Health Care

It’s already gone 2am. Christopher has just less than one hour to call me when he and Melissa need picking up. That’s right. As though my offer to take him shopping wasn’t enough, I’m now the taxi ride home. Melissa’s offered me money for petrol already. I guess I should refuse, on principle? I’m not sure.

Christopher text me the address of the party at the start of the night. He ended his message with a brisk “Wish me luck”. I’m sat on my bed with my laptop across my knees, contemplating how on earth Christopher is behaving at this party. The image of him sat next to that kissing couple flashes back into my mind, except this time he’s not sipping on his wine.

I don’t even know where Melissa lives. For ease, I’m hoping she’s just staying the night at Christopher’s, but I don’t know how Loretta would respond to that. Perhaps the spare bed has been made up again; the first time since I slept in it.

At 2.54 AM, my phone buzzes loudly on my bedside table.

“We’re ready, are you sure you’re okay picking us up?” Christopher calls. In the background I hear shouts, screams and the dull thud of bass music.

“Yes, I’ll leave now,” I hiss back at him. I don’t want to wake my parents.

“And you know the address?”

“Yes, I have a map,” I lie. Truthfully, to pass the time I’ve been following the root back and forth on Google Earth so much I finally feel as though I know my way.

The roads were practically dead for the majority of the journey. Crossing a motorway bridge, I take a sharp left down a small and winding cul-de-sac. The road curves around to the right and I’m met with a lavish gravel driveway, sloping down to a beautiful bungalow, the front decorated with pink balloons and banners. The security lighting was on, illuminating the path down the side of the house that presumably led into the garden. I pull out my phone to call Christopher, kicking loose stones around with my flip-flops.

“Who’s that?” someone slurs, squeezing their way down the path. They blink through the semi-darkness. It’s a girl; petite, with a mass of blonde girls and dressed in nothing but a yellow bikini. Her skin is glistening with water droplets.

“Hiya, I’m Alex. I’m here to give Melissa and Christopher a lift?” I’m babbling. I don’t know what to say to this semi-naked girl. She squints as though she’s having trouble hearing me. She clings onto the side of the house for support standing up. She’s clearly very drunk.

“Oh!” she cries, her eyes lighting up as she finally registers the three names I had just reeled off. “Come through!” Unsure about her willing hospitality, I follow her down the path as it opens out onto an immaculate lawn. In the corner of the garden sits a large Jacuzzi, dipped in blue lighting and raised on a platform of deckboards. Inside, a large number of more semi-naked teenagers splash around in the bubbles. They squeal as they see the girl approaching, craning their necks to work out who I am. I’m hoping nobody is expecting me to get semi-naked. God, I can’t wait to get out of here.

Girls in bikinis are swigging from alcohol bottles and throwing them onto the grass. The girl that found me, presumably the host, frowns disapprovingly at them but retrieves her own bottle from the table, swigs the last dregs of it, and tosses it onto the lawn as well.

“Do you know where Melissa is?” I call out, hoping somebody will stop squealing for a second.

“I think she’s dancing,” one girl calls back to me, gliding across the hot tub to sit on some boy’s lap. He places his hands over her naked thighs and grins. Some party, I think to myself. The girl points in the general direction of the house, but through of the back windows I can see almost hundreds of silhouettes and flashing lights. I tread through the hall and follow the sound of the thudding music.

It leads me to what I could only guess is some kind of games room, looking at the dartboard and snooker cues lined against the wall. The pool table (I presume) is draped in a plastic table cloth and laden with bowls of crisps, dip, sweets, brownies, fruit and biscuits. My stomach rumbles pleadingly. I haven’t eaten anything since dinnertime, and already that was hours ago.

I peer through the darkness to try and locate a shock of blonde hair. Finally, I find her, sat by herself on a corner sofa. She has her arms and legs crossed, and her foot is bouncing up and down impatiently. She has no shoes on.

“Melissa?” I ask tentatively. God help me if I haven’t picked the right girl. She shoots a glance at me through her heavy eye make-up. It's her. She’s wearing the same black dress as she did in Ocean that night.

“Are you ready to go?” My car keys are hanging off my finger tip. I’m not in the mood to stay for long.

“Yes,” she says darkly. “But he’s not.” She nods towards the darkest portion of the games room.

Would you believe it if I told you? Amongst the stereo, laser-lights and giant speakers is Christopher, swamped by more half-naked wet girls. He’s dancing with all of them, and when I say dancing, I don’t mean ballroom. He’s got his hands on hips, his hands on bums, his hands around shoulders. He’s thrusting and shaking his hips like nobody’s business; bump and grind. Fuck, I could get the ground to swallow me up. Every so often, he drunkenly punches the air and yells, then he drapes an arm around some girl, who cuddles in close to him and slips her hand up his t-shirt. God, I bet they’re all gagging for it. Jesus Christ what is this place.

I yell over at him. I don’t even care who turns to see me. Despite everything, I’m feeling a surge of pity for Melissa. Her foot is still bouncing up and down. Her inner time bomb is ticking; any minute now and she’ll explode.

Christopher searches for the sound of my voice. His eyes fall on me. He calls my name and beckons me over. The girls stop dancing. They stare at me, judging my leggings and my unbuttoned check shirt. What’s their problem? Oh yeah, I’ve come to take their eye candy away.

I shake my head at Christopher. He pulls his bottom lip out and gives me a sick puppy-dog look. Fuck, this is getting even worse in front of Melissa. Has he forgotten she even exists?

