Sweet Deception (31 page)

My parents looked between us. It was my father who spoke. “What's going on, girls?”

Kate answered, which was just as well, because I had no idea what I'd say to him. “Trust me, Daddy. You don't want to know. But just believe me when I say that Charlotte's gone too far this time.” She gave our parents each a brief kiss on the cheek. “I'll call you tomorrow.”

Everyone watched in disbelief as she and Toby got their coats and left. Before they could switch their attention to me, I turned and headed into the kitchen, away from the party.

Richard followed me. “What was that all about?”

I shook my head, unable to speak. I'd known that telling the truth about Toby was never going to be easy, but what I hadn't anticipated was that people might not believe me. But then why would they? Like Kate had said—I was a drunken slut. Wasn't that what always happened in courtroom dramas? They brought up the victim's sexual history, and no one believed her story anymore. I should never have said anything. I'd kept this to myself for so long now, what was the point of telling the truth? It would just make everything worse.

“I need to get out of here,” I said the words almost to myself.

“Fair enough. I'll come with you.”

“No!” That was the last thing I wanted. Once he knew what had happened he'd reject me, just like Kate had done. And I'd rather end this now than hope he might be different. “Just for once, can't you leave me alone? As I keep telling you, I'm quite capable of looking after myself. I don't need a babysitter. And I don't need you.”

Before he could say anything, I made for the front door. I could hear him calling for me as I ran down the stairs, but I
didn't stop. For the first time in a while, I knew exactly where I was going. Back to the Nick—where I belonged.

Once I was outside, I started walking in the direction of the bar. I wanted to forget the events of the evening, and getting drunk and doing something stupid seemed the best way to make that happen.

It was freezing outside. I could tell that from the way my breath formed white clouds in the chill night air. But I couldn't feel the cold. I was too numb after what had happened. The events of the night kept running through my head—realising what Toby had done to me, and then revealing it to my sister, only to be branded a liar and a slag. So much for opening up.

I stepped forwards and heard the sound of car brakes being slammed along with the beep of a horn. The noise snapped me back to the present. I looked up, raising my hand against the glare of the headlights, and realised I'd stepped into the road and in front of a black cab. I'd been so
caught up in my thoughts that I hadn't been concentrating on where I was going.

The driver, a stocky, bald man in his fifties, leant out the window, his face contorted with anger. “You got a death wish or something?” he shouted.

I stared back at him, uncertain how to answer. He shook his head in disgust, and drove off. Other pedestrians were staring openly at me, obviously trying to gauge if I was drunk or not. I bent my head, turning up the collar of my coat, and hurried on.

I made an effort to take it slower and more carefully after that, paying attention to my surroundings. When I saw a bus heading up to Camden, I jumped on it, and ten minutes later it dropped me near the bar.

A blast of warm, beer-soaked air struck me as I pushed open the door to the Nick and stepped inside. It was just before ten, so it was still fairly quiet, but there were enough people dotted around so that the place didn't feel completely empty. Some old-school rock was playing on the speakers—Guns N' Roses and INXS—and there was a low buzz of chatter.

I looked down at myself, feeling out of place. My new preppy look wasn't suited to the Nick. I headed into the ladies' room. As usual, two of the three cubicles were out of order, one of the sinks was overflowing, and there was no toilet paper. I went to work quickly, having no desire to
spend any more time in there than I had to. My aim was to do what I could to loosen up my look. The skinny black trousers weren't bad, but the top was all wrong. I pulled off my V-neck grey jumper and stuffed it in my bag. The crisp white shirt wasn't ever going to come close to a tank top, but I rolled up the sleeves and undid an extra button, so you got just a hint of cleavage. Luckily, I'd brought my make-up bag, so I applied some thick eyeliner and another coat of mascara, along with red lipstick. Then I unpicked the elegant French pleat, and turned my head upside down, mussing up my hair. I flipped back up and regarded myself in the mirror. A far trashier version of myself stared back at me. I wasn't completely back to my old self, but it would do.

