Fifteen

Mark’s shuffle under the sheets bounced Alex awake.

She squinted at his pale back and shifted her head slowly, homing in on the soft blue glow at the bottom of the flatscreen TV—the time, nine fifteen. Brightness spilled out from the bathroom around the corner. Dublin was too busy imitating a dishwasher outside, so her eyes were spared the discomfort of stabby shards of sunlight creeping through the edges of the curtains. Her hip ached. A peek under the duvet and her half-off dress revealed a purple and yellow bruise the size of an apple. She scratched her pounding head. “Mark, you awake?”

“Yeah…” His Irish accent barely broke a whisper.

“Kill me now. I’m so regretting last night. My head feels like a bashed-in piñata.”

“Me too. I should’ve been here looking after you…” He rolled over and clutched the edge of his pillow.

Alex gulped. Who had kidnapped her smiley boyfriend and replaced him with this mess who reeked worse than a brewery? This guy’s hair stuck to his forehead, and his complexion was ghostly, spare smudges of silver glitter on his cheek and chin, no doubt from a party hat long discarded. His brown eyes, bloodshot and puffy, skimmed over her, their usual lively glow extinguished. “Are you cross with me, Mouse?” He sounded like a chastised little boy.

“Hmm, guilty much?” she teased. “No, I made you stay. It’s my fault I’m in this mess, not yours.” She scooched farther up on her pillow, but the room swung around to meet her. “Urgh…don’t feel bad. I feel bad enough for both of us.” A rub of her eye, and black liner and glitter darkened her hand. “If I look as bad as I feel—”

“You always look gorgeous.” Mark’s voice cracked, like he was about to dissolve into tears. “Happy second anniversary, Mouse.”

“Happy anniversary, babe.” Alex swallowed several times, trying to wash away excessive saliva. “What’s wrong?”

“My head…is banging. I could murder a glass of water, but I feel like I could be sick. Fucking shots. I can’t remember whose idea that was.” Mark sniffed and closed his eyes. “If I could do it all over again, I would’ve come back with you. God, I’m such an idiot.”

“But you’re my idiot, and I love you.”

“I love you, too, Mouse, more than anything…you know that, right?”

She squeezed his hand. “My throat’s wrecked. I haven’t thrown up like that since Olivia stole my play. It was disgusting. When I got up around five to four, you still weren’t back.”

“How many times were you sick?”

“Twice, maybe…”

“I should’ve been here, holding your hair back.” He squeezed her hand.

Alex’s stomach squeaked and bubbled. “I’m tired of feeling like this.”

“Me too. Our anniversary isn’t going too well, is it? God, what a difference a year makes. Ah, Venice…” His voice halted. “Never again.”

“Never again. I’m done with stupid fruity cocktails… wait, what? Never what…Venice?”

“Promise me we’ll never be apart at midnight on New Year’s ever again, no matter what.”

“That’s my line, workaholic.” Alex snorted. “And after last night, I think I’m done with going commando…”

“I’m being serious, Lex. No more New Years apart.”

A muffled ping came from underneath the bedding. “You don’t have to nag. I’ve learnt my lesson.”

Mark groaned. “Me too.”

Alex’s hand fished under her pillow, pulling out her phone. “Oh.” Her eyes lit up. Two unread texts: one misspelled ramble from Freddie that ended with Stay sparkly and a delivery notification from the hotel’s front desk.

“What is it?”

“A surprise, the good kind.” She stared with half-mast eyelids. “So…is there something you want to tell me? Clear your conscience?”

“No…” He picked at a loose thread on his pillowcase. “I don’t think so.”

“You thought I’d freak out, right?” She dropped her phone under the covers. “Don’t worry, my head’s too sore to even go there.”

“Go where?”

“Mark, please…I know about the nude sex scene. Fallon told me—she thought I knew.”

“Oh…” His breath hitched as he looked away. “Yeah.”

“Yeah, it would’ve been nice to hear it from my boyfriend.”

“I’m sorry. It should’ve come from me—”

“You’re right. It should have.” She sighed. “But I understand why you kept quiet. You didn’t need an earache.” Alex swallowed, but she couldn’t budge the lump in her throat. “I’m angry with myself, and embarrassed. I hope I didn’t make you look bad in front of your friends. Fallon’s lovely, and I said some things…I wouldn’t blame her if she never spoke to me again, and it’s my fault for getting blotto with those berry drinks. I should know better. I do know better. I can’t drink as much as everyone else, and sex scenes are part of your job, end of.”

