huge slug of liquid into his mouth, enjoying the flare of it against his throat as he summoned up courage.
‘Chloe, you do look absolutely gorgeous tonight.’
Chloe gave Mark a curious sidelong glance. ‘Well, thanks, Mark.’
‘I just wanted to tell you, you know…’
‘Okay.’ She looked amused now.
‘Look, do you want to dance?’ Mark asked, regretting it as soon as he said it. He wasn’t a dancer, but the music was slow enough that he might get through it by simply swaying, which, now he thought of it, he seemed to be doing already.
He grabbed Chloe’s hand and pushed his way towards the dance floor. It had been packed earlier, as he watched, but now it had thinned out. However, it was too late to back out, and he wrapped his arms around Chloe’s waist and pulled her tightly to him, beginning to move to the music.
He pressed his mouth against her neck, then put his hand up to cup the back of her head as he leant towards her for a passionate liplock. He felt her tense, then relax into it, and he let himself go, covering her mouth with his own, running his hands up and down her satin-clad back, over her bottom, back up to her waist again.
When the song finished, the next one began at a much faster tempo. Mark had a momentary bizarre urge to break into some silly kind of jig, but as Chloe finally pulled back from him he saw the look on her face. She was flushed and smiling, but also seemed a bit embarrassed. Was she laughing at him? Was he a joke to her?
‘Are you laughing at me?’
She shook her head. ‘Mark, you’re drunk. Come on.’ She grabbed his hand and tried to pull him off the dance floor, but Mark wanted to feel her in his arms again. He said, ‘Chloe, come here,’ and pulled her back, harder than he meant to, and her body met his with a hefty bump, sending them both reeling a few steps, with Chloe trying to regain her balance by clutching onto Mark, and Mark staggering with the weight of trying to right both of them. They only stopped when Mark met the ledge of the stage, fell backwards over it, and landed with a great crash against the band’s drum kit, which let out a simultaneous bang and cymbal clap.
As Mark lay sprawled, with Chloe now recovered and standing over him looking mortified, to their credit the band played on after only the slightest of blips, the drummer and a few nearby people with quick hands managing to steady the kit. But everyone on that side of the room had noticed, and was either staring, laughing, or looking away in awkward embarrassment.
‘Come on, Mark,’ Chloe hissed, pulling him up. He followed her lead, and they made their way over to the entrance hall, Chloe’s head down. Mark saw faces he recognised among the onlookers but didn’t really care, as his head was both pounding and spinning from the combined effects of alcohol and a whack from the drums.
Chloe pulled him all the way outside to the front steps of the building. ‘Sit down,’ she said. He sank onto the cold stone. ‘Do you want me to get you some water?’
‘No, just kiss me,’ he replied, his speech slightly slurred.
‘Mark! I don’t think -’
‘What the HELL do you two think you’re playing at?’
Mark looked around towards the source of the noise. He saw his father bearing down on them, towering over them as they sat on the steps. His face was bright red.
‘Do you think you’re at some kind of school disco?’ he demanded. ‘Where you can grope each other in front of every one, and people will just smile fondly at you? David and Neil are outraged. You’ve disgraced the company, both of you.’
Mark couldn’t take it in. He looked from his father to Chloe, whose eyes were brimming with tears.
‘Dad, hang on…’
But Henry was already hailing one of the waiting taxis, which promptly drew up in front of them.
Chloe dashed up the steps without a word, and returned a moment later with her coat and Mark’s jacket. Henry leaned into the darkened interior of the cab.
‘Take them anywhere,’ he growled. ‘As long as it’s right away from here.’
42
The first night had passed in a blur. Alex had refused to leave Amy’s side, despite a number of voices imploring him to rest. At some points he dozed in the hard-backed armchair in the corner, at others he tried to stay awake on the upright chair by Amy’s bed. His dreams felt more like hallucinations, where he chased Amy but lost her; or was confronted by groups of faceless men who he would attack without hesitation, breaking bones and ignoring screams until his hands were covered in their warm blood. Eventually he dragged the larger chair across to the bedside, and fell asleep for an hour slumped forward, his face buried in the hospital mattress.
During the first twenty-four hours Amy opened her eyes a few times, but she was groggy from the shock and the painkillers, not really registering her surroundings much, blinking wearily, then closing her eyes again.
Alex waited outside while the doctors examined her and collected evidence. When they had finished they gave him encouraging reports. There was some internal bruising and a small amount of bleeding, they said, looking down at their notes as they did so, and they would need to keep an eye on her, but there shouldn’t be any permanent damage. The rest of her wounds were not as severe as they looked. Her shoulder was sprained, and her shin had taken a bad knock but there was no bone break. The cut across her throat looked shocking and would probably leave a scar, but it would fade. The CT scan showed no internal swelling or bleeding to the head, and while the bruises looked nasty they would disappear eventually. The list went on, each item increasing Alex’s burning need for vengeance – but all her physical injuries would heal, and without the need for too much medical intervention.
The psychological prognosis had not been delivered with as much reassurance. The effects of such an experience would be wide-ranging and long-lasting, Alex was warned by Isla and others. Amy would need time and space to react in the way she needed to, and unobtrusive, consistent support over the next days, weeks, months and years. He nodded, trying to take it all in, doing his best to understand what was needed from him; but even then he was not prepared for the first thing Amy said when she opened her eyes properly the following day.
‘I’m so sorry, Alex.’
Her voice took him by surprise, as he had been staring at her hand, stroking it while she rested, feeling groggy and disorientated through lack of sleep, and he hadn’t sensed her waking.
He looked up, trying not to be overcome with emotion at the sound of the familiar sweet voice he had been longing to hear. He tried to smile reassuringly. ‘Hey,’ he cooed in an almost-whisper, his heart constricting in love and pain to see his lovely Amy finally awake. ‘Don’t say sorry, you’ve got nothing to be sorry about.’
Tears began to seep down the sides of her face. ‘I tried to fight them, I promise I did. But I couldn’t… I should have tried harder, I should have done whatever it took, I should have…’
Alex stood up quickly while she was talking. ‘No, Amy,’ he interrupted, trying to stroke her cheek and catch the tears as they fell. He was so stricken by her words that his voice came out much harsher than he intended. She winced at the sound and again at his touch. ‘Don’t say that, please,’ he begged more softly, as her sobs became louder. He looked around desperately for help; he wasn’t sure how to calm her.
A nurse came bustling in. ‘Ssh,’ she said to Amy, reaching across to quickly pour some water into a plastic cup. ‘You’re safe now, my love. Don’t fret. Nothing can hurt you. Here, take these pills, they’ll help with your pain.’
The nurse assisted Amy with the water and the pills while Alex looked on, standing back, feeling useless and pathetic that this stranger could comfort her so easily when he couldn’t.
By the time the nurse left, Amy had closed her eyes again.
She woke up a couple of hours later, and this time she was silent, staring across towards the window as though in a daydream. Again, Alex didn’t know what to say to her, so he tried to fuss to make up for his earlier ineptitude.
‘Amy, I’m so sorry…’
She shook her head. ‘Don’t, Al. Not right now, okay?’
He paused, searching for something to say.
‘Do you want some water?’
‘No thanks.’
