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He smiles. ‘OK.’

As we make our way towards the car, clutching my bottle of newly purchased Sauvignon Blanc, I’m already thinking about ideas for a starter to serve with it. I doubt very much that we’ll be able to resist finishing at least one of the bottles, but I’m sure it will be fine as long as I drink slowly and keep an eye on the top-ups.

14

I don’t need to open my eyes to know that something is very wrong. As I gently move my legs around, it quickly becomes clear that I’m not in my bed. For starters, my foot falls off the edge on one side almost immediately, but there’s a hard barrier the other side to stop me stretching out that way either. My head is being held unnaturally high, making me wince with pain in my neck when I try to move it. As I open my eyes and take in my surroundings and the bright daylight streaming through the window, the full horror of my situation starts to dawn on me. I’m still in Nathan’s apartment, and I’ve obviously been here all night. At least I’m on the sofa and not in the bed, and a quick (and hopefully surreptitious) check under the blanket that’s covering me reassures me that I’m fully clothed. What on earth happened? I don’t remember drinking that much. As I shuffle myself into a sitting position, my mind takes me back to a similar occasion, years ago, and I can feel the panic rising inside me.

‘Good morning,’ a familiar voice says as I pull the blanket up to my neck. I may be dressed, but that means nothing. Nathan is standing in the kitchen area, nursing a mug in his hands. He’s looking fresh as a daisy in his shorts and T-shirt, but I’m way too upset to enjoy the view like I normally would.

‘What… What happened?’ I ask shakily.

‘I’m no expert,’ he replies with a smile, ‘but my guess is that a week of fighting with Jeremiah after an eventful wedding and long flight has taken much more out of you than you realised and, when I suggested that you sit on the sofa to relax while I cleared up, your body staged an intervention. That’s the version I prefer, anyway.’

He’s either completely innocent and oblivious to the way I’m feeling, or he’s an incredibly good actor. Either way, his words are triggering memories I desperately don’t want to surface right now. ‘Is there another version?’ I ask, embarrassed by the slight wobble in my voice.

‘Yes. It’s the one where I was so dull, I bored you to sleep.’

Stay calm, Athena. He sounds genuine. But then so did Tim. Oh, God. What am I going to do? I need to get out of here as soon as possible without causing offence.

‘I’m sure that isn’t the case,’ I tell him, trying to make this all sound completely normal.

‘Would you like a coffee?’

‘Umm, no. I should be going.’ I pull off the blanket and start looking around for my trainers.

‘I put your shoes by the door so you’d find them easily if you woke in the night,’ Nathan explains, pointing them out.

‘Did you take them off me?’ I ask sharply, on full alert once more. I know it’s only a pair of shoes, but it’s still him removing an article of my clothing.

‘No. You took them off so you could tuck your feet underneath you when we were chatting. Don’t you remember?’

I try to form a picture of the previous evening in my head, but nothing is coming. The rational part of me doesn’t have a problem accepting Nathan’s explanations. I spent the whole day with him and there was nothing about him that set off any alarm bells. However, that’s not enough to silence the doubts that have snaked their way into my thoughts. I try to force my mind to recall the events of last night. I remember us having a glass each of the white wine as we laughed our way through the ridiculously retro prawn cocktails in my flat, before we’d decamped to Nathan’s, where he’d served up a delicious meat that he’d said was Kudu, along with creamed spinach and sautéed potatoes. I also remember telling him how impressed I was with his cooking, prompting him to reveal the packets it had all come in.

As I piece more of the evening together, I remember him opening the bottle of red and pouring some directly into my glass. Again, no obvious red flags, but then there weren’t any last time either. My mind is all over the place. I want so much to believe what Nathan is telling me, but I’ve been in this situation before and this is very much my waking-up-in-hell scenario. I feel sick, and all I want to do is get out of here as quickly as I can without making him suspicious. When Nathan turns to rinse his mug out in the sink, I take advantage of him facing away to run some more quick checks. Although my hair is horribly tangled after a night on the sofa, nothing else feels ‘off’. I can’t detect any bruises and my clothes don’t feel like they’ve been removed and put back on incorrectly.

‘I didn’t touch you, I promise. I covered you with the blanket and left you to it.’ Despite my best efforts, Nathan has obviously spotted what I’m up to and his face is full of concern.

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to doubt you, but…’

‘I’m the one who should be sorry. It never occurred to me that you might feel unsafe.’ His words are reassuring, but I can see the hurt in his eyes, and I suddenly feel like an awful person for suspecting him. ‘Look,’ he continues, ‘I was going to suggest going out for breakfast, but I’m sure you’d rather get back to your own space, have a shower and check yourself over properly. Maybe we can catch up later, if you’d like.’

‘I’m sorry, Nathan,’ I tell him earnestly. ‘It’s just odd waking up in a strange place when I have no recollection of going to sleep.’

‘I get it.’ Again the reassuring tone. ‘I should have woken you up and sent you back to your own flat, but you looked so peaceful that I didn’t want to disturb you.’

Another question pops into my head. It’s utterly ludicrous, given the conversation we’re currently having and the doubts in my mind, but I can’t help asking nonetheless.

‘Was I… Did I snore?’

I swear I spot the merest glimmer of a smile cross his face before his expression turns serious once more. ‘A gentleman never tells,’ he replies. He’s trying, and failing, to look enigmatic now.

It may sound odd, but I’m reassured by his lie. Firstly, if I’d been that dog tired that I’d fallen asleep on a stranger’s sofa, there’s no way I wouldn’t have snored and, even if I’d somehow managed to avoid that, the weird sleeping position would definitely have set me off. What I think I’ve learned, though, is that Nathan’s poker face is hopeless. If that’s the case, then there would be a similar ‘tell’ in his expression if anything he was saying about last night wasn’t true. Nevertheless, he’s right that I’m anxious to get into my own space so I can give myself a thorough check.

‘OK, well, I’d better get back and crack on,’ I say lamely. ‘My presentation isn’t going to write itself.’

As I cross to the entrance and start pulling on my trainers, I glance over at Nathan, who is still leaning against the kitchen counter. He’s staring straight ahead, his eyes unfocused. He looks like he might be about to burst into tears and, for a moment, I hate myself for doubting him. What I can’t tell him is why I feel the way I do, and I’m aware of the tears pricking the backs of my own eyes as I let the memories bubble to the surface while I do up my laces. I may have escaped relatively unharmed from a physical perspective, but I still carry the emotional scars of what may have happened that night and I’ve only confided in a few of my very closest friends because of the shame I felt and, if I’m honest, still feel.

I hurry to my apartment, now oblivious to everything except the film starting to play in my head. I’m on autopilot as I strip off, set the shower to the hottest temperature I can stand, and step in. As the water cascades over my hair and face, forcing me to close my eyes, the vision clarifies into full colour and I’m transported back in time to Freshers’ Week at uni and the night I met Tim. Like Nathan, he’d come across as completely normal, charming even. However, even at the tender age of eighteen, I’d been savvy enough to turn down the invitation back to his student digs to ‘continue the party’. Unfortunately for me, Tim turned out to be the kind of guy who didn’t take no for an answer. By the time I realised my drink had been spiked, it was too late. I was making no sense as Tim ‘gallantly’ offered to take me home. My memories of the rest of the night are just a series of poorly framed mental snapshots; enough for me to know what had happened, but not enough to make a coherent narrative.