Should Have Known Better

by A J McDine

  Spraying herself liberally with the Paco Rabanne Olympea Eau de Parfum Rory had given her the previous Christmas, she crossed the room to her chest of drawers and ferreted through her underwear drawer until she found her only matching bra and knickers set.

  Chapter Fifteen

  CHLOE

  Chloe slid her favourite silver bangle onto her wrist, tucked her hair behind her ears, checked her reflection in the mirror one last time and headed downstairs. Already the old house was alive with the murmur of voices and the regular chime of the doorbell as more guests arrived. The air smelt of pine needles and sausage rolls but, even though she hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast, Chloe wasn’t hungry. Her stomach was too busy tying itself in knots to worry about food.

  When she reached the turn in the stairs, she paused, her hand gripping the bannister as she scanned the entrance hall and the drawing room beyond for Ben or his dad. Her grandfather was holding court by the fire. Rory was helping an elderly neighbour out of her coat. Next to the Christmas tree, Pete was chatting to her mum, a bottle of Becks in his hand. He looked different out of his chef’s whites. More relaxed. Her mum, who was wearing a sapphire-blue dress Chloe hadn’t seen before, was laughing at something he’d said. Not a polite chuckle but a proper belly laugh with her head thrown back and her neck exposed. At the base of her neck, a solitaire diamond necklace sparkled in the candlelight. Chloe was glad to see her mum had pinned her hair up. It suited her. Made her look sophisticated. Elegant. Most of her friends’ mums were heading towards their fifties and had saggy faces and thickening waists. Her mum didn’t often make an effort, but when she did, she looked amazing, and Chloe felt a flicker of pride.

  Her eyes flitted over the rest of the room, resting on a dark-haired man standing at the bottom of the stairs, watching her mum and Pete. She could only see the back of his head from her vantage point, and for a second she thought it was Adam. Her heart fluttered anxiously. But when she looked again, she realised he was too short, too stocky. It was Patrick. She didn't know why her mum had invited him. He was as smug as he was smarmy, and she hated the way he ordered her mum around at work as if she was his personal servant.

  Chloe pulled a face as Patrick blew into the palm of his hand and sniffed his breath, before crossing the room. He whispered something in her mum’s ear, then took her elbow and guided her away from Pete towards the silver-plated bowl of mulled wine that sat on the sideboard like a witch’s cauldron. After pouring a generous helping for her, they chinked glasses, Patrick’s face cracking into a self-satisfied smile.

  ‘Tosser,’ Chloe muttered under her breath.

  ‘You’re not referring to me, I hope,’ said a voice at her shoulder. She spun on her heels and came face to face with Adam. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you jump.’ He dipped his head towards the stairs. ‘I was looking for the loo.’

  ‘The cloakroom’s downstairs. The door opposite the kitchen.’

  ‘Someone was in that one. Tell me, who’s a tosser?’ Adam asked, joining Chloe by the bannisters.

  ‘Mum’s boss. Patrick. The guy in the DJ.’

  Adam followed her gaze. ‘The little fella who has her virtually pinned to the wall?’

  Chloe nodded. ‘He thinks he owns her.’

  ‘In that case, she needs rescuing by a knight in shining armour. Luckily, I know just the guy. But before I do, I wanted to check you’re still all right with everything.’

  Chloe looked over her shoulder to check no-one was listening. ‘The accident, you mean?’ she whispered.

  ‘The accident,’ he confirmed. ‘What did you tell your mum?’

  ‘That my friend Annie’s mum gave me a lift home.’

  ‘And she believed you?’

  ‘She had no reason not to.’ Because I never lie to her, Chloe almost added. Not until this.

  ‘Good girl.’ He placed a hand on her arm for the briefest of seconds. ‘I’ll go and rescue your mum from Patrick the Tosser, shall I?’

  Chloe watched him jog lightly down the stairs. It wasn’t until he’d reached the bottom that she thought to call, ‘Where’s Ben?’

  Adam paused, his hand on the newel post. ‘Here somewhere,’ he said, waving a hand at the drawing room. ‘But don’t worry about looking for him. Knowing Ben, he’ll find you first.’

