About Last Night . . .

by Catherine Alliott

  I texted back. ‘OK it’s just the dogs really, but if you take them out before you go they should be fine. Maybe you could be back by midday tomorrow?’

  ‘Maybe you could, Mother.’

  I went hot. That was cheeky. What did he know? Oh yes, of course, everything. I went hotter. I’d forgotten about Mrs McCarthy at the Spar. And no doubt his sisters had spilled the Felix beans, too. I compressed my lips. Tapped away.

  ‘Just going over a document for the new house. It’s quite complicated Nico. Back tomorrow when I’ve seen a solicitor,’ I added importantly.

  ‘Ah so you’re seeing a solicitor. And a vet and an artist.’

  ‘I’m doing nothing of the kind!’

  ‘My arse.’

  I gasped. Then turned my phone off with an exasperated flourish. Threw it in my bag. Felix reappeared and saw my face.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Wretched children. They think their lives are so flipping important and can’t imagine why they should keep the home fires burning for more than one night. Anyway, I’ve told him I’m seeing a solicitor and can’t come back, but they don’t half answer back,’ I fumed.

  ‘Oh, I don’t think we ever get it right.’ He sank down wearily beside me on the sofa. ‘Mine were the same at that age.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘God, yes. Answered back continually, and if I so much as mentioned another woman after I’d split up with their mother they wanted her name, age, rank and serial number. Particularly Octavia. She even came on a date with me once, to check out someone she claimed I never brought home. I did bring her home, Octavia just wasn’t there. Out on her own dates, probably.’

  ‘Quite normal, then? For us single parents?’

  ‘Totally. They’re just being protective.’

  ‘Yes. I suppose.’ I sighed. That was nice of him. He could have said – God, what needy children you’ve got, always on the blower, just tell them to sod off.

  ‘I’d tell them to sod off, if I were you.’ I blinked rapidly. ‘So I take it you would like to see my chap? Changed your mind?’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘You told your son you were seeing a solicitor.’

  ‘Oh, no.’ I flushed, embarrassed. ‘No, I absolutely haven’t. I was just saying that to get him off my back. Just a teeny white lie. No, I totally trust you, Felix.’ I hesitated. ‘I suppose I thought I might put it in front of Lucy’s boyfriend, though; he’s a clever chap, draws up loads of contracts, or there’s this chap in South Ken …’

  ‘Ah, I see.’ Felix went a bit quiet.

  ‘But I don’t have to,’ I said quickly.

  ‘Oh heavens no, good idea. Always worth a second opinion.’

  ‘That’s what I thought.’

  ‘Although I will go through it with you very, very thoroughly, Molly.’ He turned and regarded me earnestly, picking it up again. He flipped over the first page. ‘OK, let’s see. I, Molly Faulkner, do hereby declare …’

  He started to read it aloud to me. Explaining clauses he thought might be complicated or open to misinterpretation. And the trouble was, it was longer than I’d originally thought, which surprised me for a rental agreement, quite a few pages. Or perhaps that was standard? Also, rather inconveniently, my head was beginning to swim. It felt terribly heavy. Which was odd, because I hadn’t had that much to drink. A couple of glasses of champagne, probably the same of wine. Which didn’t sound an awful lot. But perhaps it was? I certainly wasn’t used to drinking much at home. After David had died I’d sunk a bottle of wine a night, which had horrified me, so I’d knocked it on the head and stuck to two glasses, one at seven by the Aga, another with supper. Obviously I drank more if I went out, but I didn’t go out much, and certainly not on consecutive evenings. And this London life was relentless, wasn’t it? Maybe I was constantly and unwittingly topping up my alcohol levels? Was two nights on the trot a lot? What was the trot? What did it mean? God, I felt weird. Why was I coming over all existential? I put a hand to my head.

  ‘Concentrating?’ He smiled down at me, seeing my eyes glaze over as he rambled on.

  ‘Of course,’ I murmured, and then he leaned down a bit further and kissed me gently on the lips, which was lovely. Then again, for longer still. Gorgeous. I wouldn’t have minded a bit more of that, but he was talking again. Murmuring in my ear.

  ‘Tell you what, why don’t you text the kids if they’re concerned about you? Tell them where you are and what you’re doing.’

  I stared. Managed to concentrate enough to say: ‘Oh no, I don’t think they’d like that at all. Lucy can be a bit … prim.’ Was that the word? So hard to find any words just now. All a bit confusing.

