“No, I’ll do it. We are fine,” I say, poking my head into the kitchen, where the whir of the washing machine becomes more obvious.
“Okay. How’s the program going? One week down already!”
“It’s been good. Actually, I’m researching the self-portrait we found, like you suggested.”
“You are?” I pause as Dad’s voice softens. “That’s really cool, Fliss. I knew you’d come round to art eventually. Maybe you can tell me about it when we get home?”
“Sure.” I smile. He sounds all sappy now, but wait until I tell him exactly what I’m researching.
“Brilliant. Listen, do you want me to call Izzy’s mom and explain what’s happening? She wasn’t too happy last time I spoke to her.”
God, no. “No, don’t worry,” I say aloud. “She’s got a lot going on at the moment. I’ll fill you in when you get home. I’ll get Iz to call her later and check in.”
“G—I—ur mom—ater.” The line distorts his voice. Something about Mom?
“Dad? You’re breaking up.”
“Is—at—etter?” he says loudly, as though he can shout through the bad line. I stifle a laugh.
“Dad, go and enjoy the rest of the holiday. Say hi to Kim from me. I’ll call Mom later, and I’ll text if I need anything.”
“Okay, Fliss,” he says, and I can hear a smile in his voice as the line clears again. “And I’ll tell Kim. She’ll like that.”
I roll my eyes. “All right. Bye, Dad.”
“Bye, honey.”
I enter the empty living room, grateful that Jen and Noah cleaned up last night. I smile as the memory of the kiss comes flooding back, and I do a goofy little twirl while I’m alone. My knees ache at the movement, and I see little bruises have blossomed across them. I should give them a proper clean in the shower, make sure there’s no more glass, but for now I drop onto the sofa and scroll on my phone—no text from Noah, but there is one from Izzy.
Izzy:Gone to get breakfast, back soon!
It’s timestamped almost twenty minutes ago, so she must be on her way back by now. I send a reply to let her know I’m awake, and she immediately gives it a little thumbs-up and responds.
Izzy:Home in 5
I drag a blanket over my legs and snuggle down into the sofa, reaching for the remote on the coffee table. There’s something next to it—a small, intricately folded piece of red paper that resembles a flower. I can’t stop the grin that spreads across my face as I pick it up. I know who left it there. I debate texting him, but he said he would text me, so I decide to wait. I prop the flower on the arm of the sofa and turn on the TV, smiling over at the flowerbetween every channel flick. I settle on an ancient ’90s show on Freeview calledBaywatch, about hot lifeguards who solve crime or something, when I hear a key turn in the lock.
“Honey, I’m home! Sorry I was ages—one of the roads was blocked off, so I had to walk the long way round,” Izzy calls as she shuts the door behind her. She sounds in better shape than I do, which is absolutely typical of her. I’m exhausted. “And I have apology food.”
“I’m in here,” I reply, and my eyes widen as she appears in the doorway, sunglasses still on and brandishing a brown fast-food bag and two tall paper cups. “Are you an angel?”
“Apparently not,” she says sheepishly, coming to join me on the sofa. “Ford sent me a very thoughtful text this morning, asking how I felt after I was so violently sick last night.” She grimaces and hands me a drink. “His exact words, no less. I just don’t get how I ended up being that bad. Maybe that orange liqueur doesn’t agree with me?”
I put my phone on the table, then take a straw from her and tear off the paper wrapper. “I have something to tell you.”
“You do?” Izzy rips open the paper bag and places it between us. The smell of hash browns makes my mouth water.
“Don’t freak out, okay? I don’t think you did drink that much, so I’ve been wondering whether someone did something to the sangria.” Izzy doesn’t reply, so I unwrap my breakfast muffin as I let her mull that over.
“What, like added some shots? If someone put vodka in there, that would explain the sick.” She winces. “Did Ford really hold the bin as I chucked up in it?” I nod, my mouth full. “God’ssake. Oh, and what’s this?” She turns her face so I can see her left temple. The bruise has turned an ugly shade of purple, though the swelling has thankfully gone down. “This is it with makeup on. You should have seen it this morning!”
“We couldn’t figure out how you got that. It was there when I found you passed out on the floor.” I take a sip from my drink, welcoming the sugar fix.
“Passed out…” Izzy pales. “On the floor?”
I fill her in on everything up until the point she remembers, which is Noah leaving. “Listen, Iz…I don’t want to scare you,but I do think someone might have spiked the drink, and not with vodka shots.” I wince at the look on her face. Typical Izzy, only sees the good in people.
“You mean drugs? But who would do that? We knew everyone here.” She brushes off my comment, biting off half a hash brown in one go.