  Chloe made a beeline for the mulled wine. If she had to spend the evening with a boy she’d just dumped she needed a bit of Dutch Courage. She wasn’t a big drinker, unlike some of her friends who seemed to treat the consumption of alcohol as a competition to win at all costs. She hated the room-spinning, stomach-flipping, befuddled sensation of being truly bombed. But she wasn’t averse to the lightheaded, inhibition-busting merriness of a couple of drinks.

  She used the silver-plated ladle to pour herself a glass, sniffed cautiously and took a sip. The mulled wine tasted of cinnamon, oranges and cloves. It was sweet and warm and actually not too bad. She took another slug, and another, enjoying the sensation of the alcohol burning the back of her throat. Before she knew it, her glass was empty, and she filled it again.

  ‘Hello gorgeous,’ said Uncle Rory, appearing by her side. ‘You couldn’t give me a hand with the canapés, could you?’

  Chloe set her glass on the table and followed him into the kitchen. Plates of food covered every surface. There was enough to feed a small army.

  ‘I think it’s going all right so far, don’t you?’ Rory said, unwrapping clingfilm from a platter of blinis topped with smoked salmon and creme fraiche.

  ‘I guess.’

  ‘Your mum seems to be enjoying herself, anyway. The suitors are lining themselves up. I was rather hoping Patrick and Adam might hold a medieval-style duel to win her affections.’

  Chloe pulled a face. ‘I hope they don’t. It would be so lame. And anyway, what about Pete?’

  Rory popped a blini in his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. ‘They’re just good friends, aren’t they? Unless there’s something you're not telling me?’

  Chloe shrugged. Rory was probably right. Pete and her mum had been friends since like forever. If he’d wanted to make a move, he would have done by now. ‘Adam and Patrick then,’ she agreed.

  Rory picked up a tray of brie and cranberry filo tarts.

  ‘Ready?’ he asked.

  ‘Why do I feel like I’m at work?’ Chloe grumbled, picking up the platter of blinis and following him out of the kitchen. But she didn’t really mind. It was better to have something to do. It would pass the time quicker. And the mulled wine was starting to work its magic, the alcohol pulsing through her veins, settling the butterflies in her stomach and bathing everything in a rosy glow.

  Chloe painted a smile on her face and stepped into the drawing room.

  Chapter Sixteen

  CHLOE

  After three circuits of the room, the platter was empty save for a forlorn frond of dill and a blob of creme fraiche. Chloe made her way back to the kitchen for a refill. Humming to herself, she pushed the door open.

  Sitting at the table was a hunched figure, face hidden by a hood. Long, pale fingers curled around a bottle of beer. Chloe gave a little squeak of surprise.

  ‘Hello Chloe,’ Ben said, pushing the hood off his head and staring at her with emotionless eyes. ‘How’re things?’

  ‘Um, fine thanks. You OK?’

  ‘Oh, you know, I’ve been dumped by my girlfriend and dragged along by my dad to a crap party full of old biddies in the middle of fucking nowhere because he fancies my ex-girlfriend’s mum. But otherwise, yeah, I’m absolutely fantastic.’

  Chloe flinched at his naked hostility.

  ‘Nice house, though,’ he continued. ‘You didn’t tell me you lived in a manor house. No wonder you don’t want to go out with me.’

  ‘It’s not our house. It’s my Grandpa’s. And it’s basically falling down, anyway. But that’s not why I don’t want to go out with you. I don’t care about stuff like that.’

  She glanced over her shoulder, hoping Uncle Rory - anyo
ne - would walk in and diffuse the tension in the room. But the hallway was deserted. Ben took a long draught of beer and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

  ‘Can I have another?’

  ‘Of course.’ She darted to the fridge.

  ‘I may as well get shit-faced. There’s nothing else to do.’

  ‘A couple of the guys I work with at The Willows are here somewhere. They’re good for a laugh. I could introduce you?’

  Ben shook his head. ‘Sit and talk to me for a while, Chloe.’

  She paused.

  He tugged at the neck of his teeshirt.

  ‘As friends. Please?’

  ‘Sure.’ What harm could it do? ‘I’ll get my drink. Won’t be a minute.’

