The Weekend Away

by Sarah Alderson

  I turn back to Joaquim. He’s staring at me expectantly, a half-smile playing on his lips. Is he flirting with me or am I imagining it? With all these women in the room – most of them looking like they stepped straight off a catwalk – why would he flirt with me? Or is it because Kate is so clearly making moves on Emanuel he thinks that’s what I’m after too? Or maybe I’m reading it wrong and Portuguese people are always this friendly.

  ‘You want to come with me?’ Joaquim asks, smirking a little as he says it, and I wonder if the double entendre is innocent.

  ‘Maybe,’ I hedge, then immediately feel a flush of shame. What is wrong with me?! I shouldn’t even be hesitating to say no. I have a husband at home right now looking after our nine-month-old baby. ‘Actually, now I think about it, we’re busy all weekend,’ I tell him, smiling politely. ‘We’ve got all these plans to do stuff. Like cycling and things. But thanks.’

  I gulp my drink nervously and almost spit it out, right into Joaquim’s lap. ‘Oh my God, what is this?!’ I splutter.

  ‘Gin and tonic,’ Kate says, shouting across the table.

  ‘I asked for water.’

  ‘I must have misheard.’ Kate laughs before turning back Emanuel.

  Joaquim offers me a napkin. ‘Here.’

  I take it and he indicates my dress where I’ve spilled or spat some drink. I dab at it.

  ‘Excuse me,’ Joaquim is standing up, trying to get past me. I move to let him out and he disappears hurriedly into the crowd. I wonder what I said to make him bolt. I check the time. It’s one-thirty in the morning. ‘Do you think we should go?’ I ask Kate but she doesn’t hear me – she’s flirting too hard with Emanuel, touching his thigh as she emphasises a point.

  ‘Kate?’ I say louder, trying to get her attention.

  She turns to look at me. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Shall we go?’

  ‘What?’ she asks, frowning. ‘We just got here.’

  ‘I’m tired,’ I tell her, frustrated and suddenly angry at her for dragging us here, for foisting more alcohol on me and now for ignoring me as she works to get in some random stranger’s pants.

  She frowns. Emanuel’s hand is brushing her arm, his fingers tracing a circle on her shoulder. Goodness, that moved fast, even for Kate.

  ‘Get a rum and Coke or something,’ Kate tells me. ‘Come on, let’s stay, I’m having fun.’

  You might be, I want to grumble, but I’m not. I’m not single. I’m not trying to pick up a stranger for a one-night stand. I make to stand – deciding to head back alone – but before I can leave Joaquim returns, drink in hand.

  ‘Here,’ he says, offering it to me. ‘It’s water.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I say, grateful and not a little surprised.

  ‘You’re welcome,’ he says with a smile that immediately defuses some of my anger. I move aside to let him get by into the booth, his aftershave filling my nostrils and making me dizzy. My headache starts up again and I realise how drunk I feel, the world blurring at the edges. I down the water in one go.

  ‘Better?’ Joaquim asks.

  I nod, noting he’s sat down closer than he was before, his thigh almost brushing mine and his arm resting again behind my head. Normally I’m the first to get annoyed by manspreading but there’s something about the languid ease of his body and his confidence that’s sexy.

  ‘Cheers,’ he says, tipping his glass to mine. ‘Here’s to new friends.’

  I knock my empty glass to his. I’ll give it five more minutes, I decide. I don’t want to appear rude to Joaquim.

  ‘What do you do, Joaquim?’ I ask, setting the water glass down.

  ‘I run a business,’ he says. He points at his friend. ‘Emanuel and I are business partners.’

  ‘What kind of a business?’

  ‘Design,’ he answers. ‘What about you? What do you do?’

  I’m about to answer that I’m on maternity leave but the split second before I blurt it out I change my mind. ‘I work for a housing association,’ I say.

  He looks at me blankly.

  ‘A charity,’ I explain. ‘Sort of. It helps people on low incomes.’

  He leans in closer, head cocked to one side, as though it’s the most interesting thing he’s ever heard. ‘You help the poor. That’s nice.’

  I study him. Is he being sarcastic? I don’t think so. He looks genuinely curious. I’m so used to English people and their sarcasm that when I meet someone genuinely earnest I’m always suspicious.

  ‘I mean, it’s not that exciting,’ I add, my cheeks warming again under his incessant gaze. Does he have any idea of his effect on women?