  ‘I didn’t mean that.’ He laughed, squeezing my shoulder. ‘I meant to tell them you’re signing the rental agreement.’

  ‘Oh I see!’ I laughed. ‘Well, I’ve already mentioned it to Nico, but yes, maybe a family text.’ Good idea, actually. Give them all the heads-up so there was no argument later. Why hadn’t I thought of that? That was presumably what he meant but hadn’t liked to say. ‘You mean, so there’s no argument later?’

  ‘Well, no, I meant in case they have any strong objections now.’

  So sweet. I’d totally misread that. God, he was nice. I lurched forward for my phone in my bag on the floor, which was a mistake. I experienced a terrible head rush and had to steady myself. I took a few moments, gripping the coffee table. Then, when I was upright, it took me longer than usual to text, and I’m generally a bit of a whiz on the keyboard. Eventually I tapped out:

  ‘Just so you know am signing document which as discussed gives Cuthbert’s partner the right to live at Lastow Mews for rest of his life.’

  I showed it to Felix.

  ‘Only fair,’ he said.

  ‘Yes, I agree.’

  ‘No, I would add that. In case, like you said, they do question it. I’m just thinking of you.’

  ‘Brilliant!’ I added – ‘Only fair’ – and then for good measure because I was feeling quite punchy and actually quite peculiar: ‘I also think it’s the Christian thing to do.’

  Felix frowned. ‘Are you born again?’

  ‘Oh. No. I just thought …’

  ‘So won’t they think that’s a bit odd?’

  I deleted it with difficulty. To be honest, I just wanted to get rid of the wretched phone, and the words, and the whole concentrating palaver, and send the blinking thing. There. I snapped my phone off. I knew he’d said to see if they had any objections, but I was bored with them now. Irritating children.

  ‘Done.’ I smiled, sinking back into the sofa.

  ‘Perfect. Right. Now I’ll read it to you.’

  I groaned loudly. ‘Oh Felix, must we? Can’t we get back to that nice sleepy snugly thing we were doing earlier?’ My eyelids honestly felt as if they had lead weights in them. I could barely open my eyes. He gently lowered my head to rest on his shoulder with his hand.

  ‘That?’

  ‘Yes.’ I purred. ‘That.’

  ‘In a sec. And much more. But first, let me finish this, I’m only on the second page.’

  I moaned low. ‘Felix, we’ll be here all night! Why don’t I just sign the wretched thing?’

  ‘Are you sure?’ He produced the pen again.

  I hesitated. ‘Well, why not? I’m going to sign it anyway, when Robin or whoever’s seen it, aren’t I? It’s only a formality.’

  Felix appeared to consider this. He shrugged. ‘I suppose.’ He pulled the coffee table towards us and spread the papers out. ‘OK, well, if Robin wants to amend anything afterwards, we can always put a sub-clause in. It’s not a problem.’

  ‘Oh good.’ I picked up the pen. ‘What, even though I’ve already signed it?’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ I didn’t. I tried to remember. Could you change a contract once it was signed? To my addled knowledge I’d never actually signed one like this. Or had I? Well, obviously years ago when I was working, but they were stan
dard contracts with clients which barely needed reading they were all so formulaic, but since then … I racked what remained of my brain. I’d signed something with Twinkly Andy once, but literally on the back of an envelope over a pile of knickers across my kitchen table: shaken hands and opened a bottle of cider on the strength of it. Horses too, of course. But more bills of sale than contracts: a scrap of paper scrawled on the bonnet of a horse lorry in a howling gale with some other bellowing, horsey woman. All the proper stuff, houses, et cetera, David had done. David. Only very recently I’d thought he’d thoroughly approve of this, but now I wasn’t so sure. I leaned forward and rested my head, perplexed, on the glass table. Or was it Perspex? Which was so like perplexed? God, what was wrong with me? My head was so fuzzy. So heavy. I raised it with difficulty, slowly bringing it to a vertical position. The room was spinning.

  ‘Molly, I think I am going to read it to you,’ Felix said gently. He went to take the papers from me.

  ‘No!’ I held on tight, tenaciously. ‘God, we don’t want that fucking reading lark again, actually I think that’s the problem. I think I’m going to pass out with boredom.’

