One Night in A Bar (8 page)

“Just make sure you don’t take too long if you expect us to save you a glass of the good stuff.” Sarah One started towards the kitchen. “Oh, and we’ve bought you a present as well—a new smartphone.”

An instant chorus of protest sprang up around the room, and Sarah One, notorious for always spilling secrets, put her hands on her hips and glared at her friends. “What? Like she’s not gonna open the damn thing in five minutes and know what it is anyway?” Rolling her eyes, she turned back to Frankie. “Sorry it’s not very original, but we’re sick of you being out of touch since you lost your other one.”

Frankie bit her tongue. ‘Lost’ wasn’t quite the correct definition for what had happened to her last phone. The thing had been smashed to smithereens six months ago—Frankie remembered doing the smashing herself during a fit of hysterical rage when she’d seen who had been trying to call her. But that was another admission best kept to herself.

Leaving her friends to make themselves comfortable, she made her way up the stairs. The sound of good-natured bickering floated up after her, comforting and vibrant—a reminder of how few people she’d had around her in the months since she’d moved in here, of how lonely the solitary life could be.

Ten minutes later, retouched and refreshed, Frankie dabbed a final bit of gloss on to her lips and left the bedroom, feeling brighter than she had in ages and looking forward to a chilled glass of bubbly, a decent meal and some good gossipy company.

She was halfway down the stairs before the utter silence of the place hit her, and she frowned, wondering what her friends were up to.

Hoping whatever it was didn’t involve any jump-out-and-shout surprises that, given the state of her nerves, would likely give her a heart attack, she proceeded with caution to the sitting room doorway where she was relieved to discover them all hiding in plain sight, huddled around an armchair occupied by Jess.

Surrounded by the evidence of their recent industry—a littering of torn envelopes on the floor and neat displays of cards arranged on the window sill and shelves—their concentration seemed riveted on the sheet of paper Jess held on her lap. Beneath the assorted jolly hats, their faces all wore identical frozen expressions of shock.

Frankie’s relief vanished. “What?” She took a faltering step into the room, her stomach twisting in apprehension. “What is it?”

All five women jumped at the sound of her voice, turning to look at her before passing shifty glances among themselves. Jess cleared her throat and held the piece of paper out towards Frankie. “I’m sorry, I opened it by mistake. It–it’s a letter. From Mark.”

At the sound of that name, Frankie’s heart gave a throb so painful it had her clutching at her chest. “Get it out,” she snapped.

Jess didn’t move a muscle. Nobody did. All five women just looked at her with wide, stark gazes.

Frankie didn’t understand. “Why are you even reading it? Get it out. Now!”

Jess cleared her throat. “I think you should read it, Franks,” she said quietly.

“Are you mad?” Frankie’s temper—set to constant simmer mode these days—flared to the boil in an instant. She welcomed the heat of it over the icy grip of panic threatening to engulf her. “Of course I’m not going to read it. I’m not even going to touch the bloody thing.”

Jess gave her a long, searching look then straightened her spine. “Then I’ll read it to you.”

“What?” Frankie stared at her best friend in utter disbelief, shock draining the strength right out of her knees. “No. What the hell’s the matter with you?”

“I know you’re still angry with him, but I think we all agree that this is important.” Around Jess, four other heads began bobbing up and down. Whatever was causing Jess’ bout of temporary insanity was obviously contagious. “You really need to hear this—need to listen to what he’s got to say.”

“Fuck that!” Frankie spat. “I don’t need to do anything of the sort. I don’t owe him anything.”

“Please, just listen.”

“I won’t.” Frankie forced her shaky legs to propel her forwards into the room, hand outstretched for the offending item, even though the last thing she wanted to do was make contact with anything that the bastard had touched. “Give it here. I’ll shred and burn it myself.”

