The Long Weekend (24 page)

“She can vomit all over me, I don’t care. Just don’t die, Kat.
Don’t die
,” Geri said.

Her words hit home and Vic and Stevie took a breath before getting in the car.

Geri smoothed her friend’s hair against her head and simply stared.

“We’ll see you there,” Stu told them, leaning in the open passenger window.

Stevie, Vic and Geri all nodded grimly.

“Don’t forget to grab Tash and Laura,” Stevie told Stu.

Stu clicked his fingers together and nodded. “I’ll get them now.” He tapped the car roof with his right hand in farewell.

***

Vic clicked, ignited the engine and twisted the sat nav.

“Well, this is an eventful weekend, isn’t it?” She looked over her shoulder and reversed, before heading out of the drive. “When I joked that we could try to outdo the last reunion, I didn’t actually mean it.”

“I’ll second that,” Stevie replied. She looked lost in thought, her arm propped on the car door and her head leant against it. She looked at her wedding ring and nervously twisted it.

The sun had come out fully now, the few morning clouds burnt away to reveal a gorgeous spring day. As the car glided along country roads ably assisted by the sat nav, they passed a host of daffodils and blossom, the grass impossibly green, the sky crystal blue. Weather-wise their weekend had taken a turn towards the French Riviera. Events-wise, it had gone down the route of a Danielle Steel novel– and everyone knows that in Danielle Steele world, someone always dies before the happy ending.

Kat was still out cold and Geri kept feeling her wrist to check for a pulse which wasn’t the wisest idea. Despite the fact Geri had been in the police for nearly two decades, she’d never been great at checking pulses, which was a bit of a fail. She felt Kat’s forehead – still clammy, still alive.

“How long did it say it’d take?” Geri asked from the backseat.

“About 20 minutes – says 15 now on the sat nav so we’re on the right road.” Vic glanced at Geri in her mirror.

Stevie turned to look at Kat from the front seat, her face etched with worry.

“I can’t believe she drank so much – when did she start to drink so much?” Stevie asked nobody in particular. Her bleached hair looked stark against her skin, which had turned red and blotchy.

“She told me yesterday but I didn’t think she meant three bottles of wine in a couple of hours. I think Abby leaving must have tipped her over the edge,” Geri said.

“But drinking that much when you’ve just been sick – it makes me feel ill just thinking about it,” Stevie said.

Vic stopped at some traffic lights and flipped down her sun visor, squinting as she looked ahead.

“You’re not inside her head though, are you?” Vic leaned over and put her left hand on Stevie’s thigh. “If you were jobless, depressed and your girlfriend had just walked out on you, maybe you’d drink three bottles of wine too. I know I might.”

The Hospital

The hospital turned out to be a sprawling grey concrete structure, built in 1925 by an award-winning architect named Charles. He may have been lauded back then but none of the group could see the gold standard much today. The outside resembled a grim council building where lilac-shirted civil servants decided on parking regulations over weak coffee and stale Custard Creams.

Inside wasn’t much better. The waiting room felt like an incubator for MRSA, rows of gnarled blue plastic chairs, dead skin and hair floating across the floor. All around them, nurses strode past looking hassled.

The staff rushed Kat in with a mixture of concern and judgement, given the amount of booze she’d drunk at this time in the day. Still, at least it wasn’t midnight as Geri pointed out, where drunks would be queuing up. Right now, Kat was standing out from the crowd.

“And that’s meant to make us feel better?” Vic looked at Geri like she’d gone mad.

Geri shrugged and went to get a cup of coffee from the vending machine. Curiously, it tasted of goat’s cheese, so she decided against drinking it. Instead, she followed the signs to the hospital café. She reappeared 15 minutes later with a selection of sandwiches for everyone, along with an array of fizzy drinks and coffee. They were hungrily set upon by an appreciative crowd.

“Isn’t this how you imagined today going?” Vic sat down and handed the carrier bag around. “A luxurious massage followed by lunch in a hospital waiting room.”

“Don’t,” Stevie whispered.

The group ate their lunch in silence, registering the concern etched on every face around them. A middle-aged man sitting in the corner had been clinging onto his can of coke for over ten minutes without drinking a drop, just staring into the middle distance with bloodshot, rheumy eyes.