  He laughed. Then he waited. I picked up the pen. And then I don’t remember much else, because my brain, which had been behaving very strangely anyway, behaved in an even more peculiar manner and sent a sharp message to my eyes to shut immediately, which was rude. I wrestled with them. So rude. Particularly since poor Felix, who’d already gone to so much trouble this evening, clearly thought I needed more reassurance, and was reading again. Mid-sentence, would you believe, further on, something about the dotted line …

  ‘Here …’ he was saying, ‘at the bottom … and then the date …’

  Which was the twenty-fourth, he told me as I gripped the pen and as he moved the paper closer, and basically made it all so easy for me, explaining so sweetly, that I’m afraid I don’t remember anything else. Except that finally, everything was taken care of most beautifully, most thoughtfully, and most delightfully. Phew.

  19

  The following morning I awoke in a strange frame of mind in a very strange room and in a very strange state of undress. I managed to open my eyes just enough to see light pouring in through French windows at the end of the bed: the bed which, I realized, slowly swivelling my eyes around without moving my head, must be in Felix’s bedroom. All white. No carpet. White floorboards. Barely any furniture. One huge mirror propped against the wall. Very chic. Very understated. Very minimalist. So minimalist, in fact, that the occupant – my eyes travelled left to the empty space in the bed, white duvet thrown back – wasn’t even in situ. My eyes returned but my head stayed resolutely immobile and I had a feeling it would have to remain so for the rest of its days: it felt so peculiar.

  ‘Good morning!’ Felix appeared through the open doorway in a tasteful white waffle dressing gown, bearing a breakfast tray. ‘Coffee, orange juice, croissants – for Madame.’ He executed a little bow with an exaggerated flourish of the hand. Carefully placing the tray in the middle of the bed, he slipped in beside me, taking care not to spill anything. Then he leaned across and kissed me languorously on the lips. ‘How are you, my darling?’

  I stared at him as if seeing him for the very first time. ‘I’m … fine. I think.’

  ‘Good. I thought a little restorative coffee might be just the ticket. For both of us, actually. A much needed pick-me-up.’ He smiled as he began to pour from a percolator. I gazed as if not only had I never seen him before, but I’d never set eyes on a coffee percolator either.

  ‘Yes, it … might.’

  Under the duvet, my hands travelled surreptitiously and tremulously over my body. I swallowed. Right. Naked. Definitely naked. Lordy. I licked my lips, which were unaccountably dry. I managed to dredge up a soupçon of saliva to moisten mouth and tongue. I also managed to inch up the pillows a wee bit. Only a wee bit, my head was fit to combust.

  ‘Felix, about last night.’

  ‘Hm?’ he murmured. ‘Sugar?’

  Did he mean me?

  ‘Oh, no thanks.’

  ‘Juice? It’s from this new state-of-the-art machine I’ve got. I’ve never used it before so you can be guinea pig. You literally throw in about ten oranges, wait a few seconds, and out it all comes, no peel, no pith. I’m rather pleased with it actually.’

  ‘Right. Um, Felix, last night, did we …?’

  He paused from his pouring. Looked up. ‘What?’

  ‘I mean, did we … you know.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Do it?’

  He put the jug of juice down. Looked a bit shocked. ‘You’re kidding?’

  ‘Er … no.’

  ‘You don’t remember?’

  ‘Well, I mean, obviously, a bit. Kissing in the sitting room, on the sofa.’

  ‘But that’s all? Not in here?’

  ‘Not … really.’

  He blinked in astonishment. ‘Good grief.’ He ran his hands through his hair. ‘That’s terrible. Molly, you were sensational!’

  I gasped. ‘Was I?’

  ‘Amazing. All your incredible ideas – so athletic!’

  I inhaled in horror, pulling the duvet right up to my chin and clutching it tight. ‘No! God. Really? In a good way?’

  ‘Oh my darling, in a very good way. The very best. In fact, I feel something a little similar – although perhaps not quite so energetic – coming on right now.’ He smiled and leaned across to kiss me again. I waited until he’d finished.

  ‘Right. Except, the thing is, Felix, I can barely move my head. In fact, weirdly, it feels like a solid lump of concrete.’

  ‘Well, you did have quite a lot to drink.’

  ‘Did I?’ I had fully intended to stay sober.

  ‘Well, I’ve just put two empty champagne bottles in the recycling bin.’

