Girl Next Door - Alyssa Brugman [53]
The woman is at my feet. Her back arches as she chucks again. I shuffle back from her as far as I can. She tries to push chunks of spew into the drain.
'Are you right? Do you need me to hold your hair back?' asks a dark-haired lady.
'Pooey!' says the woman behind her, waving her hand in front of her nose. 'You can smell it, eh?'
I put my old chloriney shirt back on and take Dad's shirt to the sink. I rinse it as much as I can, and then I hang it up on the shower rail. I don't think anyone is going to steal it. I wash my face and my arms up to the elbows. Running my tongue over my teeth, I realise that I haven't brushed my teeth for two days. How disgusting.
The loo flushes and a woman comes out. After she washes her hands she looks around for a towel, sees Dad's shirt and dries her hands on it.
Fabulous.
When I get back to our room Will is on his own. He's picked the bottom bunk. He's on his back with his hands under his head.
'Don't get under the covers. I did a minute ago, but I got itchy. I think there might be lice,' he warns me.
It gets better and better. I climb up to the top bunk and lie on top of the covers. We can hear the blokes outside the door. I pick out one voice among the hubbub. He's right outside the door. It might be the Hey Ho man.
'You're such a good mate to me, and I never say this, right? I mean, we could all die tomorrow, right? I never tell you that you are such a good mate. I love you, man. No, truly.'
'They've been going on like that for the last five minutes,' Will tells me.
We listen to them in silence. Then Will says, 'Did you throw up?'
'No.'
I think again about Tanner Hamrick-Gough and her yacht club. She always used to say that she was going to borrow her sister's ID and go out clubbing. I thought it sounded cool, but now I wonder if it's just drunk blokes talking crap, lining up for the toilet for ages and then having people vomit everywhere. Why would you want to do that?
I close my eyes. I can almost feel the tiny little insects crawling on my skin. I'm itchy but it could be my imagination. It could just be the chlorine, or the spew. My teeth are furry, I need to pee and I'm getting hungry again.
When I used to get nervous before an exam, or when those Finsbury girls were being horrible and I was having trouble sleeping, I used to imagine yellow flowers bobbing in the sunlight. That's what I'm doing now. Sunflowers, daisies, daffodils. Bright yellow. Bobbing in a breeze. Blue sky. I can feel the gentle paralysis of sleep washing over me.
And then the French doors fling open. They bang as they hit the walls and I sit up so fast my head spins. The Hey Ho man sprawls across the floor. I mustn't have locked the door properly. Hey Ho has leaned on it, and it's given way.
'Christ on a bike!' he shouts. 'I fell right through the bastard!' He turns to see us staring at him. 'Sorry, man,' he says in a stage whisper. Hey Ho's on his knees, but he's still holding onto his beer, which is slopping on the carpet. 'Sorry!' He pauses to take a slurp. 'It's still good.' He heads back to the verandah on unsteady feet.
Will shuts the door behind him. He shoots the bolt home and shakes the handle to make sure it's fastened. He lies down again and we listen to Hey Ho recounting his adventure to his mates. 'Straight through the bastard! Didn't spill me beer, though.' Laughter.
I fall asleep.
When I stir, it's not the sound of drinkers, but a rattling snore from the next room. Someone, I'm guessing an old man, is drawing his breath in three parts – eck, eck, eck. There's a long pause, and then he lets it out in one long whistling phew!
It's driving me mad. I put the pillow over my head, but I'm still listening through the fabric. I wish he would