Meanwhile, a couple of rows back, a young woman sat clutching her stomach, doubling up in pain and moaning every few minutes.

After they’d been waiting for over an hour and a half, the group were starting to get restless.

Darren stood in front of a noticeboard a little further down the corridor trying to establish how long some of the posters had been here – his guess was at least a couple of months.

There was an advert for a family fun fair coming up on May Day. Another was for a group for people who wanted to quit smoking, imaginatively called Smoke Free. Weight management, depression and alcoholism were also covered, although Darren couldn’t help but think that if people were in A&E already, these help groups might be too little, too late. He turned on his heel and headed back over to the group.

“D’you think we should go and ask what’s happening?” he said, putting both arms above his head and yawning as he did so. He could feel the muscles in his back clicking as he performed this motion, still aware of the recent pummelling they’d had from his masseur, Rico.

“I’ll go.” Geri sprang up from her seat eagerly. “I was getting pins and needles in my leg anyway.”

***

Geri walked away from the group towards the front desk, shaking her right leg as she went. The corridor was short, dotted with squares of bright lights indented into the ceiling, which were covered by metal grills. The cream walls were lined with a thick wooden divider running horizontally across their centre. The decoration was functional at best, institutional at worst. Running the length of the floor was a green line. Geri had no idea where it led.

The reception staff were polite and efficient, which went against everything Geri had heard about the NHS. Ten minutes later and she was back with the news that Kat was awake and steady, her vitals having been brought back to normal, her stomach pumped.

“Thank God,” Vic said. She sighed with relief.

“Or the wonders of modern medicine?” Stu replied.

“You know what I mean.”

“So can we see her?” Stevie chewed at her right index fingernail – it was the only one left with anything to chew.

Geri nodded. “Yep, but she’s still pretty zonked out. They want to keep her in overnight as a precaution and do a mental health assessment in the morning.”

This surprised nobody.

Geri led the way as the group walked down the too-bright corridor to the line of beds surrounded by off-white curtains. The young female doctor with glossy black hair recognised Geri and took them to Kat’s cubicle, her black rubber-soled shoes squeaking on the shiny floor.

When the curtain was drawn back they were all relieved to see their friend with a vague semblance of colour in her cheeks, propped up by a mass of pillows, an IV drip attached to her arm. She still looked drained and dazed, but a few hours earlier, they’d all have taken this outcome.

Now, at the very least, Kat looked like she wouldn’t die at any second and they were all grateful for that.

The Final Night

They arrived back at the house just after 7.30pm, massage oil now sticky on all their bodies, having been warmed up and cooled down throughout the day. Dirty nails, coffee breath, emotionally drained. The house looked somehow different as they pulled in, more menacing, shadowy. It had turned from an emotional haven into something sharp and barbed. The only sensible option was to reclaim it as their own with their final night, their planned takeaway now acquiring more significance, their final meal now with two empty spaces at the table.

***

Back at the hospital, Stu and Darren had kept Kat amused with tales of their massage, Darren laying on his Rico crush in thick, doorstop layers that even managed to break through Kat’s thin veneer of consciousness, provoking a tentative smile.

The group had stayed in various formations, chatting to Kat when she was awake and sitting staring into space when she wasn’t, still venturing to get hospital coffee in the vague hope it might suddenly take a turn for the better. It hadn’t.

Kat was transferred to a ward and kicked them out just after 7pm. She looked relieved and had both eyes closed before they’d even left her bed.

***

After a reinvigorating shower, Vic bounded down the stairs Geri-style and into the lounge. She had to hand it to Kat: some people tried to kill themselves in some dismal multi-storey car park with a car exhaust, but Kat attempted it, intentionally or not, in a beautiful house with a wraparound view of the sea.

Vic crossed the room to the table beside the fireplace which held the brochures for local services. She fingered a few through the clear plastic ring-bound wallets before reaching the Indian takeaway menu she was after. Tonight they were going to finish their holiday with curry, which had been a major star of their university weekends. She walked through to the kitchen where the others were already busy filling bowls with crisps and nuts as well as lining up icy cold bottles of beer on the work surfaces.