  ‘No!’ Two bottles. And Felix mostly drank wine. I really shouldn’t be allowed out. And what a shame I couldn’t remember anything at all of my big night when by all accounts I’d been sensational. I wondered if I could possibly rise to the occasion and raise the requisite energy to … no. Out of the question.

  ‘Maybe later?’ I bleated.

  He laughed. ‘Hey no, fine. You put me through my paces last night, don’t you worry. And I’ve got to meet a dealer at ten, so maybe later later, as in when I’m back.’ He helped himself to a croissant and some jam.

  ‘Back?’

  ‘Yes, I’m off to Vienna, remember?’

  ‘Oh. Yes.’ Vaguely. ‘And I must go home. Poor Nico. Holding the fort.’

  Felix’s mobile beeped. He sighed and made a long arm to the bedside table to scroll down through his messages. I, meanwhile, managed to snake a hand to the other bedside table where my bag was – I have absolutely no idea how it got there – ferreted around and found my own phone: another message from Nico.

  ‘Half a hundredweight of lavender soap has arrived. Apparently you said put it on the back step which means no one can get in or out. I’m using the window. Also that weird guy rang again about the horse. Wants it vetted.’

  Oh Lord. I really needed to get back. But I literally couldn’t move. I felt truly dreadful. And apparently I’d been a veritable sex machine last night. Extraordinary.

  ‘Felix, this sounds so pathetic, but you couldn’t just, sort of, help me up a bit, could you?’

  He laughed. ‘Come on, old girl.’ He heaved me bodily up in the bed as I clutched the duvet, tucking a couple of pillows in behind.

  Old girl. Right. He passed me a glass of juice.

  ‘Want me to help you drink?’ he joked.

  ‘Yes, please.’

  Felix looked startled but he held the glass to my lips as I sucked.

  ‘Molly, is this sort of hangover usual?’

  ‘No. It’s not. At least … I don’t really remember. Haven’t been this pissed for years. I don’t drink that much as a rule, and certainly not two bottles of champagne.’

  ‘Ah, that’ll be it then. Hang on, I’ll get
you a Berocca and some Nurofen.’ He slid lithely off the bed in his waffly thing and into the en suite. I heard him rattling around in there. God, this was beyond embarrassing. I badly needed to get out of here. Not to be the creaky old lady billowing dog breath all over him and needing to be hoisted up. And what on earth did I look like? I riffled in my bag for my powder compact and flipped it open. Error. I snapped it shut, horrified. When he returned I took the pills and drank the potion and told myself that in twenty minutes, when they’d kicked in, I’d be up, showered and in a cab, having kissed him a lingering goodbye.

  In the event, it was more like an hour and twenty minutes. The pills did kick in but they took a good long while, by which time Felix had gone to meet his dealer in Cork Street, promising he’d ring very soon for a re-match, which hopefully, he grinned, I’d remember. I’d smiled wanly, hoping I wasn’t going to throw up as he leaned over to kiss me goodbye having showered and then got dressed in front of me, and no, I didn’t remember that lithe, tanned body I’d so recently grappled with. What a waste. Did he sunbathe naked? He didn’t appear to have a shorts mark. Or any trace of a tummy. Had I held mine in? Unlikely, I felt, in my sensational abandonment. Anyway, Felix left, but unfortunately he forgot his wallet, and when he popped back for it, he found me sitting up in bed with my sunglasses on. Luckily he roared and asked if I liked the River Café, only it had to be booked well in advance. I assured him I did, even though I’d never been there, and he took his leave again.

  So then I really was alone to … take stock. Consider. I rummaged gently in my brain. Not too brusquely. No nails. But I tried all the files, present and past. Then I tried trash. No. Nothing. Absolutely zilch. I shook my head slowly: another mistake. After a bit I got gingerly out of bed and tottered to the shower, making it long, but not too hot. Then I dressed very carefully, not bending over when I put my pants and jeans on for fear of head spin, keeping my back straight, which is harder, when you’re older. I made the bed in the same position, head erect, looking into the distance, and ordered an Uber taxi on Felix’s account which he’d told me to do: then I shut the door behind me and put the key in a pot, which surprised me, but apparently his cleaner had lost hers and came Mondays and Wednesdays, and then, holding myself together like a piece of broken china, I sat on the back seat of a rocking, smelly, low-slung, vomit-inducing vehicle and was transported away across the river.