Together Apart by Natalie K Martin Page A

poker night. He’d just sent a particularly filthy message to Tamsin, and if anything, he would have expected to see her name flashing up at him on the screen, not Sarah’s. When was the last time she’d called him? He scowled and diverted the call. Less than a minute later, it rang again, and he looked at the smiling picture of her on his screen. What did she want?
    He sighed and put the phone to his ear. ‘Yes?’
    ‘Hi, Adam? It’s Ruth. I work with Sarah.’
    ‘What’s happened?’ He frowned, shoving manners to one side as a jolt of unease rippled through him. Something was obviously wrong. Why else would her friend be calling him? He left the others at the table and went out into the hallway.
    ‘She’s drunk. Like, really drunk. I’m worried about her getting home.’
    That couldn’t be right. Her workmates must have organised drinks for her birthday, but Sarah never drank enough to get drunk. He’d never even seen her tipsy before.
    ‘Seriously? She doesn’t drink much,’ he replied.
    ‘Well, she did tonight. I can’t let her get on the Tube l ike this.’
    The distorted sound of people shouting and laughing filtered through the phone, and he pictured groups of friends deciding where to go next. Adam swore under his breath. What did she want him to do? He didn’t have his car – he’d left it at home since he knew he’d be drinking tonight.
    ‘She’s in a really bad way,’ Ruth continued.
    He pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut. ‘Okay. Put her in a cab, and I’ll sort everything out at my end.’
    He gave Ruth his address, hung up and frowned, looking at the phone in his hand. Did that conversation really just happen? Sarah – drunk? Even on holiday, she would have one glass of rosé and nothing more. Getting her to drink the complimentary shot of amaretto after dinner was like trying to persuade a vegan to eat a rare steak. He shook his head, went back into the living room and picked his coat up off the sofa.
    ‘I’ve got to go.’
    ‘Everything okay?’ Carl asked.
    ‘Yeah, mate, I just need to go.’
    ‘Do you want a lift?’ Matt offered, standing up.
    ‘No, you’re all right. You stay and carry on. I’ll nip down to the cab office.’
    He grabbed a can of Coke from the table and left, jogging to the bottom of Carl’s road. He needed to get home before Sarah did, but it was Friday night. He’d be lucky if he didn’t have to wait for long. He walked into the tiny cab office with its scuffed magnolia walls and faded threadbare carpet and was relieved when he was ushered straight back out again. Twenty minutes later, having endured the sickly smell of vanilla car freshener and the tinny sound of Magic FM, he paid the driver and stepped out of the car. The whole drive back he’d pictured pulling up outside the flat to find Sarah slumped against the door, but she hadn’t arrived yet. She might not have even managed to get a cab at all – they were notoriously antsy about picking up catatonic revellers. He checked his phone for the millionth time. It had been half an hour since Ruth called him. Where was she?
    He paced the living room, looking out through the blinds every time the glow of headlights shone through the window. He swore under his breath at the state of her when she finally arrived. She’d been sick all down herself and in the back of the cab. The driver wasted no time in telling Adam he’d have to pay an extra thirty pounds to have the car cleaned. He lifted Sarah from the backseat o f th e car and ignored the angry mutterings as the cab driver snatched the notes from Adam’s hand before speeding away.
    Once inside, he undressed her, leaving her sodden clothes in a heap on the floor, and scowled as he sponged her face and neck with warm water. Her drunkenness was so out of character, even if it was her birthday. It probably hadn’t helped that he’d barely managed more than a mumbled, offhand birthday greeting before she’d left for work,