Three’s a Crowd (21 page)

She winced. ‘Oh, I couldn't ask you to do that . . . Could I?'

‘You're not asking, I'm offering. In fact, I think I might have to insist.'

‘Really?'

‘Really,' he said, thinking. ‘Whereabouts are you sitting?'

‘We're in the back corner, over on the right as you come in through the door.'

He nodded. ‘All right, I'll come and find you soon, just go along with whatever I do, okay?'

‘What are you going to do?'

‘Haven't figured that out yet, but go along with it, whatever it is.'

Rachel felt so much better as she made her way back to the table. Phil was looking a little despondent as she came closer, perhaps he was thinking she'd done a runner. But then again, he'd looked despondent before she left as well.

‘Hi,' she said, taking her seat again. ‘Toilets are miles away. Thanks for this,' she added, raising her glass and chugging down a couple of mouthfuls. She would not have been quite so cavalier if she didn't know Tom was on his way to rescue her. God, Catherine would have a fit if she heard it put like that, but Tom was a mate, a friend, he was just bailing her out like a girlfriend would. Anyway, she probably wouldn't even mention it to Catherine.

‘So what do you do for a living, Phil?' she asked, to pass the time.

‘We discussed that in our emails,' he replied, a suspicious frown putting a dent in what she just noticed was a very wide, high forehead.

‘Of course,' said Rachel. ‘I'm being too general.' She took another gulp of her wine. Her mind had gone blank, she'd already erased Phil from the ‘need to know' banks of her memory. Come on, Tom. ‘What I meant is,' she resumed, ‘tell me more about your work, what do you actually do, day to day?'

He still looked a little peeved, but she could not have cared less. He launched into a lengthy monologue about systems administration, and Rachel's attention drifted. She wondered what was going on in his marriage to make him seek out women on the internet. Was he just bored? Cripes, listening to him drone on now, Rachel couldn't imagine what his wife was like if she was the boring one.

She hoped instead she was a firecracker, frustrated with his blandness. Perhaps she nagged, which was the only recourse left to her, or worse, maybe she just ignored him. One thing, Rachel was certainly not surprised she didn't want to have sex with him any more.

‘Rachel.'

Finally, that was Tom's voice behind her. She must not look relieved, though she wasn't sure what expression she was supposed to have just yet.

‘I don't believe this,' he continued as he came around beside her, staring down at her.

‘What?' Give me a clue.

‘You said you wouldn't do this any more, Rachel.'

She opened her mouth to speak, though without any idea of what she might say.

‘No, no excuses.' He held up his hands. ‘You're either committed to making this work or you're not, and it isn't fair to keep stringing me along while you decide what you want.'

He turned to look directly at Phil then. ‘Sorry, mate, I guess she didn't tell you she's married.' He glanced at her hand. ‘She's not wearing her ring, so how would you know? She wears it so little she doesn't even have a mark, see?' he added, picking up her hand and waving it across the table at him.

‘Tom!' Rachel snatched it away again. She thought that was a nice touch.

‘And I'm sure she hasn't told you that she's made a hobby of picking up men. Now I admit, I'm no saint, I've had some anger issues, and a few of those guys didn't come out of it so well, but I've been getting it under control, and we're really trying to make it work. At least I thought we were.' He paused ominously. ‘This really hurts, Rachel. And when I get hurt, you know I express it as anger, that's what the therapist said, remember? If you don't come home with me now, I can't be responsible for what I might do.'

‘Tom, you can't threaten me –'

‘No, you should go,' Phil blurted. It was the most animated she'd seen him all night. ‘Do what he says.'

Rachel sighed dramatically, leaning down to pick up her bag from the floor, before standing up and swinging it over her shoulder with a flourish. Tom stood watching her, his arms folded in front of his chest, his face stern. Somehow she had to stop herself from laughing until they got out of sight and out of earshot.

‘Sorry about this, Phil,' she said.

But he was just shaking his head and holding his hands up in surrender mode.

