In a Dark, Dark Wood by Ruth Ware Page A

Melanie got up too.
    ‘I’ll help you,’ she said pointedly.
    ‘All the more for those who do!’ Tom said with slightly aggressive cheerfulness. He rolled up a ten-pound note and snorted up his line, wiping his nose and rubbing the grains on his gums. ‘Clare?’
    Clare knelt and did the same with a practised swiftness that made me wonder how often she did this. She stood up, swayed slightly, and then laughed. ‘Christ, I can’t be high already. Must be the tequila! Nina?’ She held out the tenner. Nina made a face.
    ‘Thanks but no thanks! Palm that snot-rag off on some unsuspecting shop assistant. I’ll use my own, thanks.’ She ripped a strip off the cover of the Vogue Living that was lying on the hearth, and snorted up the third line. I winced, looking at the butchered cover, and hoping Flo wouldn’t notice when she came back.
    ‘Nora?’
    I sighed. It was true that I’d done my first line with Clare. It had also been one of my last. Don’t get me wrong, I smoked and drank and did various other drugs at college. But I never really enjoyed cocaine. It never did much for me.
    Now I felt like an absurd caricature as I knelt awkwardly on the rug and let Nina vandalise Vogue Living a bit more. It felt like a scene from a bad horror movie – just before the slasher comes in and starts stabbing people. All we needed was a couple of kids making out in the pool-house to be the first victims.
    I snorted up the line and stood up, feeling the blood rush away from my head, and my nose and the back of my mouth grow numb and strange.
    I was too old for this. It was never really me, even back at school. I’d only gone along with Clare because I was too weak-willed to say no. I remembered, as if through a haze, James holding forth about the hypocrisy of it all: ‘They make me laugh, doing sponsored fasts for Oxfam and protesting about Nestlé, and then funnelling their pocket money off to Columbian drug barons. Tossers. Can’t they see the irony? Give me a nice bit of home-grown weed any day.’
    I sank back on the sofa and shut my eyes, feeling the tequila, Champagne and coke mixing in my veins. All evening I had been trying to connect the boy I’d known with the Clare of today, and this only brought into sharp focus the strangeness of it all. Had he really changed that much? Did they sit in their London flat, snorting up, side by side, and did he think of what he’d said when he was sixteen and reflect on the irony of it, the irony that he was now one of those tossers he’d laughed at all those years ago?
    The picture hurt, like an old half-healed wound griping unexpectedly.
    ‘Lee?’ I heard Clare’s voice as if through a haze, and opened my eyes reluctantly. ‘Lee! Come on – focus, girl! You’re not drunk already, are you?’
    ‘No, I’m not.’ I sat up, rubbing my face. I had to get through this. There was no way out now, except forwards. ‘I’m not nearly drunk enough, in fact. Where’s the tequila?’

9
    ‘ I HAVE NEVER …’ Clare was sprawled across the sofa with her feet on Tom’s lap and the firelight playing off her hair. She was holding a shot-glass in one hand and a piece of lime in the other, balancing them as if weighing up her options. ‘I have never … joined the mile-high club.’
    There was a silence around the circle and a burst of laughter from Flo. Then, very slowly, with a wry expression, Tom raised his shot-glass.
    ‘Cheers, darling!’ He downed it in one, then sucked the lime, making a face.
    ‘Oh you and Bruce! ’ Clare said. Her voice hovered between a sneer and a laugh, but it was fairly good-natured. ‘You probably did it in first class!’
    ‘Business, but point taken.’ He refilled and looked around the circle. ‘What, seriously? Am I drinking alone?’
    ‘What?’ Melanie looked up from her phone. ‘Sorry, I had half a bar of reception then so I thought I’d try Bill, but it’s gone. Was it Truth or Dare?’
    ‘Neither, we’ve moved on,’ Tom said.