as a skill, or a gift; nor as a demon to keep at bay, or an affliction to be wary of. She could simply drink as much as she liked, become talkative and effervescent until the small hours yet maintain the presence of mind not to snog indiscriminately, to remember where she lived, to take off her mascara before she went to sleep and to awaken with energy, a clear head and a fresh complexion. Just occasionally, however, a hangover befell her which reminded her that alcohol could be rather a bore. A hangover for Thea bore no relevance to the amount drunk the night before, it was attributable solely to champagne. And at Mark and Alice's wedding, Veuve Clicquot flowed as if it were lemonade.
So, while Alice was trying to procure an upgrade from Club to First on her first morning as a married woman, Thea was creaking open an eyelid, groaning and praying for numb sleep. When Alice and Mark left Heathrow, First Class, two hours later, Thea managed to creep carefully to her bath-room, take two Nurofen and tolerate an invigoratingly coolshower. Although it felt as if the inside of her skull and the rims of her eye-sockets were being maliciously rubbed with industrial sandpaper, that sawdust had stuck her tongue to her tonsils and that her stomach would never absorb any kind of food again, Thea was staggered to see from the mirror that she looked as if she'd had eight hours' sleep, a macrobiotic supper the night before and a challenging Pilates session.
She gave herself a stern look and vowed never to drink champagne again. She let the telephone ring and listened to Alice leave a message.
‘Thea? I'm on the plane! I am 38,000 feet high! We're in First Class. Which isn't the reason I'm calling – well, it is. But also, would you mind popping into mine while I'm away – twitch the curtains and all the etceteras? Thanks, babes. Oh! By the way, one of Mark's cousins from America thought you were “hot”. And I've given him your email address – apparently, he's over in Britain on business quite often.’
‘I can't remember him,’ said Thea, wondering if a warmer shower might be good for the cold sweat now gripping her.
‘And if you can't remember him, he was the one you danced with on Top Table to “Lady's Night”.’
‘I was dancing on Top Table? Oh my God.’ Thea groaned.
‘You also danced with Jeff, one of my features editors. But despite his passion for mascara and glossy lippy, I don't think you were aware that he is in fact gay. And shorter than you. Anyway, must fly – oh, I already am! There's in-flight massage! Bye, darling, bye.’
A purpose was a very good idea. Thea had a purpose to the day. And after she checked on Alice's flat, she walked sedately to the top of Primrose Hill. The air was cold and cut through the fog in her head. The wind sliced across her face and elicited tears which refreshed her eyes. She was under-dressedfor the weather but every time she shivered, she found that her nausea quelled. So she stood on the top of Primrose Hill, tears coursing down her face, shuddering violently at irregular intervals. And that was when Saul Mundy first saw Thea Luckmore, all silent tears and harsh, spasmodic shuddering. She was staring in the vague direction of St Paul's Cathedral but to Saul it seemed she was gazing deep into the nub of whatever it was that irked her so. It immediately struck him as peculiar that a seemingly unhinged person he'd never met was in fact capturing his attention. Even more bizarre was his instinct to take off his jacket and place it around her shoulders. He wanted to buy her soup. To sit her down. Though disconcerted, he felt compelled to linger. She seemed oblivious to her surroundings yet at the mercy of the elements. Trembling. Tears. Pale.
‘Hullo,’ said Saul, whether it was a good idea or not, ‘chilly, isn't it.’ He couldn't believe he'd chosen the weather as his opening gambit, but he was not in the habit of striking up conversation with a complete stranger,
So, while Alice was trying to procure an upgrade from Club to First on her first morning as a married woman, Thea was creaking open an eyelid, groaning and praying for numb sleep. When Alice and Mark left Heathrow, First Class, two hours later, Thea managed to creep carefully to her bath-room, take two Nurofen and tolerate an invigoratingly coolshower. Although it felt as if the inside of her skull and the rims of her eye-sockets were being maliciously rubbed with industrial sandpaper, that sawdust had stuck her tongue to her tonsils and that her stomach would never absorb any kind of food again, Thea was staggered to see from the mirror that she looked as if she'd had eight hours' sleep, a macrobiotic supper the night before and a challenging Pilates session.
She gave herself a stern look and vowed never to drink champagne again. She let the telephone ring and listened to Alice leave a message.
‘Thea? I'm on the plane! I am 38,000 feet high! We're in First Class. Which isn't the reason I'm calling – well, it is. But also, would you mind popping into mine while I'm away – twitch the curtains and all the etceteras? Thanks, babes. Oh! By the way, one of Mark's cousins from America thought you were “hot”. And I've given him your email address – apparently, he's over in Britain on business quite often.’
‘I can't remember him,’ said Thea, wondering if a warmer shower might be good for the cold sweat now gripping her.
‘And if you can't remember him, he was the one you danced with on Top Table to “Lady's Night”.’
‘I was dancing on Top Table? Oh my God.’ Thea groaned.
‘You also danced with Jeff, one of my features editors. But despite his passion for mascara and glossy lippy, I don't think you were aware that he is in fact gay. And shorter than you. Anyway, must fly – oh, I already am! There's in-flight massage! Bye, darling, bye.’
A purpose was a very good idea. Thea had a purpose to the day. And after she checked on Alice's flat, she walked sedately to the top of Primrose Hill. The air was cold and cut through the fog in her head. The wind sliced across her face and elicited tears which refreshed her eyes. She was under-dressedfor the weather but every time she shivered, she found that her nausea quelled. So she stood on the top of Primrose Hill, tears coursing down her face, shuddering violently at irregular intervals. And that was when Saul Mundy first saw Thea Luckmore, all silent tears and harsh, spasmodic shuddering. She was staring in the vague direction of St Paul's Cathedral but to Saul it seemed she was gazing deep into the nub of whatever it was that irked her so. It immediately struck him as peculiar that a seemingly unhinged person he'd never met was in fact capturing his attention. Even more bizarre was his instinct to take off his jacket and place it around her shoulders. He wanted to buy her soup. To sit her down. Though disconcerted, he felt compelled to linger. She seemed oblivious to her surroundings yet at the mercy of the elements. Trembling. Tears. Pale.
‘Hullo,’ said Saul, whether it was a good idea or not, ‘chilly, isn't it.’ He couldn't believe he'd chosen the weather as his opening gambit, but he was not in the habit of striking up conversation with a complete stranger,
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