‘Don’t you dare dribble on me again,’ I said to Miriam as I climbed into the taxi.
‘I’ll go in there on my own, if you want me too,’ she said petulantly, gesturing towards the boot.
I shrugged. ‘Could be quite cosy with a blanket.’
‘I won’t dribble, I promise.’ She grinned and slid across the back seat towards me. Romy climbed in after her, while Hugh opened the front passenger door and took his seat next to the driver.
‘What a perfectly lovely evening,’ said Romy. ‘I thoroughly enjoyed that.’
‘Who did you sit next to?’ I asked.
‘Well,’ she furrowed her brow in thought, ‘I ended the evening between Suzanna and Pete. Before that I was between David and Miriam and I started the evening between Jon and,’ she leaned forward and touched Hugh’s arm, as he finished giving the driver instructions, ‘of course, Hugh.’
He turned and offered her a smile which once again made me think how very attractive he would be if only he never actually spoke.
‘Indeed,’ he said. ‘I very much enjoyed our conversation, Romy.’
‘You kept me in absolute stitches, Hugh,’ she laughed.
‘Did he?’ I asked.
‘Did I?’ echoed Hugh. He looked as doubtful of his comedic talent as I was, but was also clearly delighted. ‘That’s good to hear,’ he said.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘And so interesting.’ She turned to me excitedly. ‘Hugh’s description of how to peel the skin away from the skull was riveting.’
I shuddered involuntarily.
‘Is everyone in the back buckled in, please?’ asked the driver. And upon being answered by yes’s from Romy and I, and one light snore from Miriam, he pulled away.
We arrived at my flat in just under ten minutes. By this time, Miriam was fast asleep and not only snoring loudly but also occasionally talking in her sleep. Her mumblings related largely to the food she had eaten that evening, with the odd reference to Craig’s stupidity thrown in for good measure. Having each shared a home with her, neither Romy nor I were surprised by this behaviour but Hugh found it highly entertaining, and his amusement was contagious. Consequently, we were distracted and laughing loudly as I slid open the car door and began to bid them all goodnight.
None of us spotted the woman waiting at the top of the steps which led down to my flat, until she actually spoke.
‘Alice Waites?’ she said, advancing slowly towards me.
I started at the sound of her voice and all laughter inside the car immediately ceased. She stopped just a few feet from me, her features thrown unflatteringly into relief by the internal light of the car. She had dark brown, almost black, hair and was, I guessed, about my age. She was slim, bordering on thin, several inches shorter than myself and, in normal light, and different circumstances, I suspected she might have been attractive. However, her hair hung ragged onto her shoulders, escaping from what I could see had, at some point that day, been a business-like up-do, and her sharp cheekbones were stained with streaks of mascara. As she addressed me, she appeared perfectly calm. However, this air of serenity, juxtaposed with clear evidence of prolonged crying, served only to unnerve me further.
I was aware of the passenger door opening and of Hugh climbing out. ‘Can we help you?’ he asked her.
She didn’t appear to hear him and stared unblinkingly at me. ‘Alice Waites?’ she repeated.
I nodded. ‘Yes, I’m Alice,’ I said. ‘Is there a problem?’
‘I’m Catherine.’ She forced her mouth into a smile which didn’t quite make it to her eyes. It had the same effect on me as Romy’s reference to face-peeling. ‘And yes, there is a problem,’ she said, her smile widening to deranged proportions, ‘because I’m Stephen’s fiancée.’
And, with that, she covered her face with her hands and began to wail.