When I came back out, I headed straight to the bar. There was a new face serving—a tall, statuesque young woman with black hair, too much make-up and an eighties-style punk outfit—and I idly wondered if she was my replacement. She didn't even look at me as I ordered a tequila shot.

As she went to get the measure, I swivelled round on the bar stool to see who else was there. The Nick was the kind of place that attracted a lot of regulars, so there were about half a dozen tables I could easily have gone to join. But then I struck gold. Over by the fire, Gavin and two of his band-mates were crowded round a small table, drinking pints of what looked like snakebite and black. He would be the perfect way to forget tonight and my stupid attempt to try to change my life.

I turned back to the Goth barmaid. She poured the shot, and took my money. I downed it before she'd even come back with my change.

“Two more,” I said.

She didn't register any sign of surprise or interest as she went to get the drinks.

This time, instead of downing the shots, I picked up the glasses, slipped from the stool and headed over to where Gavin was sitting.

“Hey, you.” I tried to make my voice light and playful. “Long time no see.”

It wasn't exactly the most original line, but somehow I doubted Gavin was a connoisseur of witty banter.

He squinted up at me, clearly having trouble placing who the hell I was. It wasn't exactly surprising, given that he hadn't seen me with this new hairstyle. I hadn't been in here for weeks. The last time he'd seen me was that day I'd screwed up on the PURE campaign. Since then I'd been playing the good girl and staying away.

After a couple of seconds, his expression cleared. “Charlie? Is that you?”

“The one and only!” I wasn't sure why I was coming out with such cheesy lines, but I think it had something to do with the fact that Gavin actually really annoyed me. It was either these light-hearted clichés or I'd show my exasperation with him.

He squinted up at me. “You look so . . . different.” Maybe I shouldn't be beating myself up. It wasn't like he was much of a conversationalist either. “In a good way, though,” he added hastily. “I like your hair. That's why I didn't recognise you at first—”

“So,” I said, cutting him off. I was already bored of the small-talk. “Are you planning on asking me to sit down, or should I just go ahead and drink these myself?” I held out the two shots of tequila, and then cast a pointed look at his band-mates, making it clear this was a party for two.

His face brightened, as he realised what I was offering. “Yeah, sure.” He pushed out one of the chairs with his foot. “Grab a pew. You guys don't mind, do you?”

His friends—poor man's versions of Gavin—gave us a knowing look, and rose and headed off without complaint. Clearly they had a code that made sure none of them would cock block the others.

I set down the drinks on the rickety table, and pulled up a wooden stool. The pink velvet cover had faded and frayed over time, but I didn't expect anything else from the Nick.

“Well, then.” I leaned an elbow on the beer-soaked table, ignoring the stickiness as I rested my chin on the palm of my hand. I could see Gavin's eyes drop to my cleavage. I allowed my hair to fall across my face in what I hoped was a sexy way. “What've you been up to since I saw you last?”

*  *  *

Half an hour later, Gavin and I were well on our way to getting drunk. After another round of shots, he'd gone up and got some beers in, and now I was starting on my third bottle of Peroni. It was a bit of a slower pace to obliteration than I'd have liked, but evidently he'd heard about my little regurgitation issue, and had decided it'd be best to keep me away from spirits. It probably wasn't bad thinking. Closing time was at midnight, and I had no doubt by then he'd be inviting me back to his place. After all, we couldn't go to mine, and risk running into stragglers from my birthday party. I had no intention of returning to my flat before tomorrow lunchtime, when I could guarantee that no one would be left.

Gavin sat back in his chair, and played with the ring in his nose in a way that sent shivers through me—and not the good kind. “I still can't get over seeing you like this. I called you a couple of times, but you never got back to me.”

He looked a little hurt, and I felt a pang of conscience. To his credit, he had wanted more from me than a quick roll in the sack. He'd even talked about taking me to dinner. But that wasn't what I'd wanted from him.