She couldn’t believe it when Jess pulled the paper back out of reach. “That’s exactly what he says you’ll do,” her friend said with a sad little smile, then her eyes dropped to the sheet and without further hesitation she began to read aloud. “
My Dear Francesca
…”

The sound of her full name hit Frankie like a blow to the belly, the impact stopping her dead in her tracks and nearly bending her double. Mark was the only person who ever used it. Frankie belonged to everyone, he’d always said. Francesca was just his. Special.

Yeah, right.
She pushed the memory aside. He’d gone and shown her exactly how special she’d been, hadn’t he?

“Don’t do this, Jess,” she warned, her voice as shaky as her knees as she started forward again, needing to get that letter out of here before it led them all to a place of recriminations and regret.

“
I hope, before you burn, shred or otherwise destroy this letter, that you will at least read some of it and know that I write these words for you and not as a salve to my own conscience.
”

The words in question—
his
words—snaked out of Jess’ mouth to wrap around Frankie like a rope, tying her to the spot.

“
As much as I wish for it, I know I can’t ask for your forgiveness. How could I expect it from you when I can’t even give it to myself? I understand only too well that the damage my actions have caused to you, to me, to us, is irreparable, and that if I were to apologise a thousand times it would never come close to being enough.
”

“Jess, stop.” Frankie gasped, unable to draw a full breath as the verbal lasso continued to tighten, constricting her chest to the point of pain. Her friend winced at the raw sound of her tone but didn’t look up, didn’t stop.

“
The facts are simple, irrefutable. You trusted me and I betrayed you. You loved me and I hurt you. I’d undo that in a heartbeat if I could, but we both know that changing the past is impossible. The important thing now is that you understand that my infidelity was no reflection on you, on what we had between us. It was never about me looking for something else, something more. How could it be, when you were already everything I ever wanted? What it was, Francesca, was just a horrible, careless moment of madness. A terrible, stupid mistake.
”

An image of Mark popped unbidden into Frankie’s mind, showing him naked on a bed, his strong, athletic body pinning a smaller female frame to the mattress with the fast, powerful thrusts of his hips, his blond head lowered, his lips murmuring a stream of honeyed words. It was a scenario she was so intimately and frequently acquainted with that in an instant her body was responding, nipples tightening against the remembered rasp of chest hair, juices seeping between her legs to lubricate the passage of that solid, driving shaft. Only this time the woman beneath her husband wasn’t her.

Gulping for air, she shoved the distressing picture aside amid a wave of light-headedness and nausea. But it was her body’s physical arousal that made her truly sick to her stomach—the evidence that her flesh could still crave what her battered emotions rejected and her intellect despised.

“
I need you to know that, to believe it, so that you can move on with your life, pursue your happiness with rightful confidence. I hope that is what you are doing because I can’t bear the thought that I’ve caused you sadness or pain. I’ve been unable to get word of you since the night you left as your friends and family have closed ranks. I can hardly blame them for protecting you, though it worries the hell out of me not knowing how you’re getting on.

Happy Birthday, Francesca. You’re in my thoughts, not only today, but all day, every day.

Mark.
”

In the heavy silence that fell, Frankie’s blood pounded in her ears. She stared as Jess leant forward and placed the letter on the coffee table, her actions playing out as if in slow motion.

“Come and sit down, Franks,” Claire’s voice sounded, so close, yet strangely far away, and Frankie realised that her friend had her by the elbow and was trying to guide her into the nearest chair.

She jerked herself free. “I’m going to be sick.”

Knowing there was no time to try to make it upstairs to the bathroom, she stumbled for the kitchen and retched over the sink, her insides a turmoil of anguish and bitter anger at the memories churned up by Mark’s words. The things she’d worked so hard to push aside all came rushing back—the shock, the pain, the free fall as her happy, loving world had been pulled from beneath her feet.

Sucking in what air she could, Frankie gripped the worktop and fought to get her spiralling emotions under control, afraid of what might happen if she truly let herself go. God, hadn’t she been through enough sickening hurt because of that bastard already? Wasn’t he content that he’d already torn her life apart once? What made him think he had the right to barge back into it and make her feel like this all over again?

