off to?’

Louisa shoved through more people, anger propelling her towards Tiff. Without daring to speak, she snatched one of the glasses of wine off the round tray Tiff held in her hands and knocked back the bitter-tasting liquid in one, before continuing towards the door leading out to the beer garden.

Whatever good intentions Tiff believed she had in going through her Facebook friends list, she shouldn’t have done it. Going one step further than that and accepting the group invitation to join Exeter College leavers on her behalf was just wrong. It wasn’t Tiff’s place to decide what group of friends she should be involved with. And inviting Oliver? Jesus.

Finding a quiet corner of the garden, away from prying eyes, Louisa unzipped her bag and took out the pack of cigarettes. Her head swam, as it usually did with the first few draws. It was worse now though – she had too much alcohol in her system, as well as the tablets. Likely a dangerous mix, but no more dangerous than the mix of people in that room.

‘Are you mad at me?’

She turned sharply at the sound of the voice. Tiff approached Louisa with another glass of wine in her outstretched hand. ‘Here,’ she said. ‘This might take the edge off the shock.’

‘I doubt it.’ The words carried more venom than she’d realised she possessed. She took the drink anyway, not making eye contact with Tiff.

‘I’m sorry. I really thought we were doing something positive, and that it would give you a lift. Organising a small party—’

‘Small? Call that small, Tiff?’ She waved her arm towards the pub. ‘Shit. Small would be my little family and you. And that would’ve been fine. I’d have coped with that. But not this.’ She dragged on her cigarette. Her eyes stung. From the smoke, or from tears, she was unable to distinguish.

Tiff was silent, her eyes downcast. She didn’t even mention the fact that Louisa was smoking – it was Tiff who’d helped her give up four years ago, but she’d obviously decided now wasn’t the time to give a lecture.

‘I realise you were trying to do something nice. But why invite all the people from my Facebook? And – for God’s sake – why did you accept that stupid invitation to the Exeter College group and then invite Oliver Dunmore here?’

‘Shit. Because you didn’t talk about other friends – you never have! But, you know, I assumed those on your Facebook were friends, so didn’t see the harm—’

‘Tiffany. Really?’ Louisa shot her a disdainful look. ‘You were the one who added half of them when you set up the account in the first place, remember?’

‘Well, yes, but they are still your friends.’

‘So, you’re friends with everyone on your Facebook are you? Should I invite Sarah to our next girly night? You’d be good with that, would you?’

‘I – no.’ Tiff sighed loudly. ‘Sorry. Okay, okay. Fair point. But chill. So you don’t actually like some people I invited, no biggie – you don’t have to speak to them all. Everyone will be eating soon, and drinking loads – they won’t notice if you’re not being particularly sociable. And Oliver said only good things; he made it sound like you were great friends.’

Tiff telling her to ‘chill’ was bad enough, but her last line was the one requiring Louisa’s response.

‘How exactly did you contact Oliver, Tiff? There were no messages on my Facebook.’

‘There’d been one. I deleted it as soon as I read and replied to it, giving him my mobile instead. I immediately fessed up, Lou. Told him I wasn’t you, and that I was arranging this surprise party for your fortieth. He jumped at the chance to come.’

‘I bet he did,’ Louisa said, her teeth clenched.

‘Weren’t you good friends then?’ Tiff’s eyebrows knitted, a brief look of panic fleeting across her perfectly made-up face.

‘We were more than that, Tiff.’ Louisa put her cigarette out in the ashtray on the closest wooden table. ‘He was my first love. He broke my heart. Broke me, in fact, and when he left he took a part of me with him. A part of my memory at least.’

Louisa didn’t want to explain more. Couldn’t explain more even if she’d wanted to.

‘Oh. I’ve screwed up then, haven’t I?’ Tiff’s face paled.

‘Quite possibly, Tiff. Yes,’ Louisa said as she drained the glass of wine and turned to walk back inside.