Three’s a Crowd

by Dianne Blacklock

  She woke with a start. What a dream. Where the hell did that come from? As she caught her breath she gradually became aware of a sharp blade of pain slicing through the centre of her forehead – the result of too much alcohol and not enough sleep. She closed her eyes. If she could just get back to sleep she’d be okay. She wouldn’t have to live through the next few hours, and she’d wake up feeling a whole lot better. Not great perhaps, but vastly improved. But something wasn’t quite right. She was naked under this sheet. Rachel didn’t normally sleep naked, even if she only wore a singlet and undies. She couldn’t remember getting into bed last night; in fact, the last thing she could remember was karaoke; after that it was a blur, further muddied by that disconcerting dream which had woken her just moments ago, and which she certainly did not intend to revisit. Did Tom actually leave? She couldn’t remember seeing him out. Maybe he’d crashed out on the couch? It was all very foggy, but it didn’t matter right now. All that mattered was getting a few more hours’ sleep. Breathe deep and steady . . . lose yourself to it. Her head was feeling heavy, this just might work. But not lying on her back. She had to assume the position. She rolled onto her side, stretching her top leg over . . .

  And then she screamed, leaping from the bed and dragging the sheet with her in one frantic move.

  ‘Tom! What are you doing here?’

  ‘Rach, inside voice,’ he rasped. ‘Please.’

  ‘What are you doing in my bed?’ She held up her hand to block his naked body from her line of sight. ‘With nothing on!’

  He squinted, glancing around. ‘You’ve got the sheet.’

  ‘Well do something! Cover yourself!’

  ‘You’ve got the sheet, Rachel,’ he repeated.

  And she was certainly not giving it up. She glanced around the floor and stooped to grab her bathrobe, tossing it at him. He gathered it around himself.

  ‘What’s going on, what are you doing here . . . still?’ she asked weakly, knowing what the answer had to be but dreading him saying it out loud nonetheless.

  He didn’t need to say it, the expression on his face was enough.

  ‘Oh God.’

  ‘It’s okay, Rach,’ he said, propping himself up on one elbow.

  ‘No, it’s not, this is not okay . . . this is . . .’

  ‘What?’ he said gently. ‘This is me, Rach, and it really is okay. Come over here,’ he patted the bed, ‘let’s talk about it.’

  ‘No!’ she exclaimed.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because . . . because you, you’re . . . and I’m . . . and this is not supposed to happen . . .’ And then it struck her. She swallowed. ‘Tom, did you use something?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Did you use some protection?’

  ‘Ah, no,’ he frowned. ‘But don’t worry, you won’t catch anything from me, I haven’t been with anyone . . . since . . . you know.’

  ‘That’s not what I’m talking about. I’m not on the pill.’

  That woke him up. ‘You’re not?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I’m not in a relationship,’ she shrilled. ‘I didn’t think I needed it.’

  He lay back flat on the bed. ‘Shit.’

  Rachel insisted she had to deal with this immediately. She had never been much good at keeping track of her cycle, but her period had finished a week or so ago, or thereabouts, so she was somewhere in the middle, and she couldn’t take the risk of ignoring this and hoping for the best – there was no crossing this bridge when she came to it. She remembered vaguely that the morning-after pill had to be taken within . . . was it twenty-four or forty-eight hours? Damn, she couldn’t think straight. And she couldn’t put it off. She just wanted to get the whole thing over with, with as little fuss as possible.

  But that was not going to be so easy. Tom insisted on coming to the clinic with her; in fact, he would not take no for an answer. Rachel knew that if she tried to argue the toss with him they would end up talking about what happened, and she certainly didn’t want to go there. So it was easier just to let him come along. He was dressed and looking a little brighter when she emerged from the shower – he must have washed his face in the kitchen sink. And he’d made coffee.

  ‘Rach, we have to talk about this,’ he said, handing her a cup.

  ‘No, we don’t, we really don’t.’

  ‘Rachel . . .’

  ‘Just drop it, Tom.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because it’s embarrassing.’

  ‘You don’t have to be embarrassed with me.’

  ‘Well, I am. So deal with it.’ Rachel closed her hands around the coffee mug, holding it to her lips and taking small sips as her eyes blurred. This was going to ruin everything. She turned away to gaze out the window at the brick wall of the neighbouring building. Now whenever they saw each other it was going to be awkward, they wouldn’t be able to look each other in the eye, they wouldn’t be able to be friends . . .

  ‘We’ll grab a taxi to my place so we can pick up my car, okay?’

  ‘No,’ she said firmly, turning her head but not looking at him. ‘What if Lexie’s around, what if she sees us?’ Her voice caught in her throat. ‘This is a fucking nightmare.’

  She felt his hands on her shoulders and she jerked away from him, spilling her coffee. ‘Oh fuck,’ she sobbed.

  He took the cup from her and put it in the sink and grabbed a tea towel to wipe her hands.

  ‘Don’t,’ she whimpered.

  ‘Stop it,’ he said gently. ‘Your hands are trembling.’ He pressed the tea towel into them and held them firmly between his. ‘Rach, you’re my friend. Let me be yours.’

