The Missing Wife. Sam Carrington

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СКАЧАТЬ she was still attracted to Oliver Dunmore’s charm and good looks.

      Louisa knew she had to bring herself back to reality. She thought about the woman standing beside Oliver on the stairs. ‘So, you’re married?’

      ‘Yes, but not for long,’ he said, matter-of-factly.

      ‘Oh, I’m sorry …’

      He tilted his head back laughing. ‘No, we’re not separating. I meant she’s not been my wife for long. Married last year.’

      Louisa’s stomach dropped. She urged herself to get a grip.

      It didn’t matter if he was married, so was she.

      Louisa’s gaze bounced from person to person around the room, searching for Emily and Brian. She needed them to interrupt this encounter, give her an excuse to get away. The food on the plate Oliver had put in front of her looked unappetising. It would be physically impossible to consume solids right now; she’d choke on every mouthful. Her pleasant, relaxing night away had rapidly turned into a nightmare.

      ‘Look, I’d best do the rounds, you know – mingle a bit seeing as all these people are apparently here for me.’ If Brian wasn’t coming to save the day, then Louisa had to excuse herself. ‘Thanks for coming. It was … well, good to see you,’ she managed. On trembling legs, Louisa got up and walked across to the nearest table, a fake smile in place to meet and greet her non-friends.

      ‘You’re doing great,’ Tiff said as she handed Louisa a bottle.

      ‘Bloody hell, Tiff – what’s this now? Lager? I’ve had far too much already.’

      ‘Nonsense. We used to put away loads more than this.’

      ‘But I haven’t—’

      ‘You haven’t got to worry about Noah,’ she cut in, ‘and I’m reliably informed you’ve expressed enough milk to feed all the babies in Devon. Let your hair down, woman!’

      Louisa conceded. She had no strength to argue and couldn’t be bothered to correct Tiff’s memory of them drinking loads. It was always Tiff, not Louisa, who had got drunk. But if having more drink now helped get her through the rest of the party and then sleep solidly for eight hours, she’d take it.

      An hour passed with Louisa managing to mingle with a few people, passing the time with basic-level chat, mainly consisting of telling stories about the exploits of their respective children. She’d lost count of how many drinks she’d consumed but she guessed it’d been too many judging by her blurring vision and the reduction in her ability to balance – even while sitting. Her swaying body was beginning to make her feel motion sick.

      ‘I’ll be back in a bit.’ Her mouth had begun to water as a wave of sickness rocked her. Louisa made her excuses and left the table.

      The grass felt tickly and cool under her feet as she walked.

      Where was she?

      And where were her shoes?

      Her handbag was over her shoulder, though. Good, she hadn’t lost that.

      She stopped walking and pulled at it, trying to find the zip. Her fingers finally found the little metal pull. She reached inside. The bag dropped to the ground. Louisa’s eyes couldn’t focus well enough, her right hand swooping several times but failing to pick it up. She’d get it in a minute. She had the packet, at least.

      A voice came from behind her.

      ‘Can I blag one of them off you?’

      Louisa turned unsteadily to face the person who’d asked but she was still staring down at the cigarettes as she blinked several times in a vain attempt to clear her vision. She shook the packet, not trusting her eyes. Damn. Only one. She thought she’d only smoked five. She didn’t want to give her last one to a stranger.

      As she looked up and her eyes finally focused, an image flashed in front of her. It wasn’t like the other ones she’d experienced; this one made each of the tiny hairs on her body tingle and stand erect. She lowered her head again, avoiding eye contact.

      ‘Yeah, go ahead.’ A fear consumed Louisa as she held out the packet containing the single cigarette. This was no stranger; she was sure it was someone she used to know.

       10

       THE HANGOVER

       Saturday a.m. – Day 1 post-party

      It took a few moments for Louisa to remember where she was. It was daytime – the light easily penetrating the pale cream curtains. She didn’t move; she couldn’t. Any movement might make her sick. Had she already thrown up? The taste in her mouth suggested she had. Slowly, she slid her mobile from the bedside table and tried to focus on the display.

      10.23 a.m.

      She stared in disbelief at the time. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d slept in that late, and she had no memory of waking during the night. That had obviously been Tiff’s plan all along – get her blotto knowing she’d pass out and be guaranteed to get solid sleep.

      She didn’t feel all that rested though, just hungover. And that was a feeling she hadn’t had for a very long time. Her head screamed for water so, reluctantly, she eased herself out from under the covers.

      Louisa winced as her feet made contact with the floor. Shit. They felt sore. Bruised. God, please say she hadn’t been dancing barefoot, making a fool of herself in front of her family. Her fake friends.

      Oliver.

      She shivered. It was as if her alcohol-soaked brain had only just remembered he’d been there – and it was reliving the shock of seeing him all over again. Louisa tried to recall if she’d spoken to him again after their first brief conversation. She screwed up her eyes. No. No memory of talking to him. But there was something – some elusive image teasing her, coming to the edges of her memory but no further. She couldn’t capture it. Tiff would more than likely fill her in on the night’s events, though she was probably feeling as rough as Louisa was.

      Like an old woman – hunched and slow – Louisa walked to the table-top fridge in the corner of the room and retrieved a small bottle of sparkling water. The liquid she expected to be flavourless was sour in her dry, foul-tasting mouth, but it refreshed her. As she was about to place it back inside the fridge, a sharp pain, almost like an electric shock, pulsed through her head. She dropped the bottle. Water spread and puddled on the grey carpet.

       Blood.

      Louisa stumbled backwards.

      With her next blink, the vision of the dark red pool had shot away and she was left staring at the water-soaked carpet.

      There was a sharp knock on her door. Louisa took a hand towel from the bathroom, placing it over the spilled water, before opening the door.

      ‘Thank God for that.’ Tiff, her face serious СКАЧАТЬ