Three’s a Crowd (23 page)

She shrugged. ‘It's just the circumstances.'

The doctor smiled kindly. ‘We hear everything in this place. Women who wake up next to someone they've never seen before, sometimes more than one –'

Rachel blinked. ‘No, it's nothing like that. My friend is out in the waiting room, I've known him since . . . for a long time. It's just complicated.'

The doctor considered her. ‘In my experience things are rarely
anything but. You're a healthy young woman with normal urges. And shame is an entirely pointless emotion.'

As they walked out of the building back to the car, Rachel felt a little calmer, while Tom seemed more agitated.

‘So, which type did she give you, the double or the single dose?' he asked.

Rachel thought about it. ‘Um, well she only gave me one pill, so I guess it's the single dose. How do you know about that?'

‘I read a brochure while I was waiting for you,' he dismissed. ‘So she talked to you about side effects?'

She nodded.

‘She went right through your medical history then?'

‘Um, she asked a couple of questions . . .'

‘About your mother? She should have asked you about your mother as well, any history of blood clots, that kind of thing?'

Rachel was frowning.

‘Well?' he prompted.

‘She didn't ask about my family history. I don't think it's relevant, Tom.'

‘Of course it's relevant,' he said, raising his voice. He turned to look at her. ‘Fucking doctors and their fucking offhand attitudes.'

It suddenly hit her. Rachel could see the fresh, raw pain right there in his eyes.

‘I don't want you to do this, Rachel.'

‘Tom –'

‘You can't take medication when you have no idea what side effects it might have. You could have a reaction . . .'

‘It's okay, Tom. I've taken it before,' she lied.

‘You have?'

‘Yeah, once, overseas. I was fine. A bit of nausea and cramping, that was all.'

He breathed out heavily, leaning back against the car and rubbing his eyes. Rachel just wanted to go over and hug him, but she couldn't do that any more. Everything had changed.

He got his keys out of his pocket and pressed the remote lock. ‘Okay, but I'm staying with you tonight.'

‘Tom, you can't –'

‘Don't worry, I'll sleep out on the couch, but I'm not going to leave you alone.'

‘What about the girls?'

‘Hannah was staying the weekend anyway, and I called Soph while you were with the doctor. She had plans tonight, she wanted to stay at her friend's.'

Rachel frowned, thinking. ‘Are you sure she's all right? You know where she'll be?'

‘Of course.' He opened the door for her. ‘I'm not going to argue about it, Rach. I'm staying, end of discussion.'

She climbed into the car and he closed the door again. He was completely rattled, she could see it now; something like this could really throw him. Had really thrown him. She had to let him do what he needed to do.

She just wished she could take it all back. If only she hadn't seen him at
sandbar
, if only she'd had the guts to walk away from Phil herself. But if she'd had the guts to do that, she would have had the guts to tell Catherine in the first place that she didn't want to look for a date on the internet. So she wouldn't have been at
sandbar
and she wouldn't have bumped into Tom and he wouldn't have come back to her place . . . And how had things gotten so out of hand anyway? Fragments of conversation were finding their way back to the surface of her memory. He said he used to have a crush on her. Did he really say that? Was she remembering it right? Rachel felt immediately self-conscious, throwing Tom a sidelong glance, worried somehow he would know what she was thinking.

He looked over at her. ‘What?'

‘Nothing,' she said, staring straight ahead again.

He was only teasing her last night, about the crush. That's all it was. She remembered now. Mostly.

‘I'm just going to call in here,' he said, pulling up outside a small group of shops. ‘Your fridge is like some kind of science experiment, Rach. If we're hunkered down for the weekend, I'm getting in fresh supplies.'

Rachel would normally have put in a protest, but she let him go. She watched him through the window, chatting away to the shopkeepers, charming them. He'd always been a charmer, Tom.
Everybody loved him, Rachel included. But never in that way, she never even vaguely considered herself in contention. But she suspected she had never been closer to anyone in her life than when they lived together at Rainbow Street. People who knew them at the time said they were like brother and sister, but that didn't seem to describe it for Rachel. Maybe because she'd never had a sibling she didn't really understand the relationship, but Tom didn't feel like a brother to her. Others said they were like an old married couple, but they got on so much better than any married couple Rachel knew back then.

