Rachel's Holiday
Page 137
I’d been trying to stay away from the snow because Luke got so narky about it. But a free line was too much to resist. And I was flattered that David was so friendly.
‘Yeah, thanks,’ I said, quickly belting into the bathroom after him.
I got back to Luke
‘Babe.’ He slid his arm around my waist. ‘Where were you?’
‘You know,’ I sniffed. ‘Talking to people.’
I thought I did a pretty good job of hiding my buzz by lurking behind my hair. But Luke pulled me up to look at him and, as soon as he saw my face, he knew. His pupils contracted with anger and something else. Disappointment?
‘You’ve been doing drugs,’ he bit.
‘I haven’t,’ I said, opening my eyes wide with sincerity.
‘Don’t fucking lie to me,’ he said, and stalked off.
I was shocked to see him actually pick up his jacket and leave the party. For a moment, I toyed with the idea of letting him go. Then I could get off my face without anyone breathing down my neck. But things had been so tense with us lately that I was afraid to take the risk. I ran down into the street after him.
‘I’m sorry,’ I gasped when I caught up with him. ‘It was only one line, I won’t do it again.’
He turned to me, his face contorted with anger and pain.
‘You keep saying sorry,’ he shouted, his breath making clouds in the freezing February night. ‘But you don’t mean it.’
‘I am sorry,’ I protested. At that moment I was sorry. I was always sorry when he was angry with me. I desired him most when I thought I was just on the verge of losing him.
‘Oh Rachel,’ he groaned, wearily.
‘Come on,’ I said. ‘Let’s go home and go to bed.’
I knew he couldn’t resist me, that a good ride would shut him up. But when we went to bed he didn’t lay a finger on me.
The next day he was his usual affectionate self, and I knew he’d forgiven me. He always did, yet I felt extremely depressed. As if I’d done a full two grams the night before, instead of just one line. After I’d taken a few Valium the bleakness dissolved and I was wrapped in a warm, fuzzy cradle.
We stayed in on Sunday night, snuggled up on the couch watching a video. Out of nowhere my head filled with a mental picture of me inhaling a lovely, long line of coke. Instantly I felt horribly hemmed in by Luke.
I shifted on the couch and tried to calm myself. It was Sunday night, I was having a perfectly lovely time, there was no need to go out and party. But I couldn’t shake the desire. I had to leave. I could taste gorgeous, acrid, numbing coke, I already felt the rush.
I fought it and fought it, but it was irresistible.
‘Luke,’ I said, my voice wobbling.
‘Babe?’ He smiled lazily at me.
‘I think I’d better go home,’ I managed.
He looked hard at me, the smile gone. ‘Why?’
‘Because…’ I faltered. I was going to say I felt sick, but the last time I’d tried that, he’d insisted on taking care of me. Making hot-water bottles for my imaginary stomach ache, and forcing me to eat stem ginger for my imaginary nausea.
‘Because I’ve a very early start in the morning and I don’t want to disturb you when I get up,’ I stammered.
‘How early?’
‘Six o’clock.’
‘That’s OK,’ he said. ‘It’ll do me good to go into the office early.’
Oh no. Why did he have to be so fucking nice? How was I going to escape?
‘Also I came out without a clean pair of knickers,’ I said in desperation. The feeling of being trapped intensified.
‘But you can collect them before you go to work in the morning,’ he suggested tightly.
‘Not with the early start.’ Panic took hold. I felt the walls of the room were moving in on me. I stood up and began to sidestep towards the door.
‘No, wait a second.’ He eyed me in a peculiar fashion. ‘You’re in luck, you left a pair here and I put them in with my washing.
‘Luke the laundress saves the day,’ he added grimly.
I almost screamed. I could feel sweat pop out on my forehead. ‘Look, Luke.’ I was unable to stop myself. ‘I’m not staying tonight and that’s the end of it.’
His eyes were hurt. But hard.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said frantically. ‘I need a bit of space.’
‘Just tell me why,’ he asked. ‘I mean, five minutes ago you seemed happy. Was it the video?’
‘No.’
‘Did I do something?’ he asked, with what might have been sarcasm. ‘Did I not do something?’
‘No Luke,’ I said quickly. ‘You’re great, it’s just me.’
From his angry, pain-lined face, I saw my words were falling on stony ground. But I didn’t care. Already I was in The Parlour, dancing and doing business with Wayne.
‘I’ll ring you tomorrow,’ I gasped. ‘Sorry.’
Then I bolted for the door, too relieved to hate myself.
In ten minutes I found Wayne and asked for a gram.
‘Put it on the slate.’ I forced an anxious laugh. ‘I’ll be good for cash in a week.’
‘Don’t matter,’ he shrugged. ‘You know what they say – please don’t ask for credit as a bullet in the head often offends.’
‘Haha,’ I said, thinking what a fucker he was.
I eventually managed to persuade him to give me a quarter-gram, which was just about enough to lift that stifling sensation and give me a euphoric rush.
When I got back from the ladies’ he was gone.
To my alarm, the bar emptied out as everyone I even vaguely knew left. But it was only one o’clock. ‘Where are you all going?’ I asked anxiously, hoping to be invited along.
‘Sunday night,’ they said. ‘Work in the morning.’
Work in the morning? You mean they weren’t going on to a party, they were going home to sleep?
In a short time I was on my own, all revved up and no one to party with. I tried smiling at the few people left, but not a single person was friendly. Paranoia started to seep in. I’d no money, no drugs, no friends. I was alone and unwanted, but so reluctant to go home.
