Page 120 of Rafferty's Rules
I ammortified.I am hurt. And, despite my very best attempts, I am about to cry.
‘Fuck,’ I whisper, rubbing the back of my hand under my suddenly dripping nose. I am not going to cry over another jerk, even if this second betrayal hurts so much more.
‘Here.’ It takes me a moment to notice the clean cotton handkerchief he’s waving under my nose a flag of surrender.
‘Thank you’ I take it from him and blow my nose. There isn’t much point trying to stem the tears.
‘That’s okay. But you look like shit.’
My laughter is gurgling and incredulous. ‘Thanks. You really are a jerk.’
‘Guilty as charged. I’ve also been thinking.’
‘Oh, God. I don’t think I want to hear.’
‘No, you do,’ he insists quite sincerely. ‘We might be able to help each other out. I know I’ve had a bit to drink but I’m pretty coherent and I was thinking, my life is so much more screwed up than Rafferty’s.’
‘My commiserations.’
‘Thanks. But do you reckon you might fancy being my fake girlfriend?’
‘That’s quite an offer, Tom.’ I wipe my nose one more time, then draw my hand down his lapel, stuffing the mucus smeared cotton back into his pocket. As I beckon his closer, he bends and offers me his ear. And while I’m angry enough to tear it off with my teeth, I satisfy myself with kneeing his swiftly between the legs.
RAFFERTY
I don’t pick up a bottle of Champagne, not only would that be ridiculous, but it has the potential to turn into a deadly weapon after I notice Tom crouched over the back of a nearby chair.
‘What did you do?’
‘I didn’t stub my toe, if that’s what you’re asking,’ he groans, pressing his head against his forearms and exhaling a long curse. ‘I also didn’t knee myself in the balls.’
‘The fuck. Did. You. Do.’
I’m not sure what I’m asking for. I’m not an idiot, despite appearances otherwise.
‘I told her the truth.’Of course he did. ‘Someone had to.’
‘Yeah me,’ I grab him the lapel as a means to stop myself punching him in the head. ‘I should’ve been the one to tell her, not you.’
‘Maybe. But I’m pretty sure etiquette dictates that I ask her to be my fake girlfriend.’
‘Why?’ If I strangle him here, could I make it seem like an accident? ‘Why the fuck would you do that?’
‘Why not?’
‘You’re a fuckhead.’
‘I do seem to like to complicate things, true.’
Still holding his jacket by the lapel, I reach into his inside pocket and pull out a pen.Typical teacher.Then I let go of him as though he’s toxic, leaving him and his misery, real and imagined, as I take off for the cottage, pulling something from my pocket.
Please don’t let her have gone.
People and things are nothing more than indistinct blurs as I weave through the tables, ignoring my name. I’m wound so tight I can hardly breathe, let alone think, both of those activities an urgent kind of agony.
What the fuck do I say? What can I do to make this right?
As I reach the door, I still have no fucking clue as, fingers on the handle, I pause. There’s no explaining this to anyone’s satisfaction.What the hell am I supposed to say to make her see that she means everything to me?
