Chapter 3 #2
She gave my arm a squeeze. “Of course you should; that’s why we’re friends. A true friend is someone who’ll go along with whatever you’re doing regardless of how awful, dangerous, or stupid it is.”
“A true friend is an enabler with no self-control?”
“Yes.”
“Then good news,” I said, as upbeatly as the website had advised. “I’ve got you covered.”
* * *
About five minutes later, we were making our way along the South Bank when we were intercepted by an intense woman with bleached-blond hair. She had her sleeves rolled up on a shirt that looked so artfully ill-fitting that you had to be a very, very specific sort of person to get away with it.
“Hey, Andi,” I said. “I thought you and Theresa were at IKEA.”
She blanked that. “Hey, Luc. Priya wanted me to tell you you’re a complete arsehole.”
“He’s not,” replied Bridge with unwarranted loyalty. “He’s looking after me, because he’s my friend.”
Taking control of situations was not my forte. Figuring we were in a bit of a hurry, what with the labour and everything, I had a go anyway. “Look, I deserve this. But we should probably get Bridge to the truck.”
“It’s just up the road,” Andi replied with a studied casualness. “But let’s be clear: You fucked up super bad, and I’m under strict instructions to make you feel super bad about how super bad you fucked up.”
“No,” I said, decisively. “That’s great. Super bad feels achieved. Let’s move.”
After a short, super-bad-feeling walk, we reached the truck. Priya was leaning against the back bumper, arms folded, looking at me like I’d shat on her pet budgie.
“Say the word,” she told Bridge, “and I’ll have Andi sling him in the river. Though she be but little, she is fierce.”
“I lift,” Andi added.
“No,” protested Bridge. “Nobody’s slinging Luc in the river. He’s been there for me in my hour of need.”
“That he caused,” said Priya.
“Technically,” I pointed out, “Tom caused it.”
There was a crashing silence, in which I immediately regretted everything I’d ever done. “Shall I just get in the river?” I asked.
Priya sighed. “No, you should get in the truck. Everybody should get in the truck.”
We all got in the truck. It took a while.
Seats had to be moved. A giant metal spike had to be secured into the flatbed.
And probably a lot of consideration had to be given to exactly how to most safely and comfortably transport a woman who was going into active labour on the Millennium Bridge for reasons that were only a little bit completely my fault.
I didn’t actually have much sense of what those considerations were other than Check she’s okay, but I hoped more competent people would be considering them for me.
“Okay,” said Priya, drumming her fingers on the wheel. “Where to?”
I jumped on the opportunity to pass the buck to someone else. “Hospital?”
Priya passed it right back. “Which hospital?”
“The nearest?”
“Luc, we aren’t trying to find a kebab van. Not all hospitals have maternity wards.”
Bridge, who was sitting beside me in the back seat, looked up from her phone. “I think St. Thomas’s would be best?”
“On it.” Leaning forward, Priya fired up Google Maps and got us going. “Be about ten minutes, maybe a quarter of an hour.”
“Okay,” said Bridge, with slightly too much cheeriness.
“Are you all right?” I asked her.
She grimaced. “This isn’t the most comfortable I’ve ever been. But…but I’m sure I could be less comfortable.”
“Just,” I suggested, “try to…rest?”
“How am I supposed to rest in the back of a truck when my cervix is dilating?”
“Yeah, Luc?” Priya’s eyes flicked to mine in the rearview mirror. “How is she supposed to rest in the back of a truck when her cervix is dilating?”
One of Priya’s favourite games was forcing me to treat rhetorical questions like they weren’t rhetorical. “Um. We could play a game? Does anyone fancy a round of”—I reached out and grabbed the first thing that brushed my mental fingertips—“fuck, marry, kill?”
“I marry Bridge,” said Priya, without a second’s hesitation, “fuck Andi, and kill you.”
“Oh”—Bridge sounded thrilled—“you want to marry me.”
“Out of the three people here right now,” Priya clarified firmly.
“We’re not the marrying kinds,” added Andi. “And for what it’s worth, I think I’d also marry Bridge, fuck Priya, and kill Luc.”
At least Bridge gave the matter some thought.
“This is hard because I don’t want to hurt any of my friends.
But since Priya wants to marry me, I should probably marry her.
And since you’re gay, Luc, you probably wouldn’t want me to fuck you either.
So I think I’m also going to fuck Andi and kill you. ” She made heart hands. “Sorry.”
I sighed. “Fine. I’ll marry Bridge and kill me too.” I looked between Priya and Andi. “And I’ll pass on the fucking because I’m dead.”
“Does that make me a widow?” asked Bridge. “I don’t want to be a widow.”
“It also makes you a polygamist,” Priya pointed out, “if you marry all of us.”
“Oh God.” Bridge twitched next to me. “Speaking of marriage, I need to call Tom.”
Oh God was right. Tom was going to completely kill me. He’d already married Bridge, was going to skip the fucking part, and would get straight to killing me dead. “Can you tell him I’m sorry?” I asked. “And also that this was totally your idea?”