Chapter Twenty-Nine Carys #2
Dolly recoils. ‘That was a little overly intimate, wasn’t it?’
I dampen some more tissues and tell her to sit back, which she does, leaning against the tiles with her eyes closed.
Carefully, I clean her face. Tissues aren’t the best and these are fancy but still, I don’t want to irritate her skin.
Her skin brightens as I wipe away the grime and sick, and I even clean the ends of her hair which might have got splattered.
I’ve never been this close to her before without us kissing or something more. It feels somehow even more intimate.
‘You don’t need to do this, you know,’ Dolly murmurs.
‘I know. We’re on a truce, remember.’
Her eyes flutter open. ‘You wanted to keep away from me. You should want to leave me sitting in my own sick.’ Dolly’s smile curls at the corner.
‘It’s no fun to beat someone who is already down,’ I say, and she laughs softly.
‘You’re too much of a Girl Guide to leave me alone,’ she whispers.
I get back up to inspect a wicker basket of supplies you’d find in a nice hotel, which I guess tells me a lot about how posh this restaurant is, along with pads and mini-deodorants. Way beyond my pay grade. I unwrap a disposable cup wrapped in plastic, fill it with water and hand it to her.
Dolly goes to knock it back, but I lower the cup from her lips. ‘Slow sips.’
‘Yes, boss.’ I hate the little thrill that gives me. The thick way her voice makes the s sound almost like a sh. A whisper.
Her voice is different today, tarter. It’s a tone I heard when we had sex, a familiar lilt that you sometimes hear at home in North Wales, but I just thought maybe that was… well… her sex voice. But it’s here now – higher, sing-song, bunching over consonants.
I’m enough of a fake to know when someone has been changing their voice on purpose, but I wonder why she’s been doing it.
I’m tempted to ask, but something rushes over her. Her jaw grits, and her body tightens up into a ball. As if in mimic, a balled fist slams onto her thigh.
‘Dolly?’ I want to grab her hand, I want to save her from this spasm of pain. ‘What’s going on, Dolly? Do I need to get an actual doctor?’
She shakes her head. ‘Just the little red pouch from my handbag.’
I notice it finally, hanging on the peg on the back of the door across the room.
‘That’s a daft place to leave it,’ I say as I hand it over.
‘I didn’t want it to go on the floor and get all gross,’ she insists. ‘Like me.’
The tiny sequinned bag is full of strips of pills. Unboxed of course because who needs identifying information or the leaflet about side effects? Not Dolly, apparently.
She snaps two little round pills out from one sheet, and a further two slightly larger ones from another, and necks them all back like they’re mints. To my horror, she dry swallows them all.
‘Dolly, please drink something – that was too disturbing,’ I say, thrusting a refilled cup of water at her.
‘Warren said the same.’ She complies, but then says, ‘The last few days, you’d have loved to see me choke.’
‘I don’t want you dead from dry pills lodged in your throat,’ I insist. ‘Just… mildly inconvenienced.’
I can’t help but laugh when she says, ‘Oh yeah, just a small choking. A chokelet, if you may.’
‘Well, you’re in my care now, and it could ruin my first aid accreditation if I purposefully let you die on national television.’
She sips at the water. ‘It is easier this way.’
‘I’m sure that’s what it says to do on the packet,’ I say tartly. ‘Now, what else do you need?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Should I get someone from production to get a medic?’
‘Absolutely not.’
‘Dolly—’
‘I’m not making you stay!’ she half-arsedly snaps at me. ‘Warren was supposed to be here.’
‘Well, he’s not and I am, so get used to it.’
She groans. ‘As much as I love our verbal sparring, can we leave it until I have stopped having contractions?’
I gasp, trying to wrap my head around this. ‘But you—’
‘Not pregnant, calm down,’ she snaps, exasperated with me, and I feel a little foolish to have jumped right there. ‘I’ve got endometriosis. The big cramps are like contractions.’
I want to say fuck that’s awful, I’m sorry. But I still feel rather bitter from feeling stupid, so I snap back, ‘Well, you can see how I misconstrued that, what with your using a term famously connected with giving birth.’
She doesn’t give me anything back so I guess she really is too tired to argue with me. Why do I feel a bit disappointed?
I don’t really know very much about endometriosis.
That’s not really something you talk about in first aid training; in fact you rarely get to assist people with chronic conditions.
It’s more likely you’d help someone giving birth unexpectedly.
This whole situation has spun me out enough that for some reason I find myself muttering about the signs of labour in my ewes at the farm.
She raises a hand, heavy and slow. ‘Carys, I know you Welsh people love chatting about your fucken sheep, but please shut up.’
‘Fine. But we have to get you out of here.’
‘No moving yet.’
‘I’m stronger than I look. I can help.’
‘Carys, I’m familiar with how strong you are from you going on about hauling your sheep, and,’ she looks to my neck, and must notice my mic still attached, ‘other things.’
The flush of heat runs up my skin. ‘You said we needed to stop talking about sheep.’
There’s a knock at the door and I leap up to answer it.
‘Hey,’ says Warren, as though he knew I’d be in here. ‘Is Dolly okay?’
I shake my head. ‘Pretty bad.’
‘I’m glad you were here. You wouldn’t believe how much production did not want to believe me that we needed to go home – and not film it either.’
‘But they agreed?’
‘In the end.’
‘You’re a good man,’ I say, realising we haven’t spoken much since we left the warehouse.
I suddenly feel a rush of guilt for what I’ve been doing with his fiancée. If they have a fake marriage, does he know what she and I have been doing? Why we fight?
He sighs, shaking his head. ‘It was helped along by Zack decking Jackson for some reason.’
‘No, what?’ Dolly cries from the floor. ‘Aw