Now, Rachel squatted down to retrieve her phone from the floor with a shaking hand. The message was from Darcy, who couldn’t possibly have known the effect the words would have on her. Indeed, he’d written a second message immediately after the first. Pick you up at 6 pm?

How ridiculous she’d been, thinking she could go. How totally and utterly ridiculous.

She replied to Darcy saying she wasn’t feeling well, then she put her phone on silent and placed it upside down on the table. She needed to busy herself, she realised. Take her mind off things. The hunger had already started rumbling from deep within; she knew what she had to do. She sat at the table directly in front of the wedding cake, which was ready for delivery. She had two hours until it was due at the reception centre. Two hours with that memory fresh in her mind.

Two hours.

She grabbed a fistful of wedding cake and began to eat.

16

HEATHER

Heather opened her eyes. She was fully dressed in the clothes she’d been wearing the day before – including her shoes. Mascara and lipstick were smeared on Stephen’s crisp white pillowcase. Her mouth was dry, predictably, and tasted a little of vomit. This was bad, Heather realised. This was very, very bad.

She glanced at Stephen’s side of the bed, sensing already that it was empty. He’d probably been up for hours. Meanwhile she was in bed, sleeping it off. What must he be thinking of her? She needed to find him, explain it was a one-off. That they’d had a lovely time and just let loose a little too much. She’d be sheepish and contrite. And, she hoped, he would forgive her.

She tried sitting up, but the room spun so fast she had to sink back into the bed. Her right elbow throbbed – what on earth had she done to it? There was no blood or graze, but she couldn’t even manage to straighten it. What had she done? Why couldn’t she remember?

She’d been at Rachel’s house yesterday, she knew that much. They’d had a lovely long lunch that had stretched on past dinnertime. She had a faint memory of someone arriving at Rachel’s on a scooter, which was folded and put neatly in the back of Heather’s Mini Cooper. The driver must have brought her here in her car, taken out his scooter and ridden away again. Heather recalled asking the driver to take her home, but she must have changed her mind en route. The details of this were a little fuzzy.

Heather stripped out of her clothes and stepped into a pair of Stephen’s sweatpants, which were comically too big. She then pulled one of his T-shirts over her head. They were as comforting as she’d hoped. She wiped off her make-up, cleaned her teeth and then tottered along the hallway and down the stairs, holding the walls for support. As she descended the stairs another memory eased into her consciousness, this one of arriving on Stephen’s doorstep unannounced. He’d been in bed when she rang the doorbell (after searching and failing to find her key), and when he answered the door he was a little cranky. Her heart constricted at the memory. She had to physically force herself into the living room to face him, when everything was telling her to run away and hide.