Tom returned to the car with two bulging bags and put them on the back seat. He was rustling around in one of them and Rachel turned to see what he was doing.

‘Ah, here it is.' He tossed something into her lap.

It was a Caramello Koala. Rachel's heart skipped a beat. She stared down at it as he got back into the driver's seat.

‘Thanks,' she said quietly, without looking at him.

‘My pleasure,' he replied, starting up the engine and pulling out into the flow of traffic.

Rachel rolled over, stirring from a deep sleep. She wondered what time it was. The room was dark, but the blinds and curtains were closed so it was hard to tell. Her head felt clearer, that was a good sign. She was trying to decide if she felt nauseous or just hungry. She climbed out of bed and went over to the window, opening the curtains and pulling up the blind. It was dusk. She slid the window open and breathed in the salt air, looking out across the rooftops to the ocean and the violet sky. It was a little cool for January, which was a blessing today. All in all she didn't feel too bad.

Then she heard movement out in the kitchen, and she remembered she still had Tom to deal with. She'd slept with one of her best friend's husbands. She'd slept with one of her best friends. How did one deal with that? It's not as though she could jump on a plane and disappear to the other side of the world.

She walked tentatively down the hall and into the living area. Tom was standing at the sink, washing up. Great, now he was
cleaning up after her, as if she didn't already feel uncomfortable enough.

He looked around then. ‘Hey,' he said warmly, reaching for the tea towel over his shoulder and wiping his sudsy hands. ‘How are you feeling?'

‘What are you doing, Tom?'

‘Just washing the containers I cleaned out of the fridge.'

She sighed, leaning against the doorjamb. ‘You didn't need to do that.'

‘Someone had to,' he said.

Was that a glimmer in his eye? Were they going to get through this after all? He certainly looked more relaxed. Rachel decided to play along. Maybe they could actually pretend nothing had happened. Maybe they could fool themselves that everything was back to normal. It was worth a shot.

‘Wow, what is that?' she said, peering over at the stove. ‘Smells great.'

‘It's chicken soup.'

Rachel's eyes grew wide and she couldn't help grinning. ‘You are kidding me, you didn't make chicken soup?'

He slung the tea towel over his shoulder again. ‘Get real. They were selling it at the deli where we stopped. Said it was homemade fresh every day. I think it may even be kosher.'

‘Whatever, it smells good.'

‘Want some?'

‘I can get it.'

He put his hands on her shoulders and turned her around. ‘Just go, sit, I'll bring it out.'

She did as she was told and he appeared shortly after with a bowl and her stable table, and a giant smirk on his face.

‘You own a stable table,' he said. ‘I thought only old people owned stable tables.'

She took it from him. ‘Old people and people who don't have a dining room,' she said airily, as she positioned it comfortably on her lap. ‘Don't knock it till you've tried it.'

He passed her the bowl of soup and a spoon, and then he took a seat at the other end of the couch.

‘You're not having any?' she asked.

‘I've already had two bowls. Had to ward off the hangover hunger pangs.'

She nodded, tucking into the soup. ‘It's good.'

‘So you're not feeling any nausea?'

She shook her head. ‘I feel fine.' She slurped another spoonful of the soup. It really was good. ‘You know, Tom, there's no need for you to stay. I'm absolutely fine.'

‘I thought we'd settled this.'

‘But –'

‘Rachel, any side effects you're going to have might not kick in for up to twelve hours, they say. I'm staying,' he said flatly.

‘Okay.'

He got up. ‘Shall we see what's on the telly?'

‘Sure.'

He picked up the remote and pointed it at the TV, and Rachel noticed then he was dressed in a T-shirt and long shorts. He hadn't been wearing those this morning. ‘You've changed your clothes,' she remarked.