“Yeah, sorry, I meant to call you back,” I lied. “It was just lucky I decided to come in tonight and ran into you like this.” I walked my fingers up his bare arm. I didn't care that
I was throwing myself at him. Right now, this was what I wanted. It had always helped me forget before. Why should tonight be any different? “So what're your plans for the rest of the evening?”

Before he could answer, I heard the bar door bang open, distracting Gavin's attention. I didn't think much of it until I saw him blink twice, and then grimace as a look of recognition crossed his face.

Before I had a chance to turn round, a voice said, “So this is where you're hiding out.”

I looked up to see Richard towering above us, his hands on his hips, his mouth contorted in obvious disapproval. His eyes flicked from me to Gavin, and then stayed there. Gavin shrunk under his piercing gaze.

“Tell you what,” Gavin said. “Why don't I, uh, leave you guys to it?” He reached for his beer and tried to stand at the same time, his knees knocking the small table and spilling his drink in his lap in his rush to get away. He wiped at the crotch of his jeans, and then seemed to give up. He bobbed his head at Richard. “Er . . . nice to see you again, mate.”

Richard didn't respond, he just continued to stare at him. Gavin looked unnerved and rushed away to join his friends. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Gavin pointing at us, and whispering, as though Richard was some threatening guy.

It was only once he was gone that Richard moved, pulling
up one of the seats so he was sitting opposite me.

I sat back and folded my arms. “Well, thanks for chasing him away,” I said.

“It was my pleasure.” Richard smiled, pretending not to understand my sarcasm.

“So. How did you find me?”

“It wasn't that hard. All your friends are at your flat. There weren't many places for you to go.” He paused. “In fact, I would've got here sooner, but I thought it'd be best to let you calm down. Plus it took almost that long to get your mother to agree not to start looking for you herself.”

I closed my eyes briefly at the thought of all the fuss. When I opened them again, Richard was still there, looking expectantly at me.

“Well, thanks for dealing with that.” I made my voice deliberately light, as though this was no big deal. “But as you can see, I'm perfectly fine. So why don't you run along, and let everyone know you did your good deed for the day, and made sure screw-up Charlie was safe. Again.”

His eyes narrowed at that. “I will go,” he said curtly. “Trust me, in five minutes' time, I plan to be out that door. Because I have no desire to be in this dive for a second longer than I need to.” He cast his eyes round the room, wrinkling his nose in disgust, before his gaze came to rest on me. “But when I leave, I want you to come with me.”

Deep down, I'd been expecting him to say that. I reached
out, took a sip of my beer, to play for time. “Now,” I said, replacing the beer bottle on the table, “why would I want to go anywhere with you?”

“You know why.” He shook his head in disbelief. “Are we really going to go through this again? Are you going to pretend that you want to be with that idiot over there”—he inclined his head towards Gavin—“when we both know that this is just a reaction to whatever went on between you and Kate tonight.”

At that, I glanced away. All around the room, people were joking and laughing, having a good time. It looked so easy for them. Why couldn't it be for me? “I don't know what you mean.”

Richard snorted a laugh. “Come on, Charlotte. This is how you always react when something goes wrong. You drink yourself into oblivion and sleep with some guy you couldn't give a damn about. Anything to help you forget whatever the hell is plaguing you. And it's destroying your life. So I'm asking you, this time, not to behave like that. To make the right choice and walk away. With me.”

The invitation hung between us. I dropped my eyes to the table, unable to meet his gaze. It sounded so tempting—more so than he probably realised. I wanted to do what he asked, but it was too hard. It was so much easier just to fall back into old patterns of behaviour.

“I'm not sure I can do that,” I said, in a voice not much
louder than a whisper.

Hearing my anguish, his expression softened a little. “Look, I don't know what happened tonight to make you react the way that you did. But I know you're not a completely unreasonable person, so I'm guessing that whatever it was, it was bad. And I'm not asking you to disregard what happened, or to even tell me about it. I'm just saying—is this really the way you want to deal with it? Because that's down to you. That's your choice.