Free Killing Me Softly by Nicci French Page B

shouted.
    I felt as if I had asked for a cup of meths. I considered whether to go outside for something but couldn’t face it. I took the key and went up two flights of stairs to my room. It wasn’t so bad. There was a wash-basin and a window looking down on a stone yard and across at the back of another house on the other side. I pulled the curtain shut. I was in a hotel room in London on my own with nothing. I stripped down to my underwear and got into bed. I got out of the bed and locked the door, then dived under the covers again. I didn’t cry. I didn’t lie awake all night pondering my life. I went to sleep straight away. But I left the light on.
    I woke up late, dull-headed, but not suicidal. I got up, took my bra and knickers off and washed myself in the basin. Then I put them back on. I brushed my teeth without toothpaste. For breakfast I had a contraceptive pill washed down with a plastic beaker of water. I dressed and went downstairs. There seemed to be nobody around. I looked in at a dining room with a shiny marble-style floor where all the tables had plastic chairs around them. I heard voices from somewhere and I could smell frying bacon. I walked across the room and pushed open a curtain. Around a kitchen table were seated the woman I had met last night, a man of her own age and shape, evidently her husband, and several small fat children. They looked up at me.
    ‘I was leaving,’ I said.
    ‘You want breakfast?’ said the man, smiling. ‘We have eggs, meat, tomatoes, mushrooms, beans, cereal.’
    I shook my head weakly.
    ‘You paid already.’
    I accepted some coffee and stood in the door of the kitchen watching as they got the children ready for school. Before I left, the man looked at me with a concerned expression. ‘You all right?’
    ‘All right.’
    ‘You stay another night?’
    I shook my head again and left. It was cold outside but at least it was dry. I stopped and thought, orienting myself. I could walk from here. On my way down Edgware Road, I bought some lemon-scented wipes and toothpaste, mascara and lipstick from a chemist and then some simple white knickers. In Oxford Street I found a functional clothes shop. I took a black shirt and a simple jacket into the changing room. I put my new knickers on as well, wiped my face and neck with the wipes until my skin stung, then applied some makeup. It was just enough of an improvement. At least I didn’t look as if I was about to be sectioned. At just after ten, I rang Claudia. I had been intending to make up something about going through my papers but once I got her on the line, some odd impulse made me fall back on partial honesty. I told her that I was having a personal crisis that I was having to deal with and that I was in no condition to appear in the office. I could hardly get her off the line.
    ‘I’ll think of something to tell Mike,’ she concluded.
    ‘Just remember to tell me what it is before I see him.’
    From Oxford Street it was only a few minutes’ walk to Adam’s flat. When I reached the street door I realized that I had almost no idea of what I was going to say to him. I stood there for several minutes but nothing occurred. The door was unlocked so I walked up the stairs and knocked on the flat door. It opened. I stepped forward, starting to speak, and then stopped. The person in the doorway was a woman. She was alarmingly attractive. She had dark hair that was probably long but was now fastened up unfussily. She was dressed in jeans and a checked shirt over a black T-shirt. She looked tired and preoccupied.
    ‘Yes?’ she said.
    I felt a sick lurch in my stomach and a flush of hot embarrassment. I had the feeling that I had fucked up my entire life simply to make a fool of myself.
    ‘Is Adam there?’ I asked numbly.
    ‘No,’ she said briskly. ‘He’s moved on.’
    She was American.
    ‘Do you know where?’
    ‘God, there’s a question now. Come in.’ I followed her inside because I didn’t know what else to