Page 57 of Last Night

‘No to both questions?’

I didn’t know I was going to say it, until this moment. Amid turmoil and inebriation and not knowing what else to do, whomp, it tumbles out of my mouth:

‘You slept with Susie.’

The actual words spoken feel jagged. It’s as if I swallowed something sharp and metallic, and it tears up my insides as it makes its way out of me.

20

‘… What?’

I look at Ed, his stunned expression. And I know, once again, it’s true. Even the near-imperceptible split-second beat before the ‘What?’

For an innocent person, it’d be an immediate:Wait, what?!

Not: ‘[Oh-my-God-how-does-she-know, hard gulp, response required]What?’

‘You heard.’

There was no way it wasn’t true, of course, but somehow the confirmation is still shocking and dramatic. Some truths, like Susie’s passing, are too large to be digested in one go.

Ed’s already pale skin is the colour of a fish’s belly. The people nearest to us, though still beyond earshot, have finished their cigarettes and troop back inside, making this moment of inquisition even more deathly quiet.

‘What do you mean?’

‘What do Imeanby “slept with”?

‘I mean, why are you saying that?’

‘Because you did.’

Ed stares at me, desperately trying to read my expression.

‘When?’ he says, though not with composure. I can see his fear.

‘You need me to specify which time period? How many times were there?’

‘No,’ Ed says hurriedly, trying to get control of himself, to work out how to handle this.

A combination of alcohol and incredible, soul-flattening misery has given me a malign super-strength. Every other expression of anger in my life, I realise, always came restrained with concerns about how it made me look, or how it affected the other person, or if I could get fired. Consequences, basically.

I don’t care!is often said but rarely fully meant. But I don’t. I have nothing left to protect or worry about in attacking Ed over Susie. From where I’m standing, I’ve already lost everything. I’m the origins story of a dangerous comic-book villain.

‘OK,’ Ed says, visibly heavy-breathing. ‘OK. Look. This isn’t the place …’

‘Hah!’ I give an evil, boozy snort. ‘I should’ve picked the many other occasions it was appropriate to raise you being a lying cheater who exploited our late friend …’

Exploited? I have no idea where that concept came from, but in for a penny. Once again, under stress, my mouth is galloping ahead.

‘Unfortunately I only found out last night, so.’

Ed is chewing the inside of his mouth, forehead furrowed, trying not to further incriminate himself. I am grimly satisfied at throwing a grenade into the wake for him, now he has to deal with it too.

After what looks like brief and fraught internal deliberation, he says in a small voice: ‘Howdid you find out?’

‘A letter. In the box I took from her house.’

‘I thought you weren’t going to look at them?’

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