– a coral pink colour that I recognise as my coloured lip balm. Kate wears actual lipstick – she’s never seen without it – the brighter and more attention-grabbing red the better.
I set the glass down on the side, my hand trembling. Is this evidence I was drugged last night? But I remember being woozy before we returned home. If I was drugged it was by the man at the bar. They probably thought when we sat down with them at their table that we were easy prey. They might have gone to the bar hoping to pick up some women and we stumbled, almost literally, into their laps.
Was it their intention to rape both of us last night? Did Kate being up for sex stop that plan in its tracks? They didn’t need to force her. But did something go wrong perhaps? Did she find out they drugged me? Or did they try to drug her? All these questions flit through my mind like poison arrows. The not knowing is the difficult thing. Am I being hysterical and leaping to outlandish conclusions based on nothing? I wish I knew. I wish Kate were here so we could talk and piece it all together.
I stand up. I need to do something. I need to go to the police. I can’t just stay in the apartment waiting for her to turn up because what if she is missing? What if something truly awful has happened to her, what if she’s somewhere needing my help right at this moment? In fact, now I’ve decided I can’t believe I’ve waited so long. What kind of a friend am I?
After quickly gathering my things I head out once more, stopping at the landlord’s apartment below ours and rapping loudly on the door. There’s a beat and I think I hear footsteps approaching the door but then there’s silence and the door doesn’t open. I stare at the spy hole directly ahead of me and feel suddenly creeped out that he might be watching me through it.
The door opens immediately. ‘Hello,’ Sebastian says. He isn’t smiling and I notice his arms are crossed over his chest and he’s blocking his doorway as though afraid I’m about to barge right past him.
‘Hi,’ I say, words suddenly deserting me. ‘Um, this is going to sound strange but have you seen my friend?’
‘Your friend?’ He shakes his head. ‘No.’
‘I don’t know where she is,’ I say. ‘I haven’t seen her since last night. And I can’t get hold of her. Her phone’s switched off.’
‘Well, I haven’t seen her,’ he says.
‘Right,’ I sigh. ‘It was a long shot. You didn’t hear anyone leaving this morning?’
He arches his eyebrows at me and purses his lips. ‘If you mean last night, yes. I heard plenty of leaving and coming.’
There’s an acid archness to his voice and a slight flare to his nostrils that puts me on the back foot, but I work in HR; I interview people all day and so I’m good at adjusting my technique depending on who I’m speaking to. ‘I’m so sorry,’ I say, understanding that he’s annoyed about the noise we made coming in last night and deciding to play the role of contrite and apologetic supplicant. ‘Did we wake you up last night? We tried to be quiet.’
He draws in a loud, self-righteous breath. ‘I think you woke the whole street.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I repeat, giving him an obsequious smile, while wondering how loud we actually were.
‘You only made the booking for two people,’ he says sniffily. ‘You even told me last night that only two of you were staying. Any extra guests incur a charge. You should have informed me.’
‘There weren’t extra guests,’ I say.
‘Yes, there were,’ he argues back, irritated. ‘I heard you. It sounded like you were having a party. Parties are forbidden. It’s in the rules.’
‘We didn’t have a party,’ I protest. ‘We just had two friends back for a drink.’
He rolls his eyes at me. ‘I heard the music and all the shouting and doors slamming. It was a party. And extra guests, which you’ll need to pay for.’
I ignore his last comment and latch on to the other information. Shouting? Doors slamming? What’s he talking about?
‘What time did you hear people leave?’ I ask.
‘Around three a.m. That still counts as an overnight guest.’
I couldn’t care less about his petty rules or extra costs or whatever punishment he wants to lay at our door. ‘What did you hear exactly?’ I press,