Health Care

I am picking Sam and his friends up tomorrow morning, at 10am. Their flight is an early morning one, for them anyway. This hasn’t stopped them making the most of their time away. According to Dan, who managed to get Sam’s phone working long enough to take down my number, they’re going out for one last night.

The girls have suggested we all spend the night out as well. Luckily for me, the airport is mere minutes away. In fact, I could probably roll out of bed at half nine and still make it time. A late night is on the cards. Alcohol, however, is not.

I’m sat in the back of the taxi while the girls pass around a bottle of apple schnapps. The driver mumbles that they shouldn’t splash any on the seat otherwise we’d have to pay to get it cleaned. Jesus, our drivers are a lot stuffier than the ones on holiday; they’d just let you hop straight in back, sopping wet and covered in sand.

The girls’ heels were bound to be a health risk, so I help each one to clamber out of the taxi. God, I sure have a lot of responsibility on my hands tonight. We stumble into each club, I smile apologetically at the bouncers as each girl squeals loudly and stagger. These clubs sell shots for £1 in the hope you’ll spend a shit load of money, getting drunk – then the bouncers chastise you for being drunk. It’s a nightmare trying to find the balance.

Over the thud of the bass, I yell at the bartender to hook me up with an energy drink. It comes in a glass, poured over ice. It’s a vile green colour, and too much of it will inevitably stain your tongue. It tastes bitter. I can’t even read what the flavour is meant to be. I squirm, and just hope I can feel the effects. The girls have already merged onto the dance floor. Dancing is always a lot harder when you haven’t been drinking; you feel more aware of your surroundings. Since becoming Sam’s ‘official’ girlfriend, I had promised the single members of my group that I would keep an eye out for any possible matches. Not that you can really hold much of a conversation in a loud club.

By gone 1am, we’re in Ocean. Ocean is always a good place to end the night because nobody wants to leave. Besides, by then everyone’s had that optimum level of alcohol that you make friends with practically anyone. Lucy has already pulled. The dance floor is thronging and a growing crowd gathers around the bar as well. The VIP booths seem relatively empty. I scan each and every one, knowing who I’m looking for. There are a couple of sofas dotted around, but they remain mostly empty – except for a few, where lonely girls sob into their hands.

By 2.45am, the girls are exhausted and barely able to stand. Truthfully, my own feet were beginning to sear with pain. We stagger out onto the pavement outside where Lucy promptly sits down on the curb. The bouncers eye her suspiciously. The cool floor looks so appealing that I sit down next to her and pull out my phone.

“Are we all ready to go home?” I ask. The girls yawn and nod in agreement. It’s nearly 3am anyway; Ocean kicks everyone out at three. As I swipe through my phone to find the taxi number, I hear a commotion. Looking up, I can see two guys larking around under the streetlamp. The smaller one of the two crouches low to the floor. His friend steps forward and, would you believe it, grabs hold of the streetlamp for support as he drapes each leg over his friend’s shoulder.

“Ready?” his friend yells. They’re obviously drunk.

“Yeah, I’m ready!” the guy on his shoulders replies. Fuck, I know that voice.

“Right well, hold on then!”

With that, he lets go of the streetlamp and gets hoisted into the air. He stretches his long arms out either side to balance himself, but his friend swears and buckles under his weight. The bouncers call over and make a step towards the lads, before his knees give way entirely and both boys come crashing to the ground.

“Christopher!” I shriek, lunging across the road towards him. There’s a sickening blow, as Christopher’s head collides with the kerb and he lays motionless on the floor. His friend is sprawled out next to him, groaning. He coughs deeply, and before I know it he’s throwing up across the pavement. Girls cry and gasp, attempting to crowd around but the bouncers push them away.

“We need to call an ambulance,” one bouncer growls, crouching low beside Christopher and peering into his ghost white face.

“Miss, do you know these boys?” he asks me. By this point, I’m aware that the gravel on the road is digging into my bare knees but I don’t care.

“Yes, I er, I know that one,” I nod towards Christopher. I look at his friend, who is gripping his forehead and whimpering. He’s of nobody’s concern because he's the one still moving.

“What’s his name?” they ask me. I reel off Christopher’s details as the other bouncer disappears to phone the paramedics.

“And your name, son?” the bouncer shoots at the other boy.

“Frankie,” he replies hoarsely.

“Frankie, you better stay here too. Just until the ambulance comes. They can give you the once over.”

The other bouncer returns with two blankets. I feel guilty that there’s nothing I have that I can wrap around Christopher to keep him warm. The sight of his pale face is heartbreaking. What am I going to tell his mother? The thought hits me.

“Shall I call his mum?” I ask the bouncer. I’m imaging the sight now – Loretta throwing herself at her lifeless son, screeching at me that I’m irresponsible and a bad influence.

“You’re best to wait until he’s at the hospital. We can’t leave him here just to wait for his Mum to arrive.” The bouncer was right. “You are okay to go to the hospital with him, right?”

“Yes,” I say, without thinking. I turn to the girls, they look anxious. I yell over to them, telling them to phone a taxi and that I’ll be at the hospital. They look worried, but each nod in agreement. Katherine insists on calling my mum to let her know that I won’t be home for a while.
Shit. I’m meant to be picking Sam up in the morning.

The wail of the ambulance disperses the remaining drunkards as they stumble their way out of Ocean. Two burley paramedics throw open the back door and race towards Frankie and Christopher. They ask me to move out of the way as they do all the necessary checks. One is shining a small torch into Frankie’s eyes and firing questions at him. Eventually, they decide there’s nothing wrong with him aside from grazed knees. He staggers up and motions towards me.

“Can you take my number?” he asks cautiously. Perhaps he expects me to be mad at him. Maybe I am mad. For now I’m just numb. “Can you let me know he’s okay? He was meant to be staying at mine tonight.”

I gawp at this boy. I can’t even imagine where Christopher even knows him from. I dumbly take his name and number and type it into my phone. The paramedics are still fussing over Christopher, hoisting him onto a stretcher and wrapping a neck brace around his head. God, he looks younger than ever.

They wheel him into the back of the ambulance and step back as I’m allowed to hop on in bedside him. I take a seat as the ambulance speeds away.

“Keep talking to him,” the paramedic encourages me. “He might respond.”

I hear the driver speak into the radio.

“Male, twenty-two, head trauma…”

I’m lost for things to say.

“Christopher,” I croon quietly. “You’re gonna be alright. Stay with me, Christopher. Can you hear me?”

“Are you the girlfriend?” the paramedic asks me. Shit. Ex-girlfriend. I stutter.

“I er, I’m a friend.”