Tilly Bagshawe 3-book Bundle: Scandalous, Fame, Friends and Rivals. Tilly Bagshawe

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      ‘Yeah, back when dinosaurs roamed the earth,’ said Jack, looking disdainfully at the dregs in his friend’s glass. ‘You’ve been standing there for over an hour. What do you want?’

      ‘Fine,’ grumbled Horatio, emptying both his pockets of change and dumping the contents noisily onto the polished wood of the bar. ‘What’ll that get me?’

      ‘About half a pork scratching,’ said Jack, scooping up the coins while the landlord glared at him, disapproving. ‘For God’s sake, I’ll buy you a whisky myself but you have to promise to snap out of it. You’re scaring away the paying punters.’

      Jack was right. He was in a funk, and he did have to snap out of it. But it was easier said than done. It was all right for Jack. He had a girlfriend, Kate, who was mad about him. He also had rich parents who lived in Cambridge, which meant a warm, festive house to go back to every night, and a decent holiday job at the Mitre. Horatio, on the other hand, was living in an unspeakably dismal youth hostel until term started again, with no job, no money and, most depressingly of all, no girlfriend.

      He could have had a girlfriend. Could have had any number of them, as Jack was fond of pointing out: Louise Halabi, Caitlin Grey, Jenna Arkell. All pretty, accomplished, fun-loving girls, all eager to show Horatio that there was life beyond the professor who barely registered his existence, still less his love. But to Horatio, that was like saying he could have gone home for Christmas. It implied he had control over his own actions. That he was the sort of person with willpower strong enough to tear himself away from the city where he knew Theresa would be; where he stood an off chance of bumping into her occasionally, or even arranging to meet over a mince pie on the pretence of developing his thesis.

      It wasn’t that he didn’t hope his love for Theresa would lessen. Ever since she’d turned him down last spring, he’d been waiting for reality to sink in. He woke up every morning determined to get over her. But then he would catch sight of her again, papers fluttering out of her grip as she stumbled clumsily through college, like a beautiful mole unused to the sunlight, and it was all over. One taste of the sweet hopelessness, and he was lost, shipwrecked on a vast ocean with no land in sight.

      ‘Get that down you.’ Jack slid a single shot of whisky across the bar. Horatio sipped it cautiously. ‘It’s not poisoned.’ Jack looked offended. ‘You don’t have to drink it like a girl.’

      ‘I do if I’m going to stay here. I can’t afford to order anything else.’

      Jack’s face suddenly darkened. ‘Uh oh.’

      Horatio looked up curiously. ‘What?’

      ‘If I tell you, you have to promise me you won’t make a scene. I like working here.’

      ‘I never make scenes. What?’

      ‘Your Mrs Robinson has just walked in. Staggered in, actually. She looks three sheets to the wind.’

      Horatio spun around so fast he slipped off his bar stool. There, indeed, was Theresa, standing by the door, swaying gently but rhythmically, like a sailboat in the breeze. Her divine mountain of red hair was wet and dark, stuck to her head with snow, and her long skirt and sheepskin boots were also soaked through to the point where they made a sloshing sound when she walked. Her pale cheeks were flushed, her eyes glassy. There was no question she was drunk. Horatio’s eyes lit up with delight when he noticed she was wearing his scarf, but his happiness soon evaporated as Theresa staggered forward, falling into the arms of a surprised young couple enjoying their fish and chips by the fire.

      ‘You’d better do something,’ Jack whispered. ‘The boss’ll throw her out in a minute. He’s clamping down on hurlers.’

      The very idea that anyone might consider Theresa a ‘hurler’ filled Horatio with chagrin, but now was not the time to argue the point, especially as she looked as green as her scarf after her tumble and, if truth be told, distinctly nauseous.

      ‘Let me help you.’

      Theresa blinked groggily. ‘Horay … Hooray … Horay-show? Whaddayou doing here? ‘S Chrishmas.’

      ‘I know. Here, take my arm.’

      ‘Why? Where’re we going? You shun’t be here, you know. ‘S Christmas. ’Tis the season to be jolly, fa la la la la!’ She dissolved into giggles. Jack shot Horatio a meaningful glance.

      ‘I’m taking you home,’ he said, ushering Theresa out into the freezing night air before she had a chance to resist. Outside the cold was sobering, but not sobering enough. At seven o’clock it had been pitch dark for hours. Street lamps flickered pale gold above the snowy cobbles. Somewhere in the distance, bells were still ringing. Theresa clutched Horatio like a drowning man reaching for driftwood.

      ‘I’m drunk,’ she murmured sleepily.

      ‘I know.’ Horatio felt the damp weight of her body pressed against his thick winter coat and felt weak with longing. All he wanted was to sweep Theresa up into his arms and kiss her, but of course he couldn’t, not in this state.

      ‘’S’all Theo’s fault, bloody bastard,’ she mumbled into his lapel. ‘Why can’t he leave me alone? I mean, really, ’sthat too much to bl’dy ask?’

      ‘Where do you live?’ asked Horatio, who had no idea what she was talking about. ‘It’s too cold to talk out here and you’re soaked to the bone. I could take you back to college?’

      ‘No,’ said Theresa firmly. She’d been drinking since noon, ricocheting from one pub to the next getting progressively more depressed at the thought of Theo’s imminent arrival. Though extremely drunk now, she was not quite paralytic enough to think that staggering back to Christ’s in this state, on the arm of one of her students, was a good idea. When she woke up tomorrow she would feel like death, but she’d rather feel like death in her own bed, with only her cats as witnesses. ‘I’ll go home. S’all right. I can get a cab.’

      ‘Not in this state you can’t, no one’ll take you,’ said Horatio matter-of-factly. ‘I’ll drive you. I’m parked round the corner and I’ve only had one beer all night.’

      Too tired to argue, Theresa followed him. By day, Horatio’s ancient Datsun looked like the death trap that it was. Right now, to Theresa’s bleary eyes anyway, it looked like a welcoming oasis of warmth and safety. She climbed into the back seat, sprawled out across it and fell deeply asleep.

      When she woke, she found herself on the couch in the living room at Willow Tree Cottage, wrapped in a blanket, a freshly laid fire crackling to life in front of her. Disorientated, she sat-up, and then immediately lay back down again, clutching her head and groaning.

      ‘Here.’ Horatio handed her some revolting-looking liquid, fizzy and amber-green. It reminded her of cat sick.

      ‘No thanks.’

      ‘Drink it. Trust me. I’ve made you Marmite toast for afterwards, to take the taste away.’

      Like a child, Theresa drank. If possible, the liquid tasted worse than it looked. She retched, but with an effort managed to keep it down.

      ‘Good. Now try some toast. Small bites.’

      The sour tang of the Marmite felt good, cutting through her nausea like a knife. ‘Thanks,’ she said weakly. She looked СКАЧАТЬ