What made Jess—the traitor—think it was okay to let him?

Shaky and sweaty by the time she was done bringing up the past, Frankie turned on the tap and scooped handfuls of cold water to rinse the foul aftertaste of betrayal from her mouth. Straightening, she brushed away Claire’s efforts at fussing, and, without sparing a glance at the others, faced Jess who hung back in the doorway.

“I can’t even find the words to tell you how pissed off I am with you right now.”

Jess stood unflinching in the face of her anger, her eyes glistening with emotion as she nodded. “As long as you’re feeling something, Franks, that’s fine by me.”

The words were as unexpected as a slap. “What? What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” Jess took a breath and spoke carefully, “that it’s time for you to stop hiding behind anger, and work, and fear, and begin dealing with this situation.”

“Excuse me?” Frankie felt her eyes pop wide in astonishment. “I’ve done nothing but deal with this situation, as you put it, since the night my husband came home and told me he’d been with another woman.” Her voice rose, tight with outrage that she was under attack from her supposed best friend. “In a few short months I’ve ended my marriage, moved out of my home, set up house and started to build a new life for myself. What more do you expect me to do?”

Jess’ eyes were pain-reflecting pools. “Frankie, this isn’t a life. Look at you, look at this place. You’re not dealing, you’re reacting. There’s a big difference.”

Glancing around the room for support, Frankie couldn’t believe it when not one of her friends came to her defence, their solemn, silent expressions telling her they all sided with Jess. Talk about being kicked while you’re down. “Well, how’s this?” Frankie pushed the words out through clenched teeth. “I’m reacting to your ridiculous accusations and dealing with them by asking you to leave. Right now. All of you.”

“But…what about dinner?” Sarah Two mumbled into the tense silence that fell.

Frankie turned on her. “Do you honestly think I could stomach a single mouthful after this?” she spat, then, seeing her friend recoil with hurt, drew a calming a breath. “Sorry.” She rubbed her forehead. “Look, I realise you all probably think you’re helping.” She made a point of looking at everyone in the room apart from Jess. “But trust me—you’re not.”

Claire reached out and gave Frankie’s arm a gentle squeeze. “We’re sorry, too, Franks. The last thing we wanted to do was upset you. It’s just the letter seemed so open, so honest, we actually thought hearing it might help.”

How her closest friends could get something like that so wrong was beyond Frankie. “Trust me. There’s nothing to be gained by listening to anything he says. Mark made his choice and, in doing so, forced me to make mine. If it turns out now he doesn’t like it, that’s too bad for him. I don’t need to know about it.”

“That’s fair enough.” Karen nodded in understanding. “Let’s not let it spoil your birthday, eh? There’s a bowl of linguine and glass of Chianti with your name on down at Lorenzo’s.”

Frankie shook her head. “I really can’t.” All she wanted was to be left alone. “I’ve got a killer headache coming on. Maybe we can do it another time?” Like next year? Perhaps she’d feel up to it by then. Perhaps not.

The ensuing plethora of protest was inevitable, but Frankie remained insistent. As her friends filed past her on their way out of the front door, Jess, the last in line, stopped on the threshold and turned to Frankie.

“This is for you,” she said, digging a wrapped present out from her bag and holding it into the tense space between them. “It was meant as a joke, but I doubt you’ll see the funny side now.”

Frankie took the rectangular-shaped box without meeting Jess’ eyes. The atmosphere around them felt heavy with the weight of expectation, but she didn’t have the energy left to deal with all the things that needed to be said. She settled for offering a stiff “Thanks,” instead, before closing the door just a fraction too forcibly on her friend’s heels.

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About the Author

Louisa lives in Melbourne, Australia, where she has a long-standing love affair with the sensual pleasures of life: wine, bubble baths, ice-cream and books. Nothing gives an illicit thrill like reading a sexy story on the train while those around you are oblivious. Get into a sexy state of mind and feel that thrill with Louisa’s books!

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