Page 57 of Cover Story

Rick asked to use the loo. Bel was glad she’d done two full sweeps of the place to make absolutely sure she had no personal belongings lying around that could contradict her persona.

‘Through the bedroom over there,’ Bel pointed him the way.

‘You know, you two are SUCH a fit pair,’ Amber said, surveying them in open admiration.

‘Aw shucks, as if,’ Bel said, not least because she felt sure it was Connor who’d provoked the approval.

‘My friends were allwho the hell were THEY, like, swoon.’

‘Probably Bella’s manners around the bagna cauda,’ Connor said.

‘Honestly,’ Amber said, ‘they said your body language was soin tune and you were clearly, like, the male-female versions of each other. Couple goals.’

‘Ugh! I sincerely hope not,’ Bel blurted. Luckily a completely honest response played as flirty humour. Connor shot her a look, because, of course he knew this.

After they discussed the merits of pedigree dogs versus the puppy that Connor bought in a pub who became Maurice, they realised Rick had been gone an unnaturally long time.

‘I better see where he’s got to,’ Amber said. She returned moments later, looking stricken, with the news: ‘He’s passed out on the bed.’

‘Is he OK?’ Connor asked.

‘Yeah, he’s breathing fine, he’s just comatose, I couldn’t wake him,’ Amber said. ‘Oh my God, this is mortifying. I was telling him to slow down on the vino!’

The three of them went to inspect the patient, lying crossways on the king-size divan, feet in red-and-white trainers dangling.

‘It must’ve looked too enticing,’ Bel said. ‘Maybe sit him up a little, because airways and all that?’

Connor helped Amber heave Rick to a more upright position against plumped pillows, with some difficulty.

‘Yeah, he’s a dead weight,’ Connor said. ‘Want me to make some black coffee?’

Bel looked at the semi-prone Rick, his eyes screwed shut and mouth contorted as if in disapproval. He reminded her of a petrified bog cadaver she’d seen on a school trip. It didn’t look like Nescafé Gold was going to get the job done.

‘How are you going to administer it, intravenously?’ Bel said.

‘State of him!’ Amber groaned.

Bel glanced at Connor: his widened eyes seemed to betrying to wordlessly communicate a message she might be able to decode if she’d not been drinking.

‘He sleeps like he’s had a general anaesthetic at the best of times,’ Amber said. She shook his shoulder. ‘Rick! Rick?’

He didn’t stir.

‘I can call an Uber but how am I going to get him into it?’ Amber said.

They gazed upon a slumbering Rick and assessed the impossibility. Hemightmagically come round in half an hour, but …

Amber turned to Bel: ‘Would it be the most massive inconvenience if we stayed over? I am so, so sorry, this is beyond embarrassing.’

‘No problem!’ Bel said, not missing a beat. ‘Will Gertie be all right?’

‘Yes she’ll be fine if she’s with us. I can take her out for a wee. Are you sure this isn’t horrendous?!’

‘Hush, I’ve got a guest room for a reason. There’s the en-suite bathroom and … hang on, I bought a three-pack of toothbrushes the other day, I’ll get them for you.’

Amber’s words of lavish apology and gratitude followed Bel up the spiral stairs, as she heard Connor being solicitous about Gertie being brought her beanbag.

It was then that a pissed-up, prematurely triumphalist Bel belatedly translated Connor’s alarm. Their staying meant he had to stay too.

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