The Party - Lisa Hall

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my wet face in a towel.

      ‘Are you OK?’ The voice isn’t the one I’m expecting to hear, and as I lower the towel I see Ted’s face peering round the doorframe at me, concern in his eyes.

      ‘I’m fine, thank you.’ Hanging the towel over the edge of the bath I turn back to the mirror, avoiding Ted’s gaze as I fuss at my fringe.

      ‘I didn’t mean to … barge in on you or anything. I just, well I overheard you and Gareth in the kitchen and I wanted to make sure you were OK. It looked like you’d cut yourself.’ Ted steps fully into the bathroom and gently pushes the door closed.

      ‘I did. I mean, it’s fine, just a scratch. Oh God, I’m sorry.’ Covering my face with my hands I swipe quickly at the tears that spring easily to my eyes, the way they do when you’ve been on a crying jag, made worse by Ted’s kindness and concern. ‘I’m so embarrassed, I didn’t realize anyone overheard us.’

      ‘Hey, shhh,’ Ted crosses the room in one easy stride and yanks a length of tissue paper from the holder, handing it to me as I start to sob.

      ‘I’m sorry,’ I hiccup again, scrubbing at my face with the tissue, but Ted pulls my hand away, his fingers closing easily around my wrist as he pulls me towards him. ‘Oh, God, I have to go out there and tell everyone they need to leave.’

      ‘I can do that. I’ll tell them that you’ve got a migraine and Gareth is looking after you. Don’t worry.’

      I let out another hiccup-y sob at his kindness. ‘Thank you. I’m sorry, I can’t seem to …’

      ‘It’s OK, Rachel, you can cry if you want to.’ I bury my face in his shirt, inhaling the cool, fresh scent of his aftershave, something sharp and citrusy that makes me think of Italy, and a holiday we spent staying on a lemon grove. I stay there for a long moment, feeling the thud of my heart against his chest, as he breathes in and out, before I look up to see him staring down at me. Without thinking, without even trying to stop myself, I reach up on my tiptoes, planting my lips firmly against his. Holding my breath, I wait for him to pull away but he doesn’t, instead just moves his mouth against mine. I feel light-headed, the booze and the intoxicating smell of Ted’s aftershave making the room spin lightly and I hold tight to his shirt in a wave of dizziness.

      ‘What about Angela?’ I breathe, pulling back, my heart pounding in my chest. What about Gareth? Yes, I know it’s wrong, and I know that I am probably going to regret this in the morning when I wake up with a raging hangover, my head thumping and my mouth sour, but it’s been so long since Gareth has been anywhere near me that my skin is aflame by Ted’s touch, and I’m not sure what I’ll do if he stops.

      ‘She’s left. Angela and I aren’t together any more.’ Ted mutters, pulling me back towards him. Our mouths crush together and I can taste beer and cigarettes on his breath. It was just a kiss – at least, that’s what I try to tell myself after, when I wake the next morning feeling sick with shame. One drunken, unexpected kiss when I was feeling low, that eventually leads to so much more. That’s how it starts. That’s how I end up tangled in a dirty, sordid – and if I’m brutally honest – intoxicating, exciting, enjoyable affair with Ted Durand.

      JANUARY – NEW YEAR’S DAY

      A dip in the mattress as somebody’s weight leans against the back of my leg pulls me from the uneasy doze I’ve fallen into. I’ve slept for a while – the light is almost gone, the bedroom swathed in darkness with just a faint orange glow from the streetlights outside – but it’s not been a restful sleep; dark images and shadowy thoughts exaggerated in my dreams. Turning from where I lay on my side, I roll over to see Robbie perched on the side of the bed. He leans over to switch on the bedside lamp and I squint slightly as the yellow warmth chases the last of the shadows from the room.

      ‘How are you feeling?’ He hands me a glass of water and a packet of paracetamol as I struggle my way into a sitting position, the duvet tangled around my legs.

      ‘Better,’ I lie, swallowing the pills with two huge gulps of water. The insistent thumping in my head starts up again as my brain protests at being upright, but the nausea seems to have subsided a little, so I’m not completely lying. ‘Where’s Dad?’

      There is only silence from downstairs.

      ‘He’s gone out. He said you were up here sleeping it off, but when you didn’t come down for dinner I thought I’d just better check that you were OK.’

      ‘Dinner?’ I look at the clock on the bedside table, squinting at the numbers in the dim light. ‘Oh Rob, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize it was so late. Did you eat? I can get up now and make you something.’

      ‘No, Mum, it’s fine, honestly. Dad made a curry earlier – he said you always like a curry when you’re hungover. We saved you some.’ I give him a grateful smile, even though the thought of food makes my stomach roll.

      ‘And now Dad’s gone out?’ I frown, the chalky aftertaste of the pills thick on my tongue. ‘Did he take Thor for a walk?’ Thor, our ancient beagle, and possibly the most inappropriately named dog in England. A splatter of rain hits the bedroom window and I frown again, knowing how Thor hates to go out in the rain, and hates to go out in the dark even more.

      ‘No, I don’t think so. He just said he was going out. Look, Mum, are you OK? You look really pale.’

      ‘I’m fine, honestly. Just a little bit hungover, like Dad said.’ I can’t tell him the truth – not yet, anyway – that deep-seated maternal urge to protect my child from knowledge that will hurt him is in full swing. I smile to make the lie seem more like the truth, but my mind is whirring away in overdrive.

      It’s New Year’s Day – where on earth would Gareth have gone? Surely everything is closed, it’s not like he’s got shopping to do. There is a little tickle at the back of my mind, a familiar one from the summer – the voice that whispered to me that maybe the reason why Gareth was so unbearable – snappy, irritable and secretive – was because he was having an affair. Then that makes me think about Ted, and the party, and what could have happened last night – no, not what could have, what did. My stomach turns over, and I have to swallow down the saliva that spurts into my mouth.

      ‘I could make you some tea?’ Robbie says tentatively, looking like a small boy again, and I wonder exactly what Gareth has told him about last night. Judging by Rob’s reaction to me, he thinks I’ve just overdone it on the wine and I’ve got a raging hangover.

      ‘That would be lovely. I’ll be down in a minute.’ Robbie leaves the room, thundering down the stairs like a baby elephant and I lie back on the cool pillows for a moment, before I force myself from the safety of the bed, the comfort of the bedroom, downstairs.

      It’s almost midnight before Gareth comes home. Our roles are reversed, and this time it’s me sitting in the dark, nursing a lukewarm cup of tea, with Thor snoring at my feet. Robbie asked me if I minded him spending the night at Sean’s again tonight, and I told him to go, secretly relieved that he wouldn’t be home when Gareth came in, wouldn’t be there to hear what I have to say. My head feels less foggy now after my sleep, and the more I think about things the more I am convinced that whatever happened to me last night happened against my will. I wouldn’t have done that to Gareth – not after Ted, despite what people may think about me now, the thought of an affair never crossed my mind before Ted – and the fact that I can’t remember anything past the start of the evening fills me with terror, especially as I don’t think I drank that much. I hear the front door close, the lock engaging with a snick, and a few seconds later Gareth stealthily creeps into the living room, where I sit, waiting. He gasps as I flick the lamp on, clearly expecting me to be upstairs sleeping.

      ‘Shit, Rachel, you scared me.’ He holds one hand to his chest and I can imagine that, yes, I did scare him, sitting here in silence, in the dark. ‘Jesus, you look awful.’

      ‘Thanks.’

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