‘Yeah, I picked up some stuff when I went to get the car,' he said, sitting back on the couch. ‘And I hope you don't mind, I helped myself to a shower.'

‘As long as you didn't clean it.'

He grinned. ‘No, it was quite clean.'

‘Hmm, see, I'm not a total loss.'

He gave her an odd look and seemed as though he was about to say something, but then he turned his attention back to the TV. ‘Okay, it's that time of the year. We have cricket, or tennis, or cricket, or
CSI
re-runs.'

‘Tennis,' said Rachel.

He glanced at her. ‘I thought you didn't like sports?'

‘I don't, but I find tennis very . . . meditative, don't you reckon?' she said. ‘You know, the tock . . . tock . . . tock . . .' She tipped her head from side to side in time. ‘And the scorer guy up in his throne –'

‘The umpire?'

‘Yeah, him, he has all this power, I love it. He can scold the players, he can even tell the crowd to be quiet. I keep expecting him to say “Off with their heads!”'

Tom smiled, flicking over to the tennis just as a rather stunning South American–looking player was serving, stretching one arm up high as he gave the ball a powerful slam, at the same time exposing a tempting glimpse of taut brown abs.

‘And the guys are definitely hotter,' Rachel added.

Tom nudged her leg with his foot. ‘What if I said that?'

‘If you said that I'd think you were gay.'

Rachel had emerged out of a deep sleep a little while ago and had been contemplating getting up, but she wasn't in any hurry. Then the phone started to ring. She'd left it in its charger out on the hall table, and she wasn't about to leap out of bed to try to get to it in time; she'd let the machine pick it up. But then she heard footsteps in the hall, and she remembered Tom was here, and oh God! He wasn't going to answer the phone, was he?

‘Tom!' she cried urgently, scrambling to get out of bed.

He burst in the door. ‘What is it? Are you all right?'

‘Were you about to answer the phone?' she demanded, coming around the end of the bed.

‘Christ, Rachel, I thought something was wrong,' he said, visibly relieved.

‘Were you going to answer the phone?' she persisted.

‘I didn't want it to wake you.'

‘Tom!' The ringing finally stopped. ‘You can't answer my phone at . . . whatever time it is on a Sunday morning.'

‘Sorry, I wasn't thinking.'

Catherine's voice came over the answering machine. ‘
Well, I've had about enough of this. Where are you, Rachel? If you're still in bed, then pick up! I've been trying to call you since yesterday, don't you ever listen to your messages? Why do you even have an answering machine? Is it just so you can screen calls? Mine, in particular?
'

Rachel groaned. ‘I better get this.' She stepped into the hall
and grabbed the phone mid-sentence as Catherine continued her rant. ‘I'm here.'

‘Well, thank God for that,' she said. ‘Did you get my messages yesterday?'

‘No, I didn't even check the machine. I got . . . caught up with something.' She looked up at Tom, still standing there in the doorway. She waved her hand to usher him out of the way. He nodded, mouthing ‘Sorry' before turning back down the hall.

‘And you had your mobile phone off the whole time?' Catherine was saying.

Rachel walked into her room again, closing the door behind her. ‘Um, no, I don't know, did I?'

‘Well, it kept going straight to the recorded message saying you weren't available.'

‘It's probably flat,' Rachel replied, falling back on the bed.

‘Honestly Rachel, you're hopeless,' said Catherine. ‘How did you not realise that by now and recharge it? What's going on? Where have you been? I was ringing to find out how the date went . . . Hold on a minute! Is that it? Did things go
really
well –'

‘God, no,' she baulked at the idea. ‘You think I'm going to spend the night with a guy I just met?'

‘Well, if you hit it off . . .'

Catherine had a confidence about sex that Rachel found a little confronting; she sometimes wondered if Catherine had any boundaries at all.

Like she could talk, after Friday night.

‘The date was an absolute disaster, Catherine. Turns out Phil's married.'

‘
Married
married?'

‘What other type of married is there?'

‘You know, end-stage married, nominally married.'