“Fucking Kat drank nearly all my vodka, so I guess this means I get a free pass to have a couple of beers with all of you tonight.” Darren spoke the words without an ounce of shame.

“Darren!” Stu chided.

“What?! She’s not dead, is she? And she did neck my vodka.” He paused before breaking into a trademark Daz grin. “But I forgive her because that’s the sort of bloke I am – and that’s why you love me Stuart,” he said, pointedly saying Stu’s full name. “But if I get fat from drinking this lager, you have to promise you’ll still love me. D’you promise?”

Stu’s response was to grab the bottle from his hand and take a long swig himself before setting it down on the counter-top.

“If you don’t want it, I’ll drink it. And if you get too fat, you know the rules…” he grinned.

Darren’s revelry broke the sullen mood and, as if given permission, everybody relaxed and cracked open their own beers.

“To Kat,” Geri said, holding up her bottle. “You’re a stupid fucker but we love you anyway.” They all chinked bottles and the night swung into gear.

***

Stevie took charge of organising the table, with everyone else her willing helpers. Placemats wiped, cutlery assembled, wine glasses buffed with tea towels. Red wine breathing, white wine chilling, snacks resting.

“Feels like I’m in the army,” Darren grumbled as he blew hot breath onto a wine glass and rubbed around its edges. However, even though he was moaning, he had to admit to taking some pride in performing his task. He, too, loved a shiny glass and sparkling cutlery, totally understanding Stevie’s attention to detail.

“You should go on The Apprentice, you know – you’d whip some of those young idiots into shape.”

Stevie laughed. “Vic says that every time it’s on.” She chewed a mouthful of carrot. “The only problem is I might kill them before I whip them into shape – they’re all so detestable.”

“Which is exactly why you should go on there, to show you don’t have to be that person to succeed in business,” Darren said.

“Nah, I’m too old for that shit. Now maybe if you’d said it 20 years ago, I might have done.” Stevie paused and put her hand to her chin. “But you know what, scrap that.” She gave Darren a dismissive wave of her hand. “I’d have been far too busy being up my own arse to apply for something like that back then.”

***

Outside, Tash and Laura had slipped out into the garden to watch the sea slither to grey. The sun had long since departed, with them having spent most of their afternoon under fluorescent strip lighting instead. The pair sat on the garden bench opposite the one they’d occupied the previous night, but this time they sat together, bodies fused, hands clasped. This time, they were a united front rather than two parties at war.

“I’m sorry,” Laura said. She squeezed Tash’s hand.

Tash squeezed back.

“And I agree with everything you said this morning, it’s just… it kinda went off and I couldn’t pull myself back. Even though I wanted to.” Laura glanced shyly at Tash.

“I know.” And Tash did. She knew how Laura worked after five years together, knew she’d needed time to cool off, reconsider, get things clear in her head. It didn’t mean to say she liked it, but she knew.

“And I didn’t help by bringing Kat into it. What’s done is done; I was just being stupid.” Tash sighed to emphasise the point, before kissing the back of Laura’s hand.

“But look,” Tash said, sweeping her other hand expansively. “We’re in Devon, we’re on holiday with friends, we’ve got a beautiful view and we love each other. Let’s look at the positives.”

Laura chuckled. “And I’ve got a multi-coloured face the kids are going to love to poke tomorrow.” She turned to face Tash, kissing her hand this time. “You know I love you, though, right?” Emotion welled in Laura’s eyes as she searched Tash’s face for confirmation.

Tash wasn’t leaving anything hanging in this conversation, leaving nothing to chance. She gently reached over and touched the good side of Laura’s face, pushing her dark hair back behind her ear.

“Sweetheart, I know. I knew this morning. Or at least, I was 99% sure this morning.” She leaned over and kissed Laura gently, with just enough pressure to let her know there was more to come. When she opened her eyes, she saw Laura’s face crack into a grin, then a grimace. When would she learn?

“What are you smiling about?” Tash asked, eyeing her girlfriend with suspicion.

Laura smiled again, but this time she put up with the pain, before sliding off the bench and onto one knee. When she looked back up at Tash from her new vantage point, Tash’s mouth was open, her mouth forming a tiny letter ‘o’. Her forehead furrowed into a line of questions but she stayed silent.