I hold up my car keys and jangle them impatiently. Christopher looks resigned. He stretches out his arms and cradles his fan club. He mutters a heartfelt goodbye as they all pine and moan before stumbling over to me.

“Alex, I’m so glad you came!” he slurs, reaching to drape an arm around my shoulder. I duck away quickly. He reeks of alcohol. What happened? He seemed to calm and collected on the phone. I beckon Melissa over and she jumps up from the sofa, seething. Christopher smiles seductively at Melissa, as though he has just laid eyes on her. She returns his gaze with an icy glare. You couldn’t cut the tension with a knife.

“How much as he drunk?” I whisper to her. Christopher stumbles ahead of us, bumping into walls and high-fiving everyone that passes him. Gee he’s so cringe-worthy.

“He couldn’t relax until he knew you were coming to get us,” she looks at me intently. I picture a pacing Christopher. “We need to get you home safe, I can’t chill out until I know you’re getting home safe,” he’d say. “Then when you said you’d pick us up, he let himself go. Did shots, drank more beer, drank vodka straight from the bottle …” she trails off. My oh my he’s going to feel rough in the morning.

We pad out onto the lawn. Melissa is carrying her shoes. Christopher is still in his navy blue plimsolls. Passing the hot tub, more people squeal. Like a moth to a flame, Christopher bounds over to them and would you believe it – rips off his t-shirt.

“No!” Melissa and I yell in unison, as Christopher kicks off his shoes and attempts to cock his leg over the side of the tub.

“No Christopher!” I yell, tearing after him. I hook my fingers into the waistband of his shorts and tug him back down with all my might. Melissa stands helplessly on the grass. Christopher stumbles. I grab hold of his bare shoulders to steady him and pull him by the wrist. He complies, transforming his walk into a sort of half-skip as he tries to move with the club music beating out from the games room. I scoop up his discarded t-shirt and sigh with frustration. Guiding him through the kitchen and finally through the front door and onto the gravel drive, Christopher yelps as the stones dig into his bare feet. Melissa is struggling to hold both her and Christopher’s pairs of shoes.

The two of them sit in the back together. Christopher struggles to remain still, his head lolling back onto my parcel shelf as Melissa constantly bats away his attempts to lay his hand around her shoulders or onto her knees. She directs me out of the cul-de-sac and back across the motorway bridge. Her house is a mere five minutes away.

“I’m sorry it’s such a pointless drive,” she says, pushing a ten pound note in my hands. “I could’ve walk but well …” she trails off, casting a glare at Christopher who does not notice.

“You couldn’t walk because he’d get mad that you weren’t safe.” I finish her sentence for her quietly. She gazes at me intently. Believe me, I’ve been there, I feel like saying.

“I’m sorry I didn’t exactly take to you when we first met,” she says, shifting guiltily. “I guess I just … well …” I don’t finish this sentence for her. She doesn’t have to explain. I understand how she feels, I guess.

“Don’t worry,” I assure her. “And thank you for this.” I hold up the tenner and smile appreciatively. She shuts my car door and trudges up her drive to her front door. I pull away, not saying a word to Christopher. What is there to say? He won’t remember it. Besides, he does most of the talking.

“Thank you for the lift,” he repeats, drunkenly. “Thank you Alex, you’re so generous.”

“It’s okay, Christopher,” I say over and over. Gee, get me a fucking t-shirt.

“It’s not okay, because I punched your boyfriend,” he prattles on. “And I’ve been such a dick to you because, I don’t know, because I really liked you and I didn’t know why.”

Oh brilliant, drunken confessions from Christopher.

“We’re not far from your house,” I tell him flatly. “Do you have your key?” I watch him in my rear-view mirror. He bites his lip deliberately and furrows his brow. He sits forward in his seat and digs around in all his pockets. Visions of knocking on his front door in a matter of minutes dawns on me. Finally, he protrudes a set of keys from his burgundy hoodie and brandishes them at me.

Crunching onto his driveway, I switch off my engine and wait for Christopher to clamber out.

“Are you coming inside with me?” he asks quizzically, the intonation in his voice rising to supersonic levels.

“No, I’m not coming inside with you,” I say clearly.

Christopher saunters towards his front door and promptly drops his keys onto the porch step twice. It’s painful to watch.

“Come here,” I say, pushing in next to him and clicking the door open. Christopher presses his finger to his lips and tells me animatedly that I need to be quiet. Almost instantly, I hear a shrill voice from the lounge.

“Christopher? Christopher, is that you?” Shit, it’s Loretta. Slumping out to the hallway in her dressing gown, she catches sight of a woozy Christopher, gripping onto the wall for support. Seeing the look of horror spread across his mother’s face, Christopher bursts into a fit of furious giggles, so hard he ends up gasping for air. Loretta’s face grows stonier. I know full well she can smell the alcohol on him. Her cold stare falls on me.

“I’m just doing the lifts,” I butt in. “I’ve taken Melissa home. Now I’m dropping this one off.”

“Were you at the party?” Loretta asks. She expects me to be, I can tell. Hell, she probably expects the raucous party to have been mine.

“No, as I say, I’m just the taxi.” She purses her lips, fighting the urge to appear disapproving of me. I can’t see why, seeing as it’s thanks to me her beloved son isn’t swimming naked in some stranger’s hot tub.

“Why are his legs wet?” she challenges me, as though she could read my mind.

“I don’t know,” I mutter quickly. That can be for Christopher to explain. The thought of telling Loretta about the house full of whores is just unbearable. She finally mumbles a quick thank you and slides herself up under Christopher’s arm to steady him.

“In all my life,” she pants under his weight. “Never has he come home in a state like this before.”