Tom held out his hand and Rachel feigned a moment's hesitation for good measure, before putting her hand in his. Then he turned and walked determinedly through the crowd. She didn't look back at Phil, she didn't want to risk giving the game away.

They pushed through the main doors and stepped out into the night air. Tom turned to her, a twinkle in his eye.

‘No,' she whispered loudly. ‘He might not be far behind us, keep walking.'

Tom kept hold of her hand as he negotiated the traffic and
led them across the road to the promenade edging the beach. They continued at a brisk pace for the equivalent of a block or so, as Rachel kept checking over her shoulder to make sure they weren't being followed. Finally, when she was satisfied they were free and clear, she pulled her hand out of Tom's and gave his shoulder a thump.

‘Ow!' he exclaimed. ‘What was that for? I just rescued you.'

She was grinning up at him. ‘You crazy, crazy man! I could barely keep a straight face. Where did you get all that?'

‘I've watched my share of bad soaps,' he said proudly. ‘I was pretty good, eh?'

Rachel laughed. ‘You might have made him turn over a new leaf.'

‘Then my work here is done,' he said, brushing his hands against each other theatrically.

Her face dropped then. ‘Oh my God, oh no, Tom!'

‘What's wrong?' He looked concerned. ‘Did you leave something behind, your phone?'

‘No, but I made you leave!' she cried. ‘I'm so sorry. You should go back in, I'll be right now.'

‘Nuh,' he shook his head dismissively. ‘I can't go back, what if he's still there?'

Rachel bit her lip. What was Tom doing there anyway? It was none of her business, but she was curious to know who she'd dragged him away from. ‘I feel terrible, hijacking you like that. I've ruined your whole night.'

‘You've salvaged my night,' he corrected her. ‘And you didn't hijack me, I offered, remember. To be honest, I was glad to have an excuse to get out of there.'

‘Oh? Why is that?' she asked, trying not to sound nosey, as they started along the path again at a more relaxed pace.

‘I was with a few of the guys from work,' he explained. ‘They've been threatening to take me out, I knew they were thinking it would “do me good”.' He gave her a sideways glance. ‘When they got wind the girls were gone for the night, they wouldn't take no for an answer.'

‘They were trying to rescue you,' said Rachel. ‘But won't they worry where you got to?'

‘No, I told them before I left,' he said simply.

She looked up at him. ‘What did you tell them?'

‘The truth – that a friend was stuck on a disastrous blind date and needed a way out. They looked a little uncomfortable at first, till I added, “friend of the wife's”, and then they looked really uncomfortable and were only too happy to send me on my way.'

‘Well, I appreciate you helping me out. I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't come along.'

‘Oh, he looked pretty harmless,' said Tom. ‘The worst he could do was bore you senseless, probably.'

She smiled.

‘You can do a whole lot better than him, Rach.'

She looked up and he was watching her.

‘You look nice tonight,' he said.

Rachel stared down at the path, feeling her cheeks go hot, but she doubted Tom would notice in the dim light.

Suddenly he was in front of her, walking backwards so he could face her. ‘Hey, I've got an idea.'

‘What?'

‘Let's go back to your place and be wildly inappropriate.'

She stopped in her tracks, staring up at him wide-eyed.

‘You know, like you said, if I ever want to be inappropriate and pretend I'm not a widower for a night, you're my girl.'

‘Oh,' she said, recovering. ‘Um, okay then. If you really want to.'

‘I really want to, and you promised, and I rescued you, so you owe me.'

She folded her arms. ‘Okay, you made your point. Would you like to come back to my place, Tom?'

‘Got anything to drink?'

‘Um, I think,' she said vaguely.

‘We'll pick up something on the way to be safe.'

At the bottle shop en route to her place, Tom insisted on buying, amongst other things, a bottle of vodka and one of Kahlua and a large carton of full-cream milk so they could make White Russians, like the old days. It had been their special-occasion drink back at Rainbow Street. They used to pool their meagre spending money and buy really cheap vodka, but always genuine Kahlua.
They tried a cheap coffee liqueur once, but it ruined them, so never again. Rachel was pretty sure she hadn't had a White Russian since, and she wasn't all that sure she wanted one now.

