The Right Treatment Read Free Page A

could she do those things with strangers? And she didn’t even know if she enjoyed them or not. Bravado was the only option. Aoife the man-eating tiger!
    Chuguda chuguda chuguda, the train went as it flew along the track. Aoife’s head and stomach felt every one of those wheel turns. She concentrated on the thought of climbing into her bed and tried to sip on the water instead of lash it down to cure her insatiable thirst. If she drank it too fast she was sure to be sick. Don’t vomit, don’t vomit was her mantra as the journey passed. Both to distract her thoughts and to be prepared for the grilling she was sure to get from Fiona, she spent the journey making up a cover story for last night. The one thing that bugged her was this slight nagging inkling that she knew someone who lived in Leyton, but for the life of her she couldn’t think who it might be or if there was any risk that they might blow her cover.
    Finally she made it to Ruislip with the contents of her tummy mercifully intact. And to think she would have to do it all over again that very evening; there was a going-away party that she just had to go to even though partying more was the last thing she, or her body, needed right now.
     
    * * *
     
    “Hiya, be down in a minute. I desperately need the loo,” Aoife shouted as she slammed the front door behind her and ran upstairs to the bathroom. Fiona knew it was forced cheer. She recognised all the signs. When Aoife came down, she was grey and washed out.
    “Hard night?” she asked. Then she took in what Aoife was wearing. “Where did you get that shirt?” she asked, balling her hands into tight fists. She really wanted to punch Aoife right now.
    “It’s Tim’s. The fellah I stayed with.”
    “It’s Brian’s—I had that made for him. I’d know it anywhere. Did you fuck him last night?” Fiona said through gritted teeth. Aoife had really gone too far this time. Fiona could put up with a lot from Aoife, had put up with a lot. But the disloyalty of bedding her first love (even though he had proven to be an asshole in the end), now that was a step too far.
    “N-n-no. I told you it’s Tom’s. Maybe Brian chucked it out.”
    “You said Tim a minute ago, now it’s Tom. Fuck it, Aoife, if you’re lying, I’m done with you.” Fiona really hoped that Brian had indeed got rid of the shirt, but even that option pained her; he had loved that shirt. Then again, she thought he had loved her.
    “Tom, I said Tom. You must have misheard me. You know I wouldn’t go near Brian.” Fiona saw Aoife’s face become paler, if that was even possible. She ran to the cupboard and pulled out a basin, passing it to Aoife.
    “You were hitting those fucking E’s again. That’s the third night in a row. Lay off them tonight. In fact, you’d be better off to skip the party altogether.”
    “Who are you—me mother? Anyway, I can’t—it’s Martina’s Australian wake. I have to go and so do you. She’s off on Tuesday.”
    “No. Bloody. Drugs. Is that clear?”
    “For fuck’s sake, back off,” Aoife muttered under her breath. Fiona let it pass; she was too dangerously close to losing her temper to acknowledge it.
    At first, Aoife was pretty quiet and reserved. She stayed with Fiona, Martina, and the rest of the gang while they had a couple of drinks. Fiona kept a close eye on her. She didn’t seem to drink any more than the others, probably less if anything. Very early on, Aoife had switched to water while the rest of them were knocking back beer and having a right laugh. Then Aoife got a bit restless, until she saw a group of stags come in. She was off, chatting away with them, laughing and flirting. Aoife was in control, playing cat and mouse with the men. Enjoying the attention.
    Then at about ten-thirty things changed—Aoife started dancing like a wild thing and was all over every man who came near her, rubbing her body against theirs, hands all over them, talking nineteen to the dozen. She was wired.