a strange jumble of sounds. I finally manage to climb down from the stool with a lot of help from Alex. ‘I’m just tipsy, that’s all,’ I repeat, but again it’s just an attempt at sounds, and the sober part of my brain knows that the more I say it, the less convincing I am. ‘Jas kept pouring prosecco into my glass,’ I say, then I giggle. Too much.
‘Oh did she now? I’ll have to have a word with her,’ Alex says, disapprovingly.
‘It’s okay, you don’t need to have a word with her. I’ll just tell her next time not to keep filling my glass… I can look after myself, Alex,’ I slur as I almost trip over my handbag.
‘Hannah, you can’t look after yourself right now. Bloody hell, it’s a good job I’m here,’ he says, concern written on his face as he picks up my bag from the floor.
‘Thank you.’ I look up and his eyes are on mine. I know even in this state he wants to kiss me. I can see it. I want to kiss him too, but I’m moving between happy, tipsy and slurry, to nauseous. I can feel it building and I must be pale because Alex has stopped smiling.
‘Do we need to get you outside?’ he asks gently, and the act of nodding makes my head hurt and something rises quickly up my oesophagus. I start to retch, and I’m aware of Alex moving me firmly away from the bar and guiding me through the crowded restaurant. At speed.
Once outside, the freezing night air hits, nausea overwhelms me and I throw up. In front of him. Spectacularly.
As I lift my head, I almost faint, and despite feeling so terrible, I am stung by deep embarrassment. How could I let myself get like this? I still feel quite sick and I’m worried there may be more. I try to say this, but I can’t, I’m unable to form words. Prosecco’s never done this to me before.
Through all this, Alex is wonderful; I don’t know what I’d have done without him. He takes off his jacket and puts it around my shoulders. I’m irrationally tearful, I’ve seen men do this for other women, but until now, never me. And with my puke on the floor, and the strong possibility of more to come, I’m filled with such love for Alex I just start crying.
‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry,’ I keep repeating.
‘Darling, really, it’s fine. These things happen…’
‘I’m embarrassed.’
‘Don’t be. I’m here for you. I love you whatever you do, you know that. Now let’s get you in the car.’ He walks me round the back to the car park, where he carefully folds me into the passenger seat. ‘Let’s get you home, safe and sound.’
‘My friends?’ I say. ‘I should say good… good… bye.’ My head feels like lead and it drops forward involuntarily. My eyes close, even though I don’t want them to. I’ve never felt as drunk as this before.
‘Give me your phone and I’ll text Jas and let her know you’re leaving, otherwise she’ll be calling you every five minutes.’ He opens my bag and takes out my phone. ‘What’s your pin?’
‘Pins?’
‘To get into your phone, so I can let them know you’re safe and going home.’
‘Oh… all the fives. Are we going home then? Tell Jas she can squeeze in here next to me…’ I mumble. I can’t think straight, nothing makes sense, and suddenly Helen is chasing me down the high street, she’s screaming at me, and darkness is washing over me like a big, black wave, obliterating us. And everything goes black.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
I wake up the next morning in Alex’s bed with the worst headache I’ve ever had.
‘I don’t know how much I drank last night, but I’ve never felt as bad as this in my whole life,’ I say, as I slowly sit up.
Alex is standing over me with a breakfast tray that he places carefully on my knees. I look up into his soft, kind eyes and again feel a flash of resentment for Jas calling him my butler. It’s December, but he’s managed to find the sweetest strawberries, and also on the tray is a plate of pancakes with wedges of lemon, a bottle of maple syrup, a cafetière and two cups. I want to hug him for caring so much.
‘That coffee smells good,’ I say, as he pours the steaming brown liquid into the mugs and joins me back in bed, where we eat breakfast.