Never Close Your Eyes (35 page)

‘Oh.' Nic felt numb. She'd known Julie for years, almost as long as Annabel. Julie had given Nic the deputy features editor job at
My World
.

‘It was terribly unprofessional of me,' she whispered.

‘Nic?'

‘Yes.'

‘Do you want some free advice from a friend?'

‘OK.' She didn't really want it.

‘Get help now, get yourself sorted out. For your family's sake, for Dominic, as well as for you. It's the least he deserves.'

Nic's face and neck felt hot. She wanted to lash out and hit somebody, or curl up and cry. She wasn't sure which.

She straightened up in her seat. ‘Honestly, I don't need help,' she said brightly. ‘I just had a bit too much wine last night and I've got a bug as well, which added to the problem. You know how it is.'

There was silence on the other end.

‘We should go for lunch sometime,' she went on. ‘A non-alcoholic one.' She laughed. ‘It'd be good to catch up.'

‘Bye, Nic,' said Annabel.

It was still only 2.15 p.m. Dominic was having tea with a friend. It was hours before she had to collect him. She fetched her laptop from the bedroom, put it on the kitchen table, plugged it in and started to type. Her fingers flew across the keyboard.

Fuck, if she couldn't be a journalist any more she was going to be a famous author. There was still six months to go before manuscripts had to be finished for the competition. She had time on her hands. She could do it.

‘Beattie hated being back in London,' she wrote. ‘She hated the rain, the drab, grey pavements, the way nobody caught your eye, nobody smiled. She longed to be back in Niger, despite the dangers. She longed to be in the arms of Adamou.'

Nic rolled her shoulders and stretched, glancing through the floor-length windows at the neat, symmetrical garden. It was getting dark. She'd been typing for two hours virtually non-stop. She felt quite excited. She was well over halfway through now and she knew where she was going.

This is what she should be doing, not writing for bloody
Mums
magazine. Stuff them. She felt bad about Annabel, though. Annabel was her friend. Annabel implied that she had an alcohol problem.

Nic bit her lip. She couldn't quite believe that she'd got herself into this situation. She couldn't understand why she'd thought she was somehow different, that she wouldn't become addicted like other people. It was arrogant, apart from anything else. Stupid.

She realised that her tummy was rumbling. Not surprising. She hadn't eaten all day. She always felt better, more human, as the hours wore on and her appetite returned.

She rose, stuck two pieces of bread in the toaster and waited for them to pop up before spreading them with butter and marmalade. She took her plate over to the laptop and started typing again. She hardly tasted what she was eating, she was focusing too much on the screen.

She felt powerful, in control of her plot and characters, a master creator. She wouldn't have a drink till after she'd picked Dominic up. And she'd have only one glass, that was it. Stop at one.

The phone rang. Bugger. Should she leave it? She picked it up.

‘Nic? It's Evie.'

Nic pushed her chair back. She could afford ten minutes on the phone with her friend. She'd count it as her break. She smiled. ‘Hey, how are you?'

Evie talked a lot about Neil. ‘He thinks he can just come here any time he wants,' she complained.

‘Can't you tell him not to?' They'd had this conversation so often. Nic wished Evie would stop being a victim and stick up for herself more.

‘It's difficult, with the kids. I mean, it's important that we stay friendly for their sakes.'

‘You can still be friends without him dropping by every day and treating the house like his own,' Nic pointed out.

‘I know.' Evie sounded crestfallen.

‘What does he think of Steve?'

Evie paused. ‘He doesn't know about him.'

‘Why not?'

‘I don't know, I suppose I'm a little afraid of his reaction.'

‘That's ridiculous,' said Nic. ‘It doesn't matter what he thinks. You can't let him control you.'

Evie sighed. ‘It's stupid, isn't it? When we were married he always told me what to do. I guess it's hard to break the habits of a lifetime.'

‘Doesn't he ever call before he comes?'

‘Rarely,' Evie replied. ‘It's so unsettling for the children. By the way,' she said, thinking of something else, ‘have you heard from Becca recently?'

Nic pondered for a second. They hadn't spoken since the November creative writing group. That was unusual.

‘Not for ages. You?'

‘No,' said Evie. She's probably just really busy at work. We'll see her on the twenty-first anyway. Hopefully she'll make it.'

‘The twenty-first?' Nic was puzzled. Her memory was so bad these days.

Evie sounded almost cross. ‘You know, the Creative Writing Group Christmas party? At your house – in case you've forgotten.'

Nic groaned inwardly. The party was to be in lieu of a formal December meeting. She'd volunteered to host it. It had seemed like a good idea at the time but it was bound to be a drunken affair. She felt as if everything was conspiring against her, as if everyone was determined to make sure that she remained pissed.

‘Oh yes,' she said half-heartedly. ‘Of course.'

She hadn't told Alan yet, not that it mattered. He'd either be out or working upstairs.

A shadow crossed her mind. ‘Can I ask you something?'

‘Sure.'

‘Did Neil ever look at magazines – porn I mean? Or does Steve?'

‘Not to my knowledge.' Evie sounded surprised. ‘Why?'

Nic felt suddenly brave. ‘I think Alan does sometimes – I found some magazines in his study.'

Evie giggled. ‘What,
Naughty Nurses
or
Asian Babes
or something? I'm sure a lot of men like that kind of thing. They must, or there wouldn't be so many on the shelves.'

‘But do you think there's any harm in it?' Nic persisted.

‘Not really. I mean it's all just fantasy, isn't it?'

‘What if the girls look very young?'

Evie hesitated. The hair on Nic's arms prickled.

