And then I do hear it. A second footstep in time with mine, then faster than mine, and muffling a shriek into my scarf I start to run, too frightened to look over my shoulder at whoever is chasing me, too scared to slow down even though my chest is hurting through lack of oxygen. I tear through the tunnel and out the other side, only slowing when I am out into the daylight. A burly man walking an English bull terrier gives me a curious glance as I bend at the waist sucking in gasping lungfuls of air.
I raise my eyes to the tunnel, but it is dark. No one comes running from the mouth of it, and after a few seconds a cyclist whizzes through, legs pumping, eyes hidden by sunglasses.
Idiot, I think again, there wasn’t anyone chasing you, you didn’t even hear footsteps. It was a bloody cyclist.
Straightening up, I start to walk again, a thick, hard lump in my throat. Maybe Rupert is right. Maybe I am just imagining it all.
‘Emily!’ Amanda opens the door with a grin, ushering me through into the huge kitchen, where I take off my coat and sink gratefully into a chair, my body still sticky with sweat from my impromptu run.
‘Sorry, I’m a bit early,’ I say, glancing at the clock. Sadie isn’t here yet. ‘It didn’t take me quite as long as I thought it would to walk over.’
‘Oh God, you didn’t go through that dodgy underpass, did you? I’m always terrified walking through there; I’m convinced that someone is following me every time I walk through it.’
‘It was fine,’ I lie, saved by the sound of the front door slamming closed, as Sadie makes an appearance, dramatically kissing Amanda on the cheek and complaining about the traffic.
‘Emily—’ she kisses my cheek too, leaving a jammy red lipstick stain on my skin, ‘gosh, you are keen, aren’t you? I thought I was the early one! Still, I suppose you didn’t have much to do this morning, did you? Amanda, please tell me you got some of those gorgeous little macarons. We have to let Emily try them!’
I smile, though the thought of eating anything right now, even ‘gorgeous little macarons’, makes me want to heave.
‘Ladies, it feels like ages since we were all together,’ Sadie announces, as she pops the cork on a bottle of champagne. I groan inwardly – Sadie is only ever concerned with every event being a party – and I am too exhausted to try and battle the headache that is sure to follow drinking champagne at one o’clock in the afternoon. Amanda also doesn’t look too thrilled by Sadie’s decision to get the booze out.
‘I’m not sure I fancy it, to be honest,’ I say to Sadie. ‘I’ve got a bit of a headache already and you know that champagne doesn’t agree with me.’ Not strictly true, and Sadie knows it but as I suspect, she doesn’t challenge me.
‘You do look a little bit peaky,’ Sadie says, lowering the bottle. ‘Are you feeling OK? Look at her, Amanda. Doesn’t Emily look a bit pale?’
‘I suppose so. A bit tired, maybe.’ Amanda shrugs, before she turns to the oven to pull out the macaroni cheese. ‘Sorry, ladies, it’s only something simple I threw together.’
It doesn’t look thrown together. It actually looks quite fancy, if macaroni cheese can look fancy. ‘Looks delicious,’ I say, even though the heavy smell of cheese is turning my stomach.
Amanda gently puts the steaming hot dish of pasta on the table, rips off her immaculately clean oven gloves and slides into her chair with a sigh. ‘Gosh, I’m starving. Dig in, ladies.’ She raises a hand as Sadie goes to pour her a glass of champagne. ‘Oh no, Sadie, not for me. I’m with Emily today, I’m afraid.’ Sadie pouts, but reaches for the glass jug of fruit-infused water on the table and fills both our glasses up, before pouring champagne for herself. As Amanda spoons the cheesy pasta onto my plate, I have to fight back a wave of nausea.
‘Will you excuse me for just a moment?’ I shove my chair back, startling both women. ‘I just need to use the bathroom.’
Rushing from the room, I press my hand against my stomach as it swoops and swirls, slamming the lock home on the bathroom door. I lean on the sink and take a deep breath before running the cold tap and splashing water on my face and wrists to cool myself down. I raise my eyes to the mirror, to my reflection staring back at me. Sadie is right, I do look awful. I think of Rupert and I together in Sadie’s downstairs loo at her Easter party, my face flushed, my eyes sparkling as I watched us in the mirror. Today, by contrast, my face is pale, dark circles smudge the skin under my eyes, despite the caking on of concealer, showing the lack of sleep I’ve had. I flush the toilet for effect and splash my face with water once more, drying my cheeks on the soft, almost linen-feel paper towels that Amanda has left out for her guests. As I step on the pedal to raise the lid of the bin, something catches my eye. Leaning down, I pick it up, careful not to touch the end, and look back at myself in the mirror. This explains why Amanda doesn’t want a glass of champagne.
When I return to the table the two women are a little flushed and giggly. I sit back down, apologizing for rushing off so quickly, as I
