Health Care
Chapter Twenty-Eight
I’ve almost skipped two red lights this morning. In reality, I am too tired to be driving safely. What’s worse is that’s I’ve caught the back end of the rush hour traffic. Sat in queues surrounding the airport’s ring roads, I find my eyelids becoming heavier and heavier. I reluctantly turn up the music on my radio to an almost deafening level. I can see the other drivers eyeing me suspiciously. I’m drowning out the sound of their radios, for definite. At least this way I won’t fall asleep.
Swinging my car into the short stay car park, I pull up behind a line of typical ‘family’ cars: silver Fords, black Vauxhalls, all here to pick up their own drunken sons. There’s a small cluster of lads clambering into the back of a Citroen people-carrier; red raw, dressed in vests and baggy shorts.
Sam’s group are only slightly ahead. I missed them at first because they’d taken to sitting cross-legged on the pavement. Dan was holding his forehead. Sam was hugging his rucksack like a small child. They looked ruined. Sunburnt, aching, and reeking of booze.
I flash my headlights at them and they wince. I strategically turn down the music in my car in order to save the skull-splitting headaches they already have. One by one they shuffle over and Dan wrenches open my car door.
“Hullo,” he grunts quietly. In fact, my energy levels aren’t much higher.
“Morning,” I sigh back.
They each clamber into the back of my car and fumble with their seatbelts. The last to climb in is Sam, puffy eyed and unmistakably pale. He forces a weak smile but doesn’t lean in for a kiss.
“Sam had some real trouble on the flight home,” Dan tells me. I glance at the beads of sweat glistening on Sam’s forehead. I wind down his window and he rests his chin on the frame like a sad puppy.
Dan launches into a day by day analysis of how their holiday went. By the third day, it becomes ever so predictable. Their days usually follow this sort of pattern: hit the town at midnight, get drinks at various bars, hit various clubs, finish the night on the beach, walk back to the hotel at 6AM, crawl into bed, sleep until the afternoon, sleep by the pool, eat dinner, and then go out at midnight again. I suspect they now have the livers of a seventy-five year old alcoholic, but I don’t tell them this.
“So, now you know why we’re so tired,” Elliot grunts from the back. Sam still hasn’t said a word. “But that doesn’t explain why you’re so tired.”
I freeze. Shit, I haven’t thought up an excuse yet! Should I think up an excuse; should I lie? Or should I tell the truth and risk Sam getting mad at me for disobeying his wishes? I stifle my upcoming yawn and pull up at the traffic lights.
“I went out last night,” I begin. It’s not like I’m completely lying. “With the girls. Katherine fell over and hit her head. We had to go to the hospital to make sure she was okay.”
“Shit,” Elliot says. “And was she?”
“Yeah, eventually,” I mumble. My conscience is jumping up and down, shaking her fist at me angrily. “So, do you have any funny stories?” I change the subject. Dan snorts.
“No, no stories,” Sam says quickly. His voice is hoarse and strained, but sounds dismissive. I stare at Dan in my rear view mirror. He’s making eyes at Elliot.
“What, guys?” I ask them. “There’s clearly something.”
“No, there’s nothing,” Sam says hurriedly again. He swivels around in his seat to face the others. “Seriously guys, shut the fuck up.”
I narrow my eyes at Sam. He avoids them and continues to lull his head out of my window. Dan directs me to his house, where he tells me I should just drop everyone off at. I feel a little disheartened, I was hoping Sam would come back to mine, or we’d at least spend some time together. A knot pulls at my stomach as I watch Sam jump out of my car as though my seat were on fire, followed by the others. He slams my boot shut after extracting his rucksack and yells a quick thank you and goodbye.
I pull out of Dan’s driveway, baffled.
Swinging my car into the short stay car park, I pull up behind a line of typical ‘family’ cars: silver Fords, black Vauxhalls, all here to pick up their own drunken sons. There’s a small cluster of lads clambering into the back of a Citroen people-carrier; red raw, dressed in vests and baggy shorts.
Sam’s group are only slightly ahead. I missed them at first because they’d taken to sitting cross-legged on the pavement. Dan was holding his forehead. Sam was hugging his rucksack like a small child. They looked ruined. Sunburnt, aching, and reeking of booze.
I flash my headlights at them and they wince. I strategically turn down the music in my car in order to save the skull-splitting headaches they already have. One by one they shuffle over and Dan wrenches open my car door.
“Hullo,” he grunts quietly. In fact, my energy levels aren’t much higher.
“Morning,” I sigh back.
They each clamber into the back of my car and fumble with their seatbelts. The last to climb in is Sam, puffy eyed and unmistakably pale. He forces a weak smile but doesn’t lean in for a kiss.
“Sam had some real trouble on the flight home,” Dan tells me. I glance at the beads of sweat glistening on Sam’s forehead. I wind down his window and he rests his chin on the frame like a sad puppy.
Dan launches into a day by day analysis of how their holiday went. By the third day, it becomes ever so predictable. Their days usually follow this sort of pattern: hit the town at midnight, get drinks at various bars, hit various clubs, finish the night on the beach, walk back to the hotel at 6AM, crawl into bed, sleep until the afternoon, sleep by the pool, eat dinner, and then go out at midnight again. I suspect they now have the livers of a seventy-five year old alcoholic, but I don’t tell them this.
“So, now you know why we’re so tired,” Elliot grunts from the back. Sam still hasn’t said a word. “But that doesn’t explain why you’re so tired.”
I freeze. Shit, I haven’t thought up an excuse yet! Should I think up an excuse; should I lie? Or should I tell the truth and risk Sam getting mad at me for disobeying his wishes? I stifle my upcoming yawn and pull up at the traffic lights.
“I went out last night,” I begin. It’s not like I’m completely lying. “With the girls. Katherine fell over and hit her head. We had to go to the hospital to make sure she was okay.”
“Shit,” Elliot says. “And was she?”
“Yeah, eventually,” I mumble. My conscience is jumping up and down, shaking her fist at me angrily. “So, do you have any funny stories?” I change the subject. Dan snorts.
“No, no stories,” Sam says quickly. His voice is hoarse and strained, but sounds dismissive. I stare at Dan in my rear view mirror. He’s making eyes at Elliot.
“What, guys?” I ask them. “There’s clearly something.”
“No, there’s nothing,” Sam says hurriedly again. He swivels around in his seat to face the others. “Seriously guys, shut the fuck up.”
I narrow my eyes at Sam. He avoids them and continues to lull his head out of my window. Dan directs me to his house, where he tells me I should just drop everyone off at. I feel a little disheartened, I was hoping Sam would come back to mine, or we’d at least spend some time together. A knot pulls at my stomach as I watch Sam jump out of my car as though my seat were on fire, followed by the others. He slams my boot shut after extracting his rucksack and yells a quick thank you and goodbye.
I pull out of Dan’s driveway, baffled.