  The buzz of conversation in the drawing room was growing louder. Someone - Uncle Rory probably - had turned off the main lights, so the fairy lights on the Christmas tree, the glow of the fire and a few strategically-placed candles illuminated the room. Chloe’s glass of mulled wine was still on the table by the punch bowl. She downed it in one and poured herself another ladleful. That would be her limit. Any more and she’d pay for it in the morning. On her way back to the kitchen, weaving through the throng by the fire, she brushed past Patrick, accidentally clipping his elbow. His drink slopped over the top of his glass onto the sleeve of his dinner jacket.

  He stopped mid-sentence and brushed furiously at his sleeve. Droplets of wine splashed onto the carpet.

  ‘So sorry,’ Chloe said, her hand flying to her mouth.

  ‘I’ve just had the bloody thing dry-cleaned,’ Patrick spluttered.

  ‘Come here.’ Chloe’s mum stepped forwards and plucked the silk handkerchief from Patrick’s top pocket. She dabbed at the small red stain on his sleeve. ‘That’s better.’ She folded the handkerchief, popped it back in his pocket and patted his shoulder. ‘No harm done.’

  Patrick puffed out his chest like a cock pheasant. ‘I suppose not. But watch where you’re going next time, young lady.’

  Chloe glanced at Adam, who had been watching the whole exchange with a look of amusement on his face. He met her eye, winked and mouthed, ‘tosser’. Swallowing a giggle, she sashayed back to the kitchen.

  Ben had finished his second beer, and Chloe fetched him another before plonking herself down at the table. Three glasses of mulled wine on an empty stomach had left her light-headed and giggly. She smiled brightly.

  ‘How’s school?’ she asked Ben.

  Her mind wandered as he launched into a convoluted story about his history teacher, who hadn’t even started a module they needed to cover before their mocks in January. She rested her chin in her hands and gazed at him. There was no doubt he would be as good-looking as his dad one day, but he was still in that awkward in-between phase when he was neither boy nor man. Narrow shoulders, a crusty-red spot on his chin that he’d obviously picked, a couple of blackheads between his eyebrows that her fingers itched to squeeze and dark brown, slightly too long hair that, frankly, needed a date with a bottle of Head and Shoulders. Chloe tried unsuccessfully to swallow down the snigger that rose in her throat. Ben's eyes narrowed.

  ‘What’s funny about the fact that my history teacher’s a useless arse?’

  ‘Nothing. Sorry. Just feeling a bit tipsy. I don’t know why. I haven’t had that much to drink.’

  His face cleared. He pushed his chair back and reached into the fridge. ‘I don’t know why you’re worried. Tipsy is good,’ he said, handing her a bottle of beer.

  ‘Yeah, tipsy is good,’ she repeated, clinking her bottle against his, her earlier resolve melting like ice in a gin and tonic on a hot summer’s day. She took a slug of the beer. After the aromatic, syrupy mulled wine, the lager tasted fizzy and sharp and ridiculously refreshing. She tipped the bottle back and drank deeply before smiling coquettishly at Ben. ‘But drunk is better.’

  Chapter Seventeen

  KATE

  Kate leaned on a sideboard and surveyed the room. Neighbours and friends from the village, usually only ever seen in wellies and Barbours, were rosy-faced and brimming with bonhomie as they knocked back the booze. Her father, settled in his favourite armchair with a glass of brandy, watched the proceedings with a benign smile. Rory was working the room like a pro, topping up drinks and flirting indiscriminately. The kids from work had left shortly before nine, headed for a club in town.

  Kate had finally managed to escape Patrick’s clutches when he’d disappeared in search of a glass of water. Alone with Adam at last, her shoulders slumped when his phone rang. He listened to the voice on the other end with a set jaw.

  He touched her arm, and she felt a fizz of desire.

  ‘Everything OK?’

  ‘Work crisis. I need to make a quick call.’ His grip tightened a fraction. ‘Don't disappear.’

  She held his gaze. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’

  As she watched him leave the room, Rory appeared by her side with a fresh glass of prosecco. He led her to a small sofa in the window, and they sat in companionable silence. Kate slipped off her shoes and massaged her feet.

  ‘See, everyone’s having a whale of a time,’ Rory said after a while. He dipped his head towards their father. ‘Especially Pa.’

  ‘Yes, you were right,’ Kate said. ‘It’s been fun. Have you seen Chloe?’

