01:40am

If Eric asks, I'll tell him season 2 of Liar was great. Off the record? Re-watching Ratatouille for the 17th time was easily the best decision I've made in ages.

Pressing my lips together to suppress a yawn, I shut my laptop. What a night. And to think, a couple of hours ago, the most serious thing on my mind was 'pink dress or green dress?'

Now, the pink dress is back in my suitcase, the green dress is Ana's, and it's safe to say that my mind's been bogged down with slightly more grave matters.

Faith. Moonie. Whatever her name is, I wouldn't be able to think of anything else if I tried. From the moment I close my laptop screen, the questions start bashing about in my head again. Am I really a crutch? Why didn't Eric tell me? Is he really okay?

Pip said I shouldn't worry about it. It's a hard thing to go through, and an even harder thing to talk about. I get that. Or actually, I don't, and I'm glad I don't. Either way, I don't know what to think.

In some ways, the oddest part is watching the Macklins go about their business, toasting and mingling and laughing heartily like they don't all carry the same hurt that I saw in Nelly's tears, in Pip's troubled reticence.

Selfishly, thinking about the Macklins' family makes me miss mine. Home is wherever Eric is, I know, and I've loved almost every minute out here with, but I'm starting to miss movie nights with my girls, and Auggie bursting into my room just to piss me off, and scoffing endless bowls of Monster Munch with Mum and Walt. I miss normal.

angie: B 💖

angie: u up?

I stretch myself across the bed, careful not to wrinkle my pyjamas as I text Babe. When I picture 'normal' – the patterns of life I've grown to love over the past 10, 15 years – B's the one I see. And Caz, of course. But Babe's our resident insomniac. I'd bet anything that she's still awake. I know I can count on her to bring me back to earth.

babe: nope. fast asleep. *zzzzz*

I smile when she texts back almost instantaneously. Knew it.

angie: tut tut, barbara. what are you doing awake?

babe: scuba diving. u?

angie: 💀 just finished watching ratatouille again

babe: without me? 🥺

angie: i'm sorryyyy

angie: abc movie night when we get back. pinkie promise x

babe: fine 🙄

babe: are u going to bed now?

I gnaw at my inner cheek before answering.

angie: nah. eric's having friends over but i wanna stay up for him before i sleep

babe: angeee

babe: it's not you like you need beauty sleep at all but aren't you tired?

When I begin to type a lie, my body calls me out on it, and despite my best efforts, the yawn I held back escapes. Backspace.

angie: only a lil bit; but it's still his birthday (kinda) so 🤷‍♀️

babe: OH

babe: 2am... staying up for him. ange...

angie: ?

babe: ok, i do NOT want details. but

babe: send a Y if this is about 🎂🍑

"Birthday cake nectarine? Birthday cake nectarine...Peach? Birthday peach?" I squint as I try and decode the symbols, but the meaning hits me in an instant and I laugh out loud.

"No," I laugh again, but as I tap the two letters out on the little screen, I find myself pausing to reconsider.

Maybe... maybe carnal closeness is exactly what I'm hoping for. After this morning's fiasco with Louisa, and all the madness that followed, perhaps exactly what I need, what we need, is to let the early morning envelop us, to hold each other close and forget about everything but us.

The Victoria's Secret set I bought with the girls is tucked neatly in the corner of my open suitcase. The thought of putting it on, with the sultry eyes and intentional touches that it requires, heats my face with nerves and lust all at once. There's a voice in my ear that whispers 'if not tonight, when?' and it sounds uncannily Caz-like. But it's right. If not tonight, when?

I put my pyjamas on over the teddy once everything is clipped in place.

It's an odd, exciting sensation – the feeling of the gentle roughness of the lace against my back and the firm hold of the soft garter belt on my thigh under a warm, white satin pyjama set that lets me cover it all up, masking my lust until I choose to reveal it, reveal myself, to him. I sort of adore it.

Only my feet are left exposed, clothed in the thin baby-blue cotton of the stockings, and I twiddle my toes in excitement as I send the lone character.

angie: Y :)

babe: :p

Time ticks on for a while, and by 2:20, I'm on my 5th Vine compilation, and wondering if the day's lost and I'm a total idiot for staying awake for so long. Until an electronic noise rings and catches my slowly waning attention.

The noise comes from a little gold plaque by the door, out of a small speaker. I hadn't noticed it before, but when I approach it cautiously, there's a message on the little LCD screen.

come down. want to see you. auby xxx

I squeal like an idiot when I read it. I can't figure out how to text back, and I thought he'd come here, rather than me going there, but not one of my silly little worries matters anymore.

He wants to see me, and the thought makes me smug with hope. Maybe the day isn't lost after all.

02:25am

As the night rolled on, passing into the early morning, Eric sighed as he rubbed the arms of his leather seat. He could feel the tireless occasion finally coming to an end. Even the rowdiest among them were stifling wide-mouthed yawns and fighting closing eyelids.

"Somebody needs to get to bed," Eric quipped when Milo let out a cavernous yawn of his own, seizing the opportunity to shoo the boys out with as much politesse as he could muster.

"Somebody wants us out of his house," Milo laughed, though his eyes were scanning the room in search of wherever he had thrown his trench coat. Eric stood from his chair with an exaggerated stretch,

"You're damn right I do. I'm an old man now, I need my rest."

"What! Already?" Tom's tipsy protest came, as he sat up in the corner sofa. "But the night's only just begun..." Eric's eyes followed Tom's, trained on the gold-needled floor indicator above the elevator doors. He ground his teeth.

At best (although by no means favourably), Tom had invited more people over – unlike Eric, he'd always been a 'the more the merrier' sort of bloke. At worst, he'd hired an escort. He wouldn't put it above Tom. Eric held his temple between his fingers at the shudder-inducing thought as he watched the frail needle turn.

"Christ, Thomas," he said, attempting to mask his irritation with a rough laugh, "what have you done?"

But when it landed on the left, pointing shakily at 'G' for games room, and the glossy doors slid open, revealing his Evangeline, in satin pyjamas as pale as his blanched face, he asked again, fearful and unsmiling.

"Tom. Tom, what have you done?"