Chapter Thirteen
Marty
I dream of Arnie.
There's no plot, no action, no vivid scene playing out but he's there.
We're together. I can feel his hair under my hand, his skin on mine. I can smell him, a soft and spicy floral scent that I would breathe in by pressing my nose to his collar bone, the curve of his neck and the corners of his groin. I don’t know where we are but it's him as he was, before he became ill.
He's solid and strong and his skin is tanned, so it must be summer which will make him happy because he loved sunny days the most. I can hear his voice, a little lighter in pitch than my own, but just as husky because he was the only person who ever talked just as much as me, if not more. As I start to wake, I feel that plummeting realisation that it’s just a dream and I do all I can to stay in it, to stay with him.
However, lucidity continues to pull on me and I know it will be over soon.
Before I go completely, I beg him to laugh for me.
Please, just let me hear him laugh. Let me see him smile, I plead. I just want to know he's okay.
Are you happy, Arnie? Are you happy?
I wake up with an ache in my chest, the kind that makes you question if you can take another breath.
It's dull and sharp at the same time, heavy and electric, pulling my ribcage in and pushing my heart out.
I don't even open my eyes fully because I can't. All I can do is roll over, gather the sheets up in a fist that I hold near my sternum and wait for it to pass.
Eventually, it eases but I don’t feel much relief. Crushed, exhaustion washes over me as I finally push up to sitting and then start to get my bearings.
I'm in my bedroom in the holiday villa. The curtains are closed, but I swear I didn't do that.
Their blackout material keeps the room dark, but there's still a little light creeping through the gaps at the floor and in the middle where they aren't fully closed.
There's also a glass of water on the bedside table and two paracetamols.
Ma. And there's my phone. I reach for it and check the time.
“Shit!”
I jump up and pull the curtains open. The pinks and oranges in the sky make me feel sick. I can't see the sun from this angle, but I know that while it hasn't set yet, it's soon. Too soon.
“Fecking fuckface fucker!” I shout. I fell asleep. I fell asleep for a long time. Hours.
“What the fuck?” My sister opens the door and marches in. “You just ruined my audio recording with that outburst!”
“I'm so fucking late!” I yell at her as I stand and pull on my shorts and then can't find my T-shirt on the floor next to them.
Just as well, I should probably wear a clean one.
I rush to my suitcase which I haven't yet unpacked.
I sniff my armpits quickly and while I'm not horrified, I'm still annoyed I can't shower or do my hair or not be the disaster that I am.
“Late for what?” Maeve asks.
I pause. “Doesn't matter,” I say and find a different shirt to the one I was looking for. It will have to do.
“Are you meeting Mrs Robinson?”
“Where are Mum and Dad?”
“On the balcony. Gin o'clock.” She nods at the sunset outside.
Pulling a shirt on, I run to the en-suite bathroom, squeeze a blob of toothpaste on my tongue and push it around my mouth.
“Listen,” I say to Maeve after I spit. “You know how I literally got RSI recording all those videos for you this afternoon? Well, I need to cash in that favour. Right now.”
“Are you meeting her? The older woman?”
I close my eyes and sigh. “Yes, and I'm going to be gone for a while. Can you tell Mum and Dad?”
“You want me to tell them that you're going on a date with a forty-something year old?”
“She's not forty-something. Or she could be.
I don't know. And I don't care. Tell them I'm having a drink with someone and-” I pause.
“Wait! Tell them I've gone looking for the hotel manager.
For a drink. And I'm going to ask him about birthday cakes.
Yes, say that. But tell them that I'll not be back for dinner so you can all eat without me.”
“They're not going to believe that.” Maeve crosses her arms over her chest.
“Right now, I don't give a flying fuck. I just want to get down to the beach before the sun goes down.” I race back to the bedside table and shove my phone in my pocket, and as I do, I'm relieved to feel the card of the villa key. One less thing to look for.
“Jesus, you are like a man on a mission,” my sister says as I rush past her towards the door.
“I'm a fucking mess,” I say and rub a hand back and forwards through my hair.
“Yeah, that's not helping at all.” She wrinkles her nose at me.
“Piss off,” I say as I reach for the door. “Oh, wait. I need you to cover for me. I don't mean that. Don’t piss off. You’re great.”
“I'll keep the parents sweet,” she says with a smile that calms me, just for half a second before I race out of the door and start running.
“Fuck!” I call out to nobody when I realise I don’t have shoes on. But I don’t stop, in fact, I sprint a little faster.
It takes no time, not really, maybe just a minute, because I'm running downhill after all, but every second feels like an hour because the sky is changing colour all the time – from a blossoming pink to a glowing copper - and as the pathway winds down around the villas I start to catch glimpses of the sun itself, hanging just above the sea as if it's going to touch any moment now.
It's only as I enter the indoor area of the lobby that I realise how ridiculous I look.
I'm barefoot, half-awake, out of breath and wide-eyed in panic as I realise how likely it is that she won’t be there.
I really fucking hope she’s still there.