In the end I had to. No one would buy me a drink or loan me money. Even though I asked. Humiliated, I slunk away.
‘Yeah, thanks,’ I said, quickly belting into the bathroom after him.
I got back to Luke
‘Babe.’ He slid his arm around my waist. ‘Where were you?’
‘You know,’ I sniffed. ‘Talking to people.’
I thought I did a pretty good job of hiding my buzz by lurking behind my hair. But Luke pulled me up to look at him and, as soon as he saw my face, he knew. His pupils contracted with anger and something else. Disappointment?
‘You’ve been doing drugs,’ he bit.
‘I haven’t,’ I said, opening my eyes wide with sincerity.
‘Don’t fucking lie to me,’ he said, and stalked off.
I was shocked to see him actually pick up his jacket and leave the party. For a moment, I toyed with the idea of letting him go. Then I could get off my face without anyone breathing down my neck. But things had been so tense with us lately that I was afraid to take the risk. I ran down into the street after him.
‘I’m sorry,’ I gasped when I caught up with him. ‘It was only one line, I won’t do it again.’
He turned to me, his face contorted with anger and pain.
‘You keep saying sorry,’ he shouted, his breath making clouds in the freezing February night. ‘But you don’t mean it.’
‘I am sorry,’ I protested. At that moment I was sorry. I was always sorry when he was angry with me. I desired him most when I thought I was just on the verge of losing him.
‘Oh Rachel,’ he groaned, wearily.
‘Come on,’ I said. ‘Let’s go home and go to bed.’
I knew he couldn’t resist me, that a good ride would shut him up. But when we went to bed he didn’t lay a finger on me.
The next day he was his usual affectionate self, and I knew he’d forgiven me. He always did, yet I felt extremely depressed. As if I’d done a full two grams the night before, instead of just one line. After I’d taken a few Valium the bleakness dissolved and I was wrapped in a warm, fuzzy cradle.
We stayed in on Sunday night, snuggled up on the couch watching a video. Out of nowhere my head filled with a mental picture of me inhaling a lovely, long line of coke. Instantly I felt horribly hemmed in by Luke.
I shifted on the couch and tried to calm myself. It was Sunday night, I was having a perfectly lovely time, there was no need to go out and party. But I couldn’t shake the desire. I had to leave. I could taste gorgeous, acrid, numbing coke, I already felt the rush.
I fought it and fought it, but it was irresistible.
‘Luke,’ I said, my voice wobbling.
‘Babe?’ He smiled lazily at me.
‘I think I’d better go home,’ I managed.
He looked hard at me, the smile gone. ‘Why?’
‘Because…’ I faltered. I was going to say I felt sick, but the last time I’d tried that, he’d insisted on taking care of me. Making hot-water bottles for my imaginary stomach ache, and forcing me to eat stem ginger for my imaginary nausea.
‘Because I’ve a very early start in the morning and I don’t want to disturb you when I get up,’ I stammered.
‘How early?’
‘Six o’clock.’
‘That’s OK,’ he said. ‘It’ll do me good to go into the office early.’
Oh no. Why did he have to be so fucking nice? How was I going to escape?
‘Also I came out without a clean pair of knickers,’ I said in desperation. The feeling of being trapped intensified.
‘But you can collect them before you go to work in the morning,’ he suggested tightly.
‘Not with the early start.’ Panic took hold. I felt the walls of the room were moving in on me. I stood up and began to sidestep towards the door.
‘No, wait a second.’ He eyed me in a peculiar fashion. ‘You’re in luck, you left a pair here and I put them in with my washing.
‘Luke the laundress saves the day,’ he added grimly.
I almost screamed. I could feel sweat pop out on my forehead. ‘Look, Luke.’ I was unable to stop myself. ‘I’m not staying tonight and that’s the end of it.’
His eyes were hurt. But hard.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said frantically. ‘I need a bit of space.’
‘Just tell me why,’ he asked. ‘I mean, five minutes ago you seemed happy. Was it the video?’
‘No.’
‘Did I do something?’ he asked, with what might have been sarcasm. ‘Did I not do something?’
‘No Luke,’ I said quickly. ‘You’re great, it’s just me.’
From his angry, pain-lined face, I saw my words were falling on stony ground. But I didn’t care. Already I was in The Parlour, dancing and doing business with Wayne.
‘I’ll ring you tomorrow,’ I gasped. ‘Sorry.’
Then I bolted for the door, too relieved to hate myself.
In ten minutes I found Wayne and asked for a gram.
‘Put it on the slate.’ I forced an anxious laugh. ‘I’ll be good for cash in a week.’
‘Don’t matter,’ he shrugged. ‘You know what they say – please don’t ask for credit as a bullet in the head often offends.’
‘Haha,’ I said, thinking what a fucker he was.
I eventually managed to persuade him to give me a quarter-gram, which was just about enough to lift that stifling sensation and give me a euphoric rush.
When I got back from the ladies’ he was gone.
To my alarm, the bar emptied out as everyone I even vaguely knew left. But it was only one o’clock. ‘Where are you all going?’ I asked anxiously, hoping to be invited along.
‘Sunday night,’ they said. ‘Work in the morning.’
Work in the morning? You mean they weren’t going on to a party, they were going home to sleep?
In a short time I was on my own, all revved up and no one to party with. I tried smiling at the few people left, but not a single person was friendly. Paranoia started to seep in. I’d no money, no drugs, no friends. I was alone and unwanted, but so reluctant to go home.
In the end I had to. No one would buy me a drink or loan me money. Even though I asked. Humiliated, I slunk away.
