“I just needed to talk to him in the hope that he’d see sense,” says Ali. She looks at Rachel, her eyes pleading to be believed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t even think about how it might have looked, but I can assure you, it was never meant to allude to something going on between us.”
Rachel’s eyes narrow. “So what was it done for?”
“As a warning,” says Ali, “to let him know that if he didn’t tell you, I would.” Her voice tails off at the end.
“Tell me what?” Rachel shouts, losing her patience.
“That he’s having an affair.”
“For God’s sake, what is wrong with you? He’s not having an affair with you.”
“Not with me, no,” says Ali.
Rachel laughs incredulously. “Well, who the hell with, then?”
Ali looks upwards, as if asking for help. “Well?” shouts Rachel impatiently.
“Paige,” says Ali, in barely more than a whisper. “He’s having an affair with Paige.”
The floor spins and Rachel feels like she’s being sucked into a vortex, as she falls backward. Ali grabs hold of her arms and backs her onto the closed toilet seat. Rachel’s hands instinctively strike out, looking for something to grip onto, but all they can find is the frictionless cubicle wall, which they slide down.
“What…” she starts when she eventually finds her voice.
“I’m sorry,” says Ali. “I wanted him to tell you.”
Rachel pushes herself against the cistern, hoping and praying that someone comes in and drags this psychopath off her.
“What kind of fucked-up world do you live in?” hisses Rachel. “You can’t help yourself, can you?”
“I’m telling you the truth,” says Ali.
“You’re incapable of it,” cries Rachel. “You’ve done nothing but lie since we’ve been here.”
“I’ve only ever tried to protect the people I care about,” says Ali.
“The only person you care about is yourself,” says Rachel, pushing herself up and walking toward the door, unsteady on her feet. “You’re nothing but a fucking liar, and I’m warning you to stay away from me, my family and my friends.”
“She’s not your friend” is the last thing Rachel hears as the door closes behind her and she finds herself, dazed, on the edge of a dance floor filled with people with their hands aloft, singing to Neil Diamond. Jack, Paige and Noah are staring at her, their faces etched with concern, from the other side.
22
Without even realizing what she’s doing, Rachel finds herself standing behind the DJ deck, with him looking at her expectantly.
“Can I borrow the mic?” she says.
“Eh?” he questions, not understanding her.
“Give me the microphone,” she says in clear, clipped syllables.
She reaches across his turntable to pick up the bulbous-headed mic and taps it three times with her finger before sliding the needle off “Sweet Caroline.” The music comes to an abrupt stop as the scratching grates around the restaurant and guests cover their ears.
They turn to Rachel, waiting for her to say something, but she looks at them blankly, not knowing what she’s going to say herself. Ali comes out of the cloakroom, looking around in confusion. She freezes when her eyes settle on Rachel.
“I just want to talk about Ali for a second,” says Rachel, her voice projecting further than she’d expected. Her mouth dries up as she moves the mic further from her lips.
Everyone’s faces look strange, like they’re staring at her from inside a bottle, their features distorted by the curvature of the glass. Maria’s is the only one she recognizes, though she can’t quite read her expression. Is it panic?
“You see,” Rachel goes on. “She’s not quite who you all think she is.”
Jack moves across the floor toward her, like he’s skating on ice, while Ali just stays rooted to the spot, poleaxed, with her mouth open.
“Please tell me it’s not just me,” Rachel asks the sea of faces, in a room where you could hear a pin drop.
“Rachel,” Jack says into the bewildered silence.
“What?” she snaps.
“Don’t do this.”
“Why not? They need to know. Everyone needs to know.”
Jack laughs awkwardly, as if he’s dealing with a drunk, forgetful elderly relative. “But now’s not the time,” he says. “Later. We’re supposed to do this later.”