Always and Only You

Chapter Thirty-Six

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Five years ago

She would rather not think about that night. But she suspects not thinking about that night is causing it to burrow into her subconscious and emerge in her dreams. It’s as if a loud warning bell is ringing every time she has a nightmare, cautioning her to pay attention to what it’s trying to tell her.

And she can’t stand the prospect of months more of sleepless nights. She knows it won’t get better. Only worse. So, a few days after their last conversation about the night of Megan’s accident, she makes herself open up her messages app.

Hey, you …

A few moments later, the reply comes.

Hey yourself.

Do you even remember what the name of that stupid drinking game was? I’m not even sure if I remember the rules.

Unfortunately I do he replies. It was called King Cup.

She frowns. Even though the name has eluded her when she tried to grasp hold of it, that doesn’t seem right. But it makes sense – playing cards and bright red plastic cups full of various combinations of alcohol.

I’m not surprised you don’t remember much about it. I think you became a bit of a target.

Her eyes widen. What do you mean?

She’d thought it was all just honest fun, but his wording makes it seem as if something sinister was going on. Why has he never mentioned this before?

Well, there were a couple of guys in that circle who were showing interest.

Interest? In me?

Of course he replies, as if it should be obvious. But I don’t think they’d have much luck if they tried to chat you up, so my guess is they decided they might have better luck if you were feeling a little more …

The three dots blink and she knows he’s choosing his words carefully.

… relaxed.

She stiffens. They were trying to get me drunk?

E, to be fair, you were already quite drunk. But what they did was messed up.

But why? Why didn’t they just talk to me?

Don’t take this the wrong way, but …

She waits while he works out how to say what he wants to say, sure she probably is going to take it the wrong way. Or maybe it’s the right way. All she ever wants is to be one of the crowd, to fit in. And she tries so hard … So why does she always feel as if she’s on the outside looking in?

What? she stabs into her phone, irritated.

Sometimes, you can be a little intimidating.

She laughs out loud. That’s utterly ridiculous. She’s not like Meg, strong and feisty and full of fire … God, how she misses her. Erin Ross is sugar and spice and all things nice. In other words, the boring goody two shoes who sucks the fun out of everything.

I’m not intimidating. Don’t be stupid.

You are. A little …

What are you talking about?

Not intimidating in a bad way.

She snorts. There’s a good way?

She doesn’t know how, but she senses he is chuckling. His reply comes back lightning fast.

You’re very nice to look at, and you’ve got this air about you. Sort of aloof, untouchable.

She makes a face. She didn’t realize Simon believed this about her. She thought he understood who she really was. She types furiously.

In other words, I’m a stuck-up bitch?

No!

The answer comes back so fast she hasn’t even taken her thumbs off her phone keyboard.

Then what?

I don’t know how to explain it, but there’s something about you that’s a bit too good to be true, something that makes us lesser mortals feel as if we might not be worthy.

She blushes, and she’s glad he can’t see the soppy smile on her face. She’s pretty sure nobody else thinks that way, but the fact he thinks that way … It’s everything. But she’s not ready to tell him that yet, so she steers the subject back to the matter in hand.

So what were these guys doing?

One of them was sitting next to you, and when anyone pulled an ace from the cards … That one was waterfall – everyone has to drink but you can’t stop until the person to your left finishes, remember?

To be honest, I’m a bit fuzzy about the rules.

Well, one of those guys was sitting next to you and I’m sure he was drinking as slowly as he could to make you keep drinking, mostly because you hadn’t quite got the hang of sipping it slowly when that card was pulled.

Great. Now she wasn’t just untouchable, she was an idiot.

His words are making the memories sharper, the images more alive in her mind. She can see them all now, sitting in a circle in Posh Guy’s living room, the furniture pushed back, red wine stains and crushed crisps on the carpet. She can picture some faces in the circle now: Simon, three places down to her left. Gil right across from her, with Megan separated from him by a loud girl wearing a pink feather boa who had passed out halfway through the game and just lay sprawled on the floor between them.

As she sorts through the images and sounds of that night, one thing strikes her.

But what about Megan? I don’t remember her having that much to drink, not at first. And then, of course, he ruined it.

He?

Your friend. Gil.

It goes quiet for a moment or two. Maybe she said the wrong thing. Simon and Gil have been friends since they were at school together. They’re an unlikely pairing, and she’s never understood how their friendship started and why it’s so strong.

What do you think he did? he asks.

I don’t just think it. I saw him. He picked up the last king, didn’t he? Which meant he had to drink the whole cup, and it was full of all sorts of things by then.

She remembers little about the game, but she remembers that cup, shuddering each time another drink was added. It had been a mixture of spirits, wine, cider and even Baileys, which had curdled and made it look like liquid brains. A real toxic brew.

He gave it to Meg.

Simon, as expected, is doggedly loyal.

I don’t think that’s exactly how it happened.

I know she swiped the cup from him, but it wouldn’t have been hard to stop her she counters.

You think what happened next was his fault?

Partly. Like you said, I had asked you both to help me keep an eye on Megan, and there he was, doing exactly the opposite.

She lies on her bunk, the little reading light glowing against the wall, and remembers the hoots and shouts and laughter that erupted in the circle when tiny Megan downed that whole cup in one go. It chills her now to think of it.

At the time she types it didn’t seem like enough alcohol to cause any real problems. Nothing more than a dry throat in the night, a headache in the morning. I’d seen her drink a lot more and not black out.

I thought the same. But that was before we knew she’d taken other things as well.

She sits and absorbs that silently for a moment or two. There were so many things she would have done differently if she’d known everything. But there’s something still niggling her. A little detail that won’t leave her alone.

Has that game got another name?

I think it’s got a few.

Like?

Ring of Fire. Waterfall.

No. Neither of them is the one she recalls – or more accurately, doesn’t recall – from that night. She frowns, trying to think harder, trying to pull the elusive phrase from her alcohol-fogged memory bank.

Her phone buzzes once more just as the words form on her lips.

Circle of Death.

Ah, yes. That was the one.