‘I can doodle,’ I laughed, avoiding an answer. ‘But I just like to party.’
Oh, God. How my own words made me cringe.
‘Who doesn’t?’ Amanda clinked her glass with mine. ‘You’re awesome. Hey, Georgie! Zara. Is. Awesome.’
George touched the arm of the guy he was drinking with. ‘Excuse me,’ he smiled. Then, he clasped my hand and pulled me across the bar, next to the entrance. Ping! The elevator doors opened and a small group of beautiful people embraced the rooftop with gusto. George took a long drag of his cigarette and blew the smoke sideways.
‘I don’t want to do this,’ he said.
‘Do what?’ I asked.
‘You’re NOT my girlfriend.’
‘Yeah, I heard you the first time.’
‘So why were you making a tit of yourself just now?’
‘I wasn’t making a tit of my … you’re a total bastard.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘You heard me. You took me out and led me on, now you’re just tossing me aside.’
‘How did I lead you on?’
‘Well, I mean, I wouldn’t have slept with you all those times if I’d have known.’
‘Known what? That I didn’t want to marry you and have children with you?’
‘God. This is so harsh. I’m not that kind of girl, George.’
‘You’ve got a pretty high opinion of yourself, haven’t you, babe?’
‘Fuck you, George.’
‘Keep your voice down.’
‘In case your precious colleagues hear what a total dick you are?’
‘I said keep your voice down.’
‘Why? Is it Amanda’s turn tonight? Are you worried she won’t fall for your charm?’
‘Stay the hell away from me, Zara. I mean it.’
The next moment happened so swift, in fact, so slick. George, his face as hard as stone, lifted his hand and stubbed his cigarette into my right cheekbone. The lit end twisted in deep, the motion fast but the moment long. Then the elevator doors pinged open again. George stepped in, the doors sliding shut just as I fell to my knees. The pain was so sharp, so intense, I couldn’t find the strength to scream as I emptied my lungs with one long, heavy breath.
I remained crouched over for what felt like some time, all my concentration keeping me quiet, as though I might just disappear if I stayed down there long enough. My hands were pressed into my cheek, wishing the burn away. Echoing around me were the sounds of laughter, of air kissing, of ice clattering in glasses, people enjoying other people. The beat from the speakers thumped along, pulsing across my forehead, creating a dull ache.
I couldn’t go back past the bar now. Not only because this incident would ruin Katie’s birthday, but because I was too afraid to slip past George’s crowd, to be stopped by Amanda. What would they say about my hand pressed against my cheek? How could I lie and conceal the fact that the person responsible was their old buddy, Georgie? Oh God, what would he do to me if I told them the truth?
The bare skin on my back felt warm, and it wasn’t the night air. It was somebody’s hand. I was going to get told off for blocking the entrance, asked to leave. But, as I slowly began to unravel, the hand on my back kept me steady and another hand helped me to standing. I lost my balance a little in my heels.
‘Are you okay, sweetheart?’
Sweetheart. Such a simple word played like a string quartet in my ears. I kept my eyes closed. The man’s hand touched my bare shoulder and with such tenderness, he asked if he could take a look at my face, to see what ‘that horrid prick’ had just done to me. He’d seen the whole thing and regretted not moving in sooner.
‘I didn’t want to interfere,’ he said. ‘I’m so sorry.’
He was definitely British, but I was unsure of his accent, perhaps Northern.
I wanted to speak, to say, ‘Don’t be sorry, it’s not your fault,’ but I was still trapped inside my own mind in my shock. Allowing my eyes to open, I looked at the man. He was medium height – tall next to me – and fair haired, a little freckly, with a smile that invited me to feel at home. His cheeks were dimpled, his brow damp, his shirt creased with the heat. I guessed that he was either new to Dubai or here on business.
‘We should speak to the manager,’ he said, his hand still stroking my shoulder. ‘Get them to call the police.’