“You’re being way too hard on yourself.”

“I love you for saying that, but…” She shrugged. “I’ll apologize to Fallon when I see her—and Duff…and Wink, and the P.A. I have a long list.”

“You don’t have to apologize. I should be the one—”

Alex placed her fingers on his lips. “Shh.”

Mark kissed her fingers.

“Yeah, you might want to skip my lips until I brush my teeth. I don’t blame you.” She curled into him and scrunched up her nose. “Ew, you reek. Booze and…something else?”

“I may have had a sneaky cigarette or two last night.”

“Ugh.”

“I used to smoke, ages ago. That’s the problem with Dublin—it’s easy to fall into old habits here.” He smoothed her hair away from her eyes. “I wish we were done here. I wish we were back in London Fields.”

“Me too.” She kissed his neck and frowned. “You’re sticky.”

“Wink spilled a cocktail down me. Bastard.” Mark pulled away, flipping his legs out of the duvet. “Fuck, that was a bad idea. The room…” He paused, bracing himself on the bed. “I’m gonna shower. Maybe it will clear my head.”

“Need an extra hand in there?” Alex snickered, watching his underwear-covered butt move away from her.

“No, stay there. I’ll order breakfast when I’m done.” He removed his watch. “If you can stomach it?”

“I’ll try. Just some toast, maybe?” Alex pulled up into a sitting position then grabbed the duvet to steady the dizzy sway. “While you’re in there, I’ll change, pop downstairs, get my parcel.”

“Is that a good idea?” He scratched his chin.

“I’ll be lucky to make it to the lobby and back without killing myself.” She tugged the Vespa charm to the front of its chain. “Nah, I’ll be fine. It’s something for your birthday. I know how much you love surprises.”

• • •

Wearing yoga pants, unlaced Converse, Mark’s sweatshirt, and a green pallor that would make Kermit the Frog envious, Alex leaned on the hotel’s unmanned front desk and typed #MarkKeegan into Instagram. Lairds memes rolled under her finger, wishing a Happy Hogmanay and announcing New Year’s resolutions to find out what Mark was hiding underneath that kilt. Photos of Mark from Tom and Naomi’s wedding continued to pop up along with random fan selfies. A dimly lit, sneaky snap from the previous night of her kissing Mark cropped up in the middle of the Instagram feed—

Her phone lit up: a text from Lucy, sent to her phone and Mark’s.

Hey Marlex. Happy anniversary! Hope you’re having a shagging good time. We missed you two last night. Bespoke’s Prohibition theme was fun, but Freddie’s after-party was dreadful. Don’t tell Freds I said that. My head is throbbing, so I’m taking my hot water bottle back to bed! Love you lots. x

Alex smiled and shifted slowly around, careful not to jar her bruised brain.

A lone figure, chin buried in her scarf, walked across the lobby. An elegant, tight bun reminiscent of a ballerina kept her hair neatly in place—so pretty, but absolute torture with a hangover.

Alex blinked twice, unsure. “Fallon?”

“Oh…hi, Alex. Sorry, miles away.” Fallon’s skin was luminous, the inch-thick makeup worn at the pub scrubbed away without a trace. Her sparse eyelashes looked like they had never seen a mascara wand in their life. The stunning vixen from the Stag’s Head had left Dublin, replaced by a fresh-faced girl next door wearing a parka, yoga pants, and a fat wooly scarf. “How are you?”

Alex groaned. “I’ve been better. Sorry about last night, I was out of control…”

“Nah.” Fallon shrugged, and her scarf swallowed up her chin. “What’s New Year’s Eve without a laugh, lots of booze…”

“Too right.” Alex rolled her eyes.

Fallon smiled. “You’re not leaving, are you?”

“Nope. Dublin’s stuck with me for a few days. It’s Mark’s birthday next week and I got him something special, had it sent over yesterday. I’m picking it up…” She turned back to the empty front desk. “…if the staff ever return.”

“Did Mark… How is he?”

“He’s a bit rough around the edges, but he’ll survive. Did you guys stay late, too?”