But when they arrived at her flat, Tom decided it was the perfect way to kick off. Although she tried to point out that play had actually already started, he went ahead and mixed the drinks and handed her one.

‘To old friends,' he declared, raising his glass in a toast before taking a gulp. ‘Ah, brings back memories.' He stepped out of the kitchen into the living area. ‘So does this.'

‘What?' she said, looking around.

‘You still live like a uni student, Rach.'

‘Shut up, I wasn't expecting company.'

‘You still have to live here.'

She thumped him on the arm again. ‘Listen, it's all very well for you, you've got a wife to –' She gasped, covering her mouth with her hand. ‘Oh shit, Tom, I'm sorry, that was really –'

‘Inappropriate?' he said, plonking down on the lounge. ‘That's what tonight is all about, isn't it?'

Rachel took a large gulp of her drink.

‘Besides, Annie wasn't all that big on housework. I pulled my own weight.' He looked over his shoulder at her, before patting the seat beside him. ‘Come, sit, tell me about this internet wild-goose chase you're on.'

She breathed out then. Good, change of subject. She walked around the lounge. ‘I told you, it was Catherine's idea,' she said, sitting down next to him.

‘And if Catherine said you should jump in a fire . . .?' He raised a fatherly eyebrow at her.

‘It's not like that. She just got a bee in her bonnet after –' This time she managed to stop herself before she made yet another faux pas.

‘After what?' Tom prompted.

‘Oh, after I couldn't remember the last time I'd been out on a date.'

‘And why is that?'

Rachel frowned. ‘Because it's been a long time,' she said, stating the obvious.

‘No, I get that,' he said. ‘But why has it been so long since you've been out on a date?'

She shrugged. ‘No one's asked me.'

‘I don't believe it.'

‘There's a man drought. Don't you read the papers?'

‘No one's come on to you at all?' he persisted. ‘In how long?'

‘Oh, maybe some guy's chatted me up in some bar, some night, but let's just say there haven't been any “genuine expressions of interest”.'

‘Bet there has.'

‘Well you'd lose.'

‘I don't think so,' he said, planting his feet on the coffee table.

She glanced at him. ‘What are you trying to say, Tom?'

‘You would have had plenty of “expressions of interest”, but you don't give a guy the time of day.'

‘What?'

‘It's true. I've seen you in action, and I'm one of the walking wounded.'

Now she turned her head all the way to look at him straight. ‘What on earth are you going on about?'

‘I had a huge crush on you for years.'

‘You did not.'

‘Why do you think I came and sat next to you the first day at uni?'

‘Actually I've always wondered about that. Why did you?'

He just looked straight back at her.

‘Oh, come off it, Tom. We were mates, we clicked, we had the same sense of humour . . .'

‘Yeah, you're right, I could tell all that just by looking at you,' he said deadpan. ‘Guys don't approach girls cold because they think they might have a good sense of humour, Rach.'

She frowned. ‘You didn't . . . not because . . . no, Tom, I'm not one of those girls that guys notice.'

Tom just looked at her. ‘You were – in the parlance of today –
hot
.'

She shook her head with a nervous laugh. ‘You are so full of it, Tom Macklin. A girl knows if she's hot.'

‘In my experience, hardly ever,' he said. ‘The girls who think
they're hot are generally not. The ones who have no idea of the effect they're having . . . they're the ones you fall for.'

Rachel grunted. ‘So why did you have a different girl every weekend?'

‘Hey, I was a twenty-year-old red-blooded male, and it was on tap,' he said. ‘Besides, you never took me seriously.'

‘And I'm not about to start now,' she muttered.

‘Despite all the times I asked you out,' he continued over the top of her.

‘You never asked me out,' she protested.

‘I asked you out all the time,' he insisted.

‘When, where?'

‘The pub, the movies, for a meal.'

She was shaking her head. ‘We were housemates, we went out together all the time like that. I asked you out just as often.'

‘But I bought you presents.'