“Wouldn’t you want to know?” asks Ali, definitely emphasizing the “you” this time.
Rachel fixes her with a steely glare. “If there was something worth knowing,” she says. “But if it was just a one-sided infatuation that a woman had allowed to get out of all perspective, then no.”
“Do you know many women like that, then?” asks Ali, smiling, as if goading her.
“I’ve come across one or two in my time,” says Rachel, refusing to rise to the bait. She will not allow Ali to get the better of her; she’s not smart enough.
“Is that how you choose to see them?” asks Ali. “Because it’s easier than blaming your husband?”
Rachel is winded by her unabashed nerve, but refuses to show it on her face. How dare she imply it’s all Jack’s doing? From her standpoint, all she can see is Ali throwing herself at him, though she’s not naive enough to believe that Jack wouldn’t have been persuaded to sample the wares. The way Ali displays them, she doubts few men could resist.
“I don’t think I need to vouch for Jack,” she says resolutely. “I trust him implicitly.”
“And what if the shoe was on the other foot?” asks Ali, still coming back for more. “What if you were the other woman?”
Rachel’s fumbling hands drop the hairbrush onto the tiled floor, her hands instantaneously prickling with sweat from every pore. Hot tears rush to her eyes, teetering on the edge, as her stomach turns somersaults and a gaping hole threatens to open up in her chest. She forces herself to breathe, but there doesn’t seem to be enough air to fill her lungs. Every part of her wants to run away, but her feet feel like they’re stuck in concrete, and so she’s forced to stand there, poleaxed by the realization that this conversation isn’t about Jack.
Ali’s talking about Noah.
16
“You okay?” asks Paige, as they pass on the stairs.
Rachel’s heart thumps in her chest as she looks at her, waiting for her to launch into a well-deserved tirade, but nothing about her suggests that she knows anything more than she did at breakfast this morning; before her run; before meeting Ali on the beach; before Ali might have told her everything she knows. Though, her unsuspecting expression only allows Rachel’s selfish guilt to poison her system even more.
Whenever she’d allowed herself to think about the potential fallout from her and Noah’s secret, she’d only ever thought about how her world would be affected: what Jack would do, how Josh would react, what she’d need to do to keep them all together. Seeing Paige’s genuine concern makes her realize what her friend stands to lose.
“I’m not feeling too good,” says Rachel. It’s not a lie.
Paige reaches a hand out to take hold of Rachel’s arm. “You don’t look great—what’s up?”
“I’ve just been helping Ali get ready and I started feeling a bit weird.”
“She has that effect,” says Paige, half-laughing. “Come back downstairs and I’ll fix you something to eat. Maybe you need a bit of sugar.”
Rachel doesn’t want Paige to be nice, because when she finds out she didn’t deserve it, she doesn’t want her to feel she’s been taken for a fool.
“I’ll be okay,” she says. “I should probably start getting ready anyway.”
Paige looks at her watch. “We’ve got plenty of time yet.” She takes Rachel by the hand. “You know what you need?”
Rachel shakes her head numbly.
“Hair of the dog.”
“Oh, no, I don’t think so,” Rachel says, unable to think of anything worse, yet knowing at the same time that alcohol is probably going to be the only thing that will get her through the day.
“Come on,” says Paige, pulling her down the stairs. “There’s that nice bottle of champagne that we bought at the airport in the fridge. What do you say we crack that open and get this party started?”
Rachel attempts to smile.
“Because you and I both know that we’re going to need all the help we can get.”
Like the best friends they’ve always been, they look at each other conspiratorially, knowing it makes sense.
“So how is madam today?” asks Paige as she pours half a flute and waits for the fizz to dissipate before topping it up.
It’s the simplest of questions, and one that Paige should already know the answer to. Yet she’s not giving anything away.
“I thought you’d seen her,” chances Rachel, watching her expression carefully.