“The pub did a lock-in. Wink kept getting drinks in. There are going to be some casualties this morning. I’m surprised you’re not having a lie-in…”

“It’s our anniversary.”

“Oh, right. Got plans?”

“Dinner, maybe, if Mark’s up to it, or maybe we’ll chill, watch a movie or something. His mum wants to see us next weekend when she’s back from Europe. We’ll celebrate our anniversary and his birthday at the same time.”

Fallon’s face lit up. “Aw, isn’t she lovely? I adore her.”

“His mum?” Alex nodded. “Oh, she visited the set?”

“Oh, no. She’d never impose.”

Alex squinted, her brain…so foggy. Damn hangover. “Sorry?”

“Oh…I thought Mark would’ve told you…” Fallon’s eyes strayed to the hotel’s sliding doors. “I’ve known Niamh since I was a kid. She was Mum’s best friend.” Her glance returned with a smile. “They worked together.”

“Really?” Alex’s voice rose slightly. “I had no clue…”

“Typical Mark, so forgetful.” Fallon chuckled. “I met him at Mum’s work, and then again at a family picnic, freezing by the seaside. We were twelve, I think. I bet Niamh still has the photos up on her wall?”

Alex vaguely remembered some beach photos. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Our families used to hang out a lot, and Mark ended up in my theatre class—”

“Miss Sinclair?”

Alex pulled her eyes away from Fallon. The breathless concierge darted behind the counter, a parcel in his grip. “Our apologies for this morning’s wait.”

Alex’s stomach rolled again, reminding her of the night’s excess. “It’s okay. Thanks.” She hugged the box covered with stamps and a customs declaration.

“And there’s another parcel addressed to Mr. Keegan.”

“Okay. I’ll take it, too.”

The concierge handed over a rectangular courier box. Alex put her own parcel on top and turned to Fallon. “Sorry, you were saying?”

Fallon looked at the glass doors again, clearing her throat. “Look, I feel bad, Alex. Mark really should have said something. I was his first snog, first girlfriend, first…” She bit her lip.

Alex shook her head. Her new friend was delusional. “No, I don’t think so. Sinéad was Mark’s first girlfriend. He told me. They went out for three months.”

“Three months?” Fallon’s eyebrows peaked. “Alex, this is awkward. I thought you knew…I’m Sinéad. Fallon’s my middle name. I use it professionally.”

“You’re…Sinéad?” Alex choked on Fallon’s words. “Oh…”

Why would Mark lie?

Fallon pulled her parka tighter as she stared at the hotel’s exit. A car pulled up. Someone waved. Seconds dragged past. A breath stuck in Alex’s throat. She opened her mouth, but no words or air came out.

“My friend’s here. Sorry, I wish we could chat longer.” Fallon tossed her bag over a shoulder and smiled kindly. “Have a happy anniversary, okay?”

Without looking back, she dashed through the doors to the car, her bun barely touched by Dublin’s drizzle.

A strong waft of fragrance, a spicy scent, prickled Alex’s nose…

The scent she had detected in bed…

On Mark.

No.

No, NO! A savage coldness ripped through Alex’s chest, plunging without mercy into her stomach. She began to tremble. The lobby melted into a wobbly blur of streaky lights and staring guests.

“Excuse me, miss? Are you all right?” A tourist with a Canadian flag pinned to her coat’s lapel smiled kindly.

“I-I…don’t know.” Alex shuffled past the woman, up the hallway leading to the elevators, and leaned precariously against the wall. Juggling the two parcels, her fingers jabbed at the phone screen quaking in her palm. The last photo she’d seen before receiving Lucy’s text—the fuzzy image of her and Mark pressed against the wall in the pub—lit up her screen. Her eyes poured over the image.

The back of Mark’s pink shirt was at a diagonal angle to the camera. His arms looped around her waist, and his face was hidden, lost in a kiss. A glimpse of her red dress peeked out from behind his body, but beyond that, only her arms, squeezing him tightly, were in view. Her fingers dug into his back, their embrace verging on desperate. The silver bracelet on her wrist caught the light.

Alex blinked. Something wasn’t right. Some parts of the night were still a fog, but Alex did remember that she hadn’t made out with Mark at the Stag’s Head, not once, not at all…and she didn’t own a silver bracelet…

The photo of Mark pressed up against the wall in lip lock—was with Fallon.