It smells faintly of roses and the sunlight from the window’s coming in at the wrong angle.
Emma rolls over to her side and props herself up on one elbow, and her hair falls down in a tangle. She pulls the cover up slightly, and I realise that she’s got bare shoulders, which means it’s more than likely the rest of her is bare as well.
I rack my brains. We were in the kitchen eating chilli wrap things, and there was wine, and …
‘We drank the rest of the tequila. Did slammers. Don’t you remember?’ Emma says, clearly seeing my confused expression. She looks unperturbed.
‘I—’
Vague recollections of Rob and Becky having a sword fight with wooden spoons. Dancing. Music playing. It’s slowly coming back to me.
‘I feel like death,’ says Emma, cheerfully. ‘Thank God I’ve got today off. D’you fancy going out for breakfast to recover?’
I lie very still for a moment trying to piece it together. Rob juggling limes. Becky disappearing somewhere – probably to pass out due to an excess of wine and tequila. What a killer combination. I shift slightly in bed. It feels like my brain has come loose and is banging against my skull.
‘Oh God,’ I say.
‘You all right?’ Emma says.
I have a horrible moment of clarity. After Becky disappeared, Rob had tossed me the limes as he left the room, hobbling on his dodgy ankle. And Emma said, ‘If life gives you limes, drink tequila,’ and we’d finished the bottle, and …
For fuck’s sake. Why on earth did I let my bloody libido drag me by the scruff of the neck up the stairs and into Emma’s bedroom?
‘I’m really sorry, Em,’ I say, wriggling out of bed and grabbing my boxers and jeans, which are lying in a heap on the floor. ‘I can’t do this.’
‘Breakfast?’ She rolls over to face me, sitting up in bed and wrapping the duvet around her body. She looks like she’s just woken up after an eight-hour sleep. If it was anyone else, she’d have the decency to look hungover.
‘No.’ I haul up my jeans, buttoning the fly. My T-shirt’s inside out and hanging over the bedside lamp. Bloody hell. ‘Us,’ I say, voice muffled from inside the T-shirt as I pull it on. This isn’t who I am. It’s not who I want to be. It’s not about Emma – I like her a lot – and it’s not about anyone else, either. It’s just …
‘Oh come on, Alex,’ says Emma, in a cool voice. ‘I’m not asking for your hand in marriage. We got pissed; we had sex.’
‘Shh,’ I say, putting a finger to my lips.
Emma laughs for a moment and then looks at me as if she’s sizing me up, raising her chin slightly, her eyes narrowing almost imperceptibly.
‘Jess isn’t here, don’t worry.’
‘What d’you mean?’ I say.
‘Nothing.’ She rolls over, lying on her back and staring at the ceiling. ‘Just passing comment.’
‘There’s nothing going on with me and Jess.’
‘Never said there was.’
I feel like a complete arsehole.
‘It’s just sex, Alex,’ she says, in a clear voice, as I open the door to leave. I feel my cheeks stinging red. I am so shit at this whole relationship/no relationship thing.
Something’s got to change. I stand in the shower, letting it run almost cold to try and wash off the hangover and the crappy feeling that I’ve made an idiot of myself. Afterwards I pick up my keys and my phone and head out into the autumnal drizzle. I walk up to the café in Little Venice, picking up a property paper on the way past the estate agent and sit brooding over the prices of houses until my coffee goes cold and I have to order another.
‘Anything to eat?’ Lona, the café owner, looks at me appraisingly. ‘You look like you could do with something to soak up a hangover. Panini? Some soup?’
I thank her and order a panini, then sit in the corner by the window, looking out at the crowds of people bustling past wrapped up against a weirdly early cold snap. The leaves have turned already, and the slender poplar trees are already half-bare, their long branches reaching up to the sky like slender fingers. It’s going to be a cold winter.
‘Here you are, my love.’ Lona slides a plate in front of me, the panini steaming hot. ‘And I’ve made you another coffee on the house. You look like you’ve got the cares of the world on your shoulders.’
‘Something like that,’ I say.