  When Joaquim reaches for his own drink his hand brushes my knee, and my pulse leaps and skitters like I’ve been whipped by a stinging nettle. He must have noticed and I feel mortified. I don’t know how to flirt anymore, and definitely not with someone who isn’t my husband.

  ‘You’re married?’ Joaquim suddenly says, pointing at my wedding ring.

  ‘Oh,’ I say. Rumbled, I hold up my ring finger as though I’ve only just noticed it myself and am wondering how on earth it got there. ‘Yes.’

  He cocks his head, a smile playing loosely on his lips. ‘But your husband is not here.’

  I shake my head and my vision swims from the sudden movement. I was hoping the water would help me sober up but instead I feel even drunker. That sip of gin has pushed me over the precipice between mildly drunk and completely wasted. I need to drink more water. Joaquim inches closer to me so our thighs are pressed together and his hand rests against the nape of my neck. Oh God.

  ‘My husband’s at home,’ I blurt out. ‘We’ve got a baby.’

  Kate suddenly interrupts. ‘What say we all go back to ours?’

  I stare at her, my head thick. ‘What?’ I slur.

  ‘We can all jump in the hot tub,’ she says, clapping her hands with glee.

  I shake my head. ‘I don’t think so. I’m tired and I’m not feeling great.’ I widen my eyes at her to indicate that I’m not into the idea but she ignores me completely and turns to Emanuel whose arm has snaked around her waist.

  ‘Sounds wonderful,’ he murmurs.

  ‘Kate,’ I say quietly through clenched teeth. ‘I don’t think it’s a good idea. We have to be up early tomorrow for that e-bike tour.’ I’m already worried at how hungover I’m going to feel. Even with an e-bike I’m not sure I’ll manage to get up those hills.

  ‘It’ll be fine,’ Kate says, dismissing me. She stands up, dragging Emanuel with her by the hand. ‘Let’s go.’ And with that she moves for the exit.

  I rush after her, wobbly on my feet and my head heavy as a bowling ball, my neck a toothpick holding it up. I don’t want these two men to come back to our apartment. It isn’t a good idea. We don’t even know them. But how can I stop Kate? She’s paying for the apartment after all. I can’t really ban them from entering, not without looking like a total bitch.

  By the time I make it outside Kate’s already on her phone, ordering a taxi. Emanuel walks over to Joaquim to confer about something and I rush over to Kate, stumbling and grabbing her by the arm to steady myself. ‘Kate,’ I say in a whisper.

  She shrugs me off, busy with her phone. I pull her arm, tug on it. ‘Did you have to invite them back?’

  ‘What’s the problem?’ Kate asks, looking at me bewildered.

  ‘The problem is I don’t want them to come back,’ I hiss. ‘I just want to go to bed. I’m wasted.’ My words are slurred, I notice, as though my tongue has doubled in size and I’m feeling very woozy all of a sudden.

  ‘Come on. It’ll be fun,’ Kate says with a mischievous look in her eye. It takes me back to so many times in our twenties. We’d be at the petrol station on the corner, buying beer for a party and Kate would get chatting to the person ahead of us in the line. They’d invite her to something else and suddenly we’d be changing our plans and going to a house party or an art opening or one time a wedding. If ever I raised objections to following a random stra
nger who might turn out to be a serial killer, Kate would always shrug it off and say, ‘Come on, it’ll be fun!’ And the thing is, she was usually right.

  We ended up having the maddest adventures, all because Kate was a beacon for fun and would talk to anyone. We partied once in a white stuccoed mansion in Hyde Park, which was owned by a Russian oligarch, discovering by snooping around that there were three floors below ground, including one that housed a shooting range and a subterranean swimming pool that Kate insisted we skinny-dip in.

  We also ended up one time at an event at the Colombian embassy where we got drunk on the free wine being served and ended up stealing a flag, which we only recalled when Kate woke up the next morning and found herself wrapped in it. Another time we ended up joining a protest outside the Shell building because Kate fancied the man on the bullhorn who was riling everyone up. We followed him and his eco-warrior mates back to their squat in Elephant and Castle for a house party that lasted all weekend. Looking back, I barely recognise the person I was back then, before I met Rob.

  ‘We don’t even know them,’ I argue, my voice coming out a lot louder than I intended.