  She lifted her eyes then to meet his, and they filled with tears. Tom folded his arms around her and held her close, and Rachel cried into his chest, letting herself pretend for a moment that he was still her friend, that nothing would change.

  ‘It’s going to be okay,’ he said after a while. ‘Trust me.’

  She took a deep breath and stepped back from him, wiping her eyes.

  ‘Come on,’ he said, ‘we’ll get my car, it’ll make things easier.’

  ‘I don’t want to risk going near your place, Tom.’

  ‘Don’t worry, you won’t have to.’

  He instructed the taxi driver to pull up around the corner from his house. ‘Can you wait here for a few minutes, please? My friend will stay in the car.’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘I’ll be right back,’ he said to Rachel, getting out of the taxi.

  He returned not more than five minutes later. She saw his car pull in across the road, and he got out and walked back over to the taxi. He bent to speak to the driver, handing him some cash through the window. ‘Does that cover it?’

  ‘Yeah, with change.’

  ‘Keep it.’

  He opened the passenger door for Rachel and she stepped out. He went to put his arm around her as they crossed the road but she reared away from him. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Sorry.’

  They drove in silence to the clinic, but it wasn’t awkward so much as surreal. Rachel felt like she was still dreaming, but now she was only too aware that the images flashing through her mind had never been a dream. She had blocked them at first, startled, thinking they were some sort of latent fantasy, and she really did not want to explore what that was about. But now she wanted to understand what had happened, how it had happened, and so she opened her mind up to remembering. It had started out on the living-room floor, but who had started it? Did she come on to him, or did he come on to her? No, he kissed her first, she remembered now, the shock of it, but it didn’t last long. Soon enough she was responding with voracious abandon like some sex-starved adolescent. God, it was excruciating. Rachel knew they were consenting adults and all that, but it felt wrong on so many levels. Annie had died only a few months ago, and Rachel was already hopping into bed with her husband. She wasn’t going to judge Tom, he probably needed some sex
ual release, he was a bloke, after all. But he could get that with someone else, anyone else, not a mutual friend of the family. Rachel should have shown some restraint. Some respect. She should have been the responsible one. And if only she had been a bit responsible, he wouldn’t be escorting her to the sexual-health clinic right now to get a dose of the morning-after pill. The whole thing was just tacky.

  ‘Are you okay?’

  Rachel stirred, looking across at Tom. They were parked in the carpark of the clinic, and he’d turned off the engine.

  ‘Yeah, sure.’ She fumbled for the door and stepped out into the glaring sunshine. She had forgotten her sunglasses.

  They had to wait for a long time, forty minutes at least. Rachel felt tired, so tired. She could have curled up to sleep right there on the hard vinyl bench. But surely it couldn’t be much longer. She would sit through the indignity of the interrogation by the doctor, get the pills and go home and draw all the curtains and blinds, and then she would sleep until it was over.

  Her name was finally called and Tom stood up as she got to her feet.

  ‘Forget it, Tom, you’re not coming in there with me.’

  ‘But –’

  ‘No,’ Rachel said firmly.

  He sighed. ‘Okay. I’ll wait here.’

  The doctor was kind and sympathetic; Rachel didn’t know why she had assumed it would be awful. She told Rachel that next time she didn’t need to come to the clinic, the morning-after pill was now available at chemists’ over the counter.

  ‘There’s not going to be a next time,’ Rachel said flatly.

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘It just feels a little . . . sordid or something.’

  ‘That’s an interesting term to choose.’

  She shrugged. ‘It’s just the circumstances.’

  The doctor smiled kindly. ‘We hear everything in this place. Women who wake up next to someone they’ve never seen before, sometimes more than one –’

  Rachel blinked. ‘No, it’s nothing like that. My friend is out in the waiting room, I’ve known him since . . . for a long time. It’s just complicated.’

  The doctor considered her. ‘In my experience things are rarely anything but. You’re a healthy young woman with normal urges. And shame is an entirely pointless emotion.’

  As they walked out of the building back to the car, Rachel felt a little calmer, while Tom seemed more agitated.

  ‘So, which type did she give you, the double or the single dose?’ he asked.

  Rachel thought about it. ‘Um, well she only gave me one pill, so I guess it’s the single dose. How do you know about that?’

  ‘I read a brochure while I was waiting for you,’ he dismissed. ‘So she talked to you about side effects?’

  She nodded.

  ‘She went right through your medical history then?’

  ‘Um, she asked a couple of questions . . .’

  ‘About your mother? She should have asked you about your mother as well, any history of blood clots, that kind of thing?’

  Rachel was frowning.

  ‘Well?’ he prompted.

  ‘She didn’t ask about my family history. I don’t think it’s relevant, Tom.’

  ‘Of course it’s relevant,’ he said, raising his voice. He turned to look at her. ‘Fucking doctors and their fucking offhand attitudes.’

  It suddenly hit her. Rachel could see the fresh, raw pain right there in his eyes.

  ‘I don’t want you to do this, Rachel.’

  ‘Tom –’

  ‘You can’t take medication when you have no idea what side effects it might have. You could have a reaction . . .’