  Rory made a face. ‘I think she might be a teensy bit the worse for wear.’

  Kate’s head snapped around. ‘What d’you mean?’

  ‘The last time I saw her, she was dancing in the kitchen. Trying to, anyway. Don’t worry. I made her drink a glass of water and left her in Ben’s capable hands.’

  Despite her proximity to the fire, a chill ran down the back of Kate’s neck.

  ‘Ben?’ she said sharply.

  Rory nodded. ‘Seems like a nice lad. Why are you looking at me like that?’

  Because there’s something not quite right about him. Because he’s got a thing for my beautiful, golden daughter and she doesn’t even realise it. Because he makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

  But it sounded ridiculous. Paranoid. Ben was a teenage boy with a crush, like a million other teenage boys with crushes the world over. She was over-reacting.

  ‘Like what?’ she said.

  ‘It doesn’t matter. Chloe’s fine, I promise. If you’re that worried, go and find her. But before you give her an earful, remember you were seventeen once, too. And not that long ago.’

  Kate rolled her eyes, handed him her glass and marched off towards the kitchen. She didn’t mind if Chloe was drunk as a skunk. But it was so out of character.

  Ben was standing at the kitchen sink, staring out of the window with his hands in his pockets.

  ‘Where’s Chloe?’ Kate barked.

  He turned around slowly and gave a laconic shrug.

  ‘No idea, mate.’

  Mate?

  She gave a tight smile. ‘But she was here in the kitchen with you, wasn’t she?’

  ‘She was, and now she isn’t,’ Ben slurred.

  He’d taken his hands out of his pockets and was holding onto the sink. Kate realised he was very, very drunk.

  ‘Did she go to bed?’

  He swayed slightly and lifted his bloodshot eyes to meet hers. ‘Not with me.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ she snapped, any vestige of patience long gone.

  He burped under his breath and turned back to the window. ‘Nothing.’

  Kate noticed tracks of dirt on his jeans. Clumps of mud on his trainers. ‘Have you been in the garden?’

  ‘Chloe said she was gonna puke, so I helped her outside. She was sick on the patio.’

  ‘Is she still out there?’ Kate was already halfway to the door with a growing feeling of dread. It was freezing out there.

  ‘Nah.’

  ‘So where the hell is she?’ she said.

  ‘She's in bed,’ said a voice behind her. Kate whipped around. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out.

&nbs
p; Adam stepped into the kitchen. ‘It’s OK, Chloe’s fine. Just had a bit too much to drink.’

  Kate gripped the back of the nearest chair. ‘How did you…?’

  ‘I went outside to make my call and found her in the garden. She’d been sick and had worked herself into a bit of a tizzy. I helped her upstairs and was coming down to find you.’

  ‘I’d better go and see if she’s all right.’

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ Adam said. He turned to his son, who was swaying slightly. ‘For Christ’s sake, make yourself a coffee and try to sober up before we go home.’

  As Kate followed Adam out of the room, she caught Ben glowering at his father, his middle finger raised in a drunkenly deliberate act of defiance.

  ‘I tried to clean her up a bit,’ Adam said as they headed upstairs.

  ‘Stupid, stupid girl,’ Kate muttered.

  ‘Don’t be too hard on her. Getting wasted is a rite of passage. She’ll be fine once she’s slept it off.’

  The bedroom door was closed, but for once, Kate didn't bother to knock.

  Chloe was curled on her bed, her hands clutching her stomach, and her hair fanned out on the pillow. She was still fully clothed but was only wearing one boot which, Kate registered, was also covered in mud. Her pink plastic bin had been left on the floor beside her bed. The room was heavy with the scent of vomit.

  Chloe raised her head slowly and when she saw her mum, burst into tears.

  Kate, unsure whether she wanted to hug or throttle her daughter, took her hand. It was as cold as stone.

  ‘I feel terrible,’ Chloe moaned. She pulled herself to a sitting position. Her eyes widened, and she clamped her hand over her mouth. Quick as a flash, Kate whipped the bin off the floor. She rubbed Chloe’s back as she emptied the contents of her stomach onto the balled up paper, pencil shavings and empty crisp packets lurking at the bottom.