  ‘I don’t need to know them.’ Kate smirks. ‘I’m not planning on having a deep and meaningful conversation with them. I just want to have no-strings sex.’ She nods in Joaquim’s direction. ‘Why don’t you sleep with Joaquim? God, look at him. He’s bloody gorgeous.’

  ‘I’m married!’ I hiss.

  Kate shrugs at me. ‘Rob will never find out. And it’s just sex. It’s not a big deal.’

  ‘Yes, it is,’ I answer but my powers of reasoning seem dulled and confused, as though my brain is encased in lead.

  ‘What happens in Lisbon stays in Lisbon,’ Kate says, grinning wickedly. ‘One night of sin. I won’t breathe a word. God, it might even help you get your mojo back with Rob. Fire up the old furnace. Get you back on the horse.’ She glances at Joaquim. ‘Though he’s more a stallion.’

  I look at Joaquim and my brain, despite the fog surrounding it, manages to conjure up images of us having sex. Maybe it isn’t a big deal, maybe I could sleep with him like Kate’s suggesting and it could all stay in Lisbon, but then cold reality kicks in. ‘No,’ I say, shaking my head. I realise with a start I’m shouting and people are turning to stare. ‘It is a big deal. I can’t … I love Rob.’

  ‘All right, calm down!’ she says. ‘You don’t have to do anything but let me have some fun, won’t you? I deserve it.’

  I can’t argue with that, and even if I could I don’t have a chance to as the taxi arrives. Kate piles in the back with Emanuel jumping quickly in behind her. Joaquim opens the passenger door for me and I get in, slumping unhappily against the door.

  For the whole journey back as I listen to Kate laughing and kissing Emanuel I can feel my irritation building. She’s acting like a teenager. This isn’t the trip I signed up for. I want to go home. I want to see Rob and Marlow.

  ‘We’re here,’ I hear Kate say.

  I stumble from the car, the ground shifting beneath my feet like a rocking deck, and fall against Joaquim who puts an arm around me to steady me.

  ‘Let’s get you to bed,’ he murmurs.

  Chapter Five

  Bleached white light scours my eyeballs. I wince. My head throbs as though an axe is embedded in my skull. I roll over, noting the fact I’m lying under the covers. How did I get here? Memories jostle through the blur, fragments from last night, no whole picture. We went out for dinner, then to a bar. There were two men. I vaguely remember the one I was talking to but I can’t recall his name. He had green eyes, dark hair. Kate brought them back with us. God, I was so drunk. How on earth did I get so drunk? Maybe it was the jet lag? But there isn’t a time difference so that doesn’t make sense.

  I press a hand to my aching, fuzzy head. Oh my God, I feel sick; my stomach is bubbling. A jagged piece of memory rises suddenly to the surface. I threw up last night. I remember leaning over the toilet bowl, gagging, and I can still feel a chemical-like burn at the back of my throat. Was it the oysters? Is that what made me feel so wretchedly awful? Was it food poisoning as well as too much booze? Or maybe a combination? It felt like I’d been anaesthetised and I still feel sluggish, as though my head and my limbs are buried in thick tar.

  The man was there though. I remember that. He held my hair as I heaved over the toilet. I remember feeling desperately humiliated that a stranger was watching. Where was Kate? I have a vague recollection of her shouting – or was she screaming? Or laughing? Why can’t I remember? I must have blacked out.

  As I look around the bedroom I wonder again how I got there. Then it comes to me. Another fragment piercing through the fog. The man carried me to bed. I suddenly see his face, hovering over me as he laid me down. Asking me if I wanted him to take my clothes off.

  Aghast, I throw back the covers. I’m wearing my dress. Feeling sick, I lurch upright and check I’m still wearing my underwear. I am. The movement makes me dizzy. Or perhaps it’s relief. I take stock. My throat is dry as sandpaper, my skull as fragile as a paper lantern. Any sudden move and I think it will tear. For a few moments I sit on the edge of the bed trying to dredge through my memories of the previous night, desperate to find some clues. Did I have sex with that man? The last thing I remember is him leaning over me. But then what happened? Why can’t I remember?

  Are they still here? My bedroom door is closed. I crane my head to listen but it’s quiet. What time is it? I reach for my phone, sitting on the bedside table, and am shocked to see it’s almost ten-thirty in the morning. I’ve slept through an alarm and three messages as well as a call from Rob. How drunk was I?

  No. It hits me then, stupidly late, that I wasn’t blackout drunk and I didn’t have food poisoning. I was drugged. It’s the only thing that makes sense because there’s no way that amount of alcohol would make me pass out like that. I can only recall one other time I blacked out, back when I was eighteen, at university when someone gave me a glass of straight gin and I thought it would be a laugh to drink it without adding tonic.

  But when could I have been drugged last night? And by who? It must have been the men we were talking to. I remember the one I was talking to gave me a glass of water when we were at the bar. Did he slip something into it? How could I have been so stupid as to accept a drink from a stranger?

  Feeling a surge of bile shoot up my throat I drag myself into the bathroom and lean over the sink, breathing deeply, fighting nausea. When I glance up at the mirror I see my face is wan and pale and my mascara has streaked, giving me raccoon eyes.

  Did I have sex with him?

  It wouldn’t have been sex. It would be rape, wouldn’t it? Shit. Suppressing a mounting panic, I pull off my knickers. They’re dry. I don’t feel any soreness either. Maybe nothing happened. Maybe he just let me sleep. I would know – surely I would know – if something had happened.

  I splash cold water on my face and take a glass from the side and fill it from the tap, drinking it down like a camel. My body demands more and I fill the glass a second time and a third time until my stomach sloshes with water. I ease open the bedroom door and walk into the hallway, on shaky, fever-dream legs.

  The kitchen and living area are empty. There are several water and wine glasses scattered about and an empty wine bottle on the table. I notice Kate’s jacket flung on the back of the sofa and her shoes, kicked off by the sliding door to the balcony. There’s a wet towel lying in the middle of the living room floor and I pick it up. They must have gone in the hot tub.

  I wander outside onto the balcony, squinting against the bright morning sunshine. The hot tub is bubbling away like an unwatched saucepan, and I find Kate’s dress abandoned on one of the sun-loungers.

  I head back inside. Is she in the bedroom? Nervously, I approach the door to her room. What if she’s in bed, passed out with the other guy? Or even with both of them? I wouldn’t put it past Kate. What if they’re having sex right now after an all-night bender? I press my ear to
the door but can’t hear anything so I crack it open and peek in. The shutters are drawn but a sliver of morning light streams through a gap and illuminates the rumpled bed. The contents of her suitcase are still strewn about the room as though they’ve erupted out of her bag, but there’s no sign of the men or of Kate.

  I push open the door more fully and turn on the light.

  ‘Kate?’ I call, crossing to the bathroom.

  There’s no answer and she isn’t in the bathroom either, though I pull back the shower curtain to double-check in case she’s passed out in the bathtub as happened one time in Ibiza.

  ‘Kate?’ I shout, heading back into the living room, feeling a little worm of worry burrowing into my gut.

  Silence greets me. Where on earth is she?

  Chapter Six

  ‘She’s gone,’ I tell Rob over FaceTime. ‘I don’t know where she is.’

  ‘Have you tried calling her?’ he asks.

  ‘Yes, of course, but her phone’s switched off.’ I’ve tried calling at least a dozen times already and each time it goes straight to voicemail.

  Rob frowns. He’s balancing Marlow on his arm. I’ve caught him heading out with her to the park. ‘Did she leave a note?’

  ‘No,’ I say, frustrated at the lack of concern he’s showing. He doesn’t seem to appreciate how worried I am, but perhaps that’s because I haven’t admitted to him that we brought two men back to the apartment last night. How would I explain that?

  ‘She’s probably gone out to get a coffee or to get some food,’ Rob says, batting Marlow’s hands away from his mouth. ‘You said you had a lie-in. She probably didn’t want to wake you.’

  I press my lips together and nod. I told him I’d slept in late and that’s why I missed his calls. I couldn’t bring myself to tell him that I thought I might have been drugged and possibly sexually assaulted. I’ve ruled that last part out anyway – it seems impossible and I don’t want to think about it. And besides, I was worried Rob would be angry and blame me if I told him. And he’d have a right to be. I did flirt with the guy. I didn’t put my foot down strongly enough when Kate insisted they come back to our place. Though, actually, now I come to think about it, I do remember an argument. I recall Kate shouting angrily. But I can’t remember clearly what it was about.