She slapped him lightly on the arm, then squeezed past him to wash her hands in the tiny sink. Luckily, no one else had come down to the basement. She hurried back up the stairs, a stupid grin making her cheeks ache as she remembered the graffiti.
Not just Monique who’s a slut.
Pre-empting the drinks that she knew would be on the table, she stopped at the bar and asked for four shot glasses, then filled them from the water jug. She carried them back outside, where the others were drinking from fresh beers. A slew of shots were lined up in the middle of the table.
‘Where the hell have you been?’ Ginny said. ‘We thought you’d run away.’
Not yet, Cat thought, placing her fake shots down next to the others. ‘I knew Tristan would buy something vile, so I got these for myself.’
Ginny wrinkled her nose. ‘Oh god, is it that horrible aniseed stuff? Trissy’s bought us all tequilas. Did you bump into him in the toilet?’
She shook her head. ‘Just vodka.’
‘Thought you were slowing down?’ Paul said.
Cat ignored him. ‘So what are we waiting for?’ She picked up the first of the water shots and knocked it back, grimacing in a way she hoped was convincing.
If anyone suspected, they didn’t show it.
A few seconds later, Tristan was back. He grabbed one of the drinks. ‘Whoohooo!’ he shouted, slamming the empty shot glass down on the table. He licked his lips and grinned at her.
Cat raised her second shot in the air, and grinned back.
Three
SATURDAY MORNING
The bed sagged slightly as Tristan rolled over and pushed himself into Ginny’s lower back, an arm snaking over and inside her vest top. She wriggled away towards the edge of the bed. Her head was banging, and she definitely wasn’t up for anything that her very insistent husband might have in mind. She closed her eyes tighter. Tristan huffed and rolled back, and a moment later the bed creaked as he swung his legs off the other side and disappeared into the bathroom, muttering something under his breath. Ginny heard the squeak of pipes as he wrestled with the taps. Then the shower started running, and the door slammed shut.
She could imagine what he was doing in there. There was a time when the pair of them would be at it like rabbits at all times of day or night, but, as time went on, she seemed to find herself more distracted, more tired. Less up for it. She couldn’t even say why, because it wasn’t like she had a high-powered job like his to tire her out.
Ginny gingerly shuffled up the bed, propping herself up on the pillows, and grabbed the pack of paracetamol and the bottle of water she’d thankfully had the foresight to leave by the bed. As she tipped her head back to swallow the pills, the room spun and a wave of nausea swept over her, only subsiding when she managed to suck in a few long, slow breaths.
Right, so mixing the drinks had been her idea. The rest of them had protested, saying they needed to be fresh for the morning, and that it was the night after the hike they could get properly stuck in and let loose. They’d be well up for it, Paul had said, after all the exertion of the hike. But then Tristan had bought the shots – some supposedly good-quality tequila, and definitely the wrong thing to drink the night before a five-hour hike. He was used to it, though, being much more of a regular drinker than any of them. Ginny had been surprised at Cat suddenly going along with it, lining up a row of vodkas for herself. Her sister was such a bore these days, with all her healthy eating and exercise. OK, yes, Ginny did spend a lot of time taking pretty photos of healthy food and she did have a devoted following who loved the way she made it all look so easy. But funnily enough, Insta life wasn’t real life, was it?
Ginny spent hours making those dishes, but she often survived on cheese and toast because it wasn’t about the eating; for her, it was the charade of the perfect household. It was no wonder she didn’t have any time to do the boring little work tasks that Cat tried to get her to do.
Cat was good at her job, but it didn’t really interest Ginny particularly, so most of the time she didn’t bother to do what her sister asked. It’s not like Ginny needed the money, what with Tristan’s ridiculous income – and there was her secret little fund squirrelled safely away. Just for her.
Tristan appeared out of the bathroom, towel around his waist and a healthy pink glow in his cheeks. He was smiling. Clearly he’d forgiven her for spoiling his fun earlier.
‘Are you not getting up? We’re meeting for breakfast in ten minutes. We need to go through the plan for the day.’
‘Ten minutes? Why didn’t you tell me?’ Ginny leapt out of bed and into the bathroom, pausing for a moment with a steadying hand on the towel rail as the room spun again. ‘You could’ve left the shower on for me at least.’