  ‘It’s okay, Tom. I’ve taken it before,’ she lied.

  ‘You have?’

  ‘Yeah, once, overseas. I was fine. A bit of nausea and cramping, that was all.’

  He breathed out heavily, leaning back against the car and rubbing his eyes. Rachel just wanted to go over and hug him, but she couldn’t do that any more. Everything had changed.

  He got his keys out of his pocket and pressed the remote lock. ‘Okay, but I’m staying with you tonight.’

  ‘Tom, you can’t –’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ll sleep out on the couch, but I’m not going to leave you alone.’

  ‘What about the girls?’

  ‘Hannah was staying the weekend anyway, and I called Soph while you were with the doctor. She had plans tonight, she wanted to stay at her friend’s.’

  Rachel frowned, thinking. ‘Are you sure she’s all right? You know where she’ll be?’

  ‘Of course.’ He opened the door for her. ‘I’m not going to argue about it, Rach. I’m staying, end of discussion.’

  She climbed into the car and he closed the door again. He was completely rattled, she could see it now; something like this could really throw him. Had really thrown him. She had to let him do what he needed to do.

  She just wished she could take it all back. If only she hadn’t seen him at sandbar, if only she’d had the guts to walk away from Phil herself. But if she’d had the guts to do that, she would have had the guts to tell Catherine in the first place that she didn’t want to look for a date on the internet. So she wouldn’t have been at sandbar and she wouldn’t have bumped into Tom and he wouldn’t have come back to her place . . . And how had things gotten so out of hand anyway? Fragments of conversation were finding their way back to the surface of her memory. He said he used to have a crush on her. Did he really say that? Was she remembering it right? Rachel felt immediately self-conscious, throwing Tom a sidelong glance, worried somehow he would know what she was thinking.

  He looked over at her. ‘What?’

  ‘Nothing,’ she said, staring straight ahead again.

  He was only teasing her last night, about the crush. That’s all it was. She remembered now. Mostly.

  ‘I’m just going to call in here,’ he said, pulling up outside a small group of shops. ‘Your fridge is like some kind of science experiment, Rach. If we’re hunkered down for the weekend, I’m getting in fresh supplies.’

  Rachel would normally have put in a protest, but she let him go. She watched him through the window, chatting away to the shopkeepers, charming them. He’d always been a charmer, Tom. Everybody loved him, Rachel included. But never in that way, she never even vaguely considered herself in contention. But she suspected she had never been closer to anyone in her life than when they lived together at Rainbow Street. People who knew them at the time said they were like brother and sister, but that didn’t seem to describe it for Rachel. Maybe because she’d never had a sibling she didn’t really understand the relationship, but Tom didn’t feel like a brother to her. Others said they were like an old married couple, but they got on so much better than any married couple Rachel knew back then.

  Tom returned to the car with two bulging bags and put them on the back seat. He was rustling around in one of them and Rachel turned to see what he was doing.

  ‘Ah, here it is.’ He tossed something into her lap.

  It was a Caramello Koala. Rachel’s heart skipped a beat. She stared down at it as he got back into the driver’s seat.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said quietly, without looking at him.

  ‘My pleasure,’ he replied, starting up the engine and pulling out into the flow of traffic.

  Rachel rolled over, stirring from a deep sleep. She wondered what time it was. The room was dark, but the blinds and curtains were closed so it was hard to tell. Her head felt clearer, that was a good sign. She was trying to decide if she felt nauseous or just hungry. She climbed out of bed and went over to the window, opening the curtains and pulling up the blind. It was dusk. She slid the window open and breathed in the salt air, looking out across the rooftops to the ocean and the violet sky. It was a little cool for January, which was a blessing today. All in all she didn’t feel too bad.

  Then she heard movement out in the kitchen, and she remembered she still had Tom to deal with. She’d slept with
one of her best friend’s husbands. She’d slept with one of her best friends. How did one deal with that? It’s not as though she could jump on a plane and disappear to the other side of the world.

  She walked tentatively down the hall and into the living area. Tom was standing at the sink, washing up. Great, now he was cleaning up after her, as if she didn’t already feel uncomfortable enough.

  He looked around then. ‘Hey,’ he said warmly, reaching for the tea towel over his shoulder and wiping his sudsy hands. ‘How are you feeling?’

  ‘What are you doing, Tom?’

  ‘Just washing the containers I cleaned out of the fridge.’

  She sighed, leaning against the doorjamb. ‘You didn’t need to do that.’

  ‘Someone had to,’ he said.

  Was that a glimmer in his eye? Were they going to get through this after all? He certainly looked more relaxed. Rachel decided to play along. Maybe they could actually pretend nothing had happened. Maybe they could fool themselves that everything was back to normal. It was worth a shot.

  ‘Wow, what is that?’ she said, peering over at the stove. ‘Smells great.’

  ‘It’s chicken soup.’

  Rachel’s eyes grew wide and she couldn’t help grinning. ‘You are kidding me, you didn’t make chicken soup?’

  He slung the tea towel over his shoulder again. ‘Get real. They were selling it at the deli where we stopped. Said it was homemade fresh every day. I think it may even be kosher.’