‘Well, they all look young, don't they?' Evie said finally. ‘I mean, men are terribly predictable. Given the choice, they'd always pick a young, nubile thing over an old bag like you or me. It's just the way they are, the way they're wired. I don't think there's anything to worry about.'

Nic swallowed. ‘I guess not.'

Chapter Thirty-Two

‘God, Nic, you stink of booze.' Nic was taken aback. Dr Kelly looked really concerned.

Nic had booked an emergency appointment. She was lucky to get it, given that it was only three days before Christmas, and many people had stopped work.

She'd stood naked in front of her bedroom mirror this morning and stared. One breast looked larger than the other, unless she was imagining it. She'd flattened her hands and run the palms over both her breasts and up into the armpits, feeling for lumps. The tissue felt soft and smooth as usual. But then, when she stood back and looked again, the right was definitely larger than the left. There must be something wrong.

‘Pop over to the bed and take your top and bra off,' Dr Kelly had said, drawing the sickly pink and green striped curtain around Nic to preserve her modesty. Which was rather unnecessary, Nic thought, given that they were the only people in the room.

Nic had perched awkwardly on the edge of the bed while Dr Kelly looked carefully at both breasts. The surgery was warm, but Nic felt goose-pimply and vulnerable.

Dr Kelly raised an eyebrow. ‘You do realise that it's perfectly normal to have one breast slightly larger than the other?'

Nic nodded. She guessed it was. She felt foolish.

Dr Kelly had come up close to examine Nic more carefully. ‘This might feel a bit chilly . . .' She'd taken a step back and gasped. Presumably the stink of stale alcohol was oozing from every one of Nic's pores.

It had been the St Barnabas's Creative Writing Group Christmas Party last night and they must have drunk at least a bottle of wine each. Nic had also downed a bottle on her own before they arrived. Well, she'd had to. The others couldn't keep pace and it would have been embarrassing to top her own glass up more than everyone else's. Far better to get tanked up in advance.

Alan had been in the office all day catching up on work, despite the fact that it was Sunday. He'd come home when the party was in full swing and headed upstairs quickly. Dominic more or less took himself off to bed. Pamela and the boring members of the group had left at ten-ish, but Nic, Evie, Russell, Jonathan and, surprisingly, Tristram, had continued carousing until the small hours.

Nic, who was still naked from the waist up, looked at Dr Kelly fearfully. She crossed her arms across her chest, but that felt silly, so she uncrossed them again. ‘I had a party last night,' she explained.

‘You must have had an awful lot to drink because you still smell of it. And you look terrible. Your breasts are fine,' Dr Kelly added abruptly, passing Nic her clothes. ‘But what about
you
?'

Dr Kelly was staring at Nic's face now, as if finally deciphering a code that had been written there for years. Nic flinched under the spotlight.

‘Actually, you know, I think I might be drinking a bit too much. I'm not too sure,' she stammered.

‘How much?' Dr Kelly said sharply.

‘A bottle or so of wine a night.' Nic closed her eyes, waiting for some stinging rebuke. But none came.

‘That's not good,' Dr Kelly said matter-of-factly. ‘You should have told me about this before. But there are people who can help, you know, there are organisations that specialise in this. Shall I give you the number?'

Dr Kelly walked over to her desk to look something up in a book. Nic fumbled with her bra and top before joining her. She hovered awkwardly while Dr Kelly wrote something on a slip of paper and handed it across. Nic glanced down nervously. On it was written the name Alcoholics Anonymous and a telephone number.

Nic swallowed, folded the piece of paper into several pieces and shoved it in the back pocket of her jeans. She'd heard of AA, but she didn't associate it with people like her. But Dr Kelly was right, she did need help.

‘Thanks,' she said, genuinely grateful. ‘I'll call them.'

Dr Kelly sat behind her desk and glanced at her computer screen, presumably to check on her next patient.

‘Yes,' she said, ‘they're the experts. And if you want to talk to me again about this you can make a longer appointment.'

Dr Kelly was a very good GP, but she had ten more patients waiting outside and Nic's allotted time was up. Nic staggered out of the surgery feeling dazed. So Dr Kelly thought she was an alcoholic. That was that then. It must be true.

She was confused, though. It wasn't supposed to happen to women like her, with husbands and money and nice homes and two cars in the driveway. She felt for the piece of paper in her back pocket. It was reassuring to know that it was there. But she wouldn't ring today, not with Christmas just round the corner and more parties to go to. There was too much going on.

She opened the door of her car and climbed in. She loved Christmas parties. She loved the decorations, the dressing up, that warm glow of goodwill that seemed to envelop all but the most curmudgeonly, the racing from one event to another with no time to think in between.

She excelled herself at Christmas parties, she was the life and soul, louder, more outrageous, funnier than anyone else. Christmas parties were her stage, her opportunity to perform. No, she wouldn't do anything right now, just before Christmas. She'd wait till early January and act then. That was the sensible thing to do.

She and Alan had been invited to three parties the next day, starting with drinks at noon with the Smiths in Kensington. Nic knew they'd be smart occasions. She wore a stunning multicoloured silk Roberto Cavalli halter-neck top with a ruffle neckline, along with black satin skinny-legged Philosophy di Alberta Ferretti pants and Jimmy Choo sandals. None of your Gap sale rail today.

They raced from the Smiths to the Dwyers in Richmond, where they had more champagne. Nic found herself standing next to a relatively well-known actor. She asked lots of questions; she knew actors loved talking about themselves.

They got on so well that she felt able to ask if she could interview him for a women's magazine. She didn't know which one, but she was sure that she'd find someone who hadn't heard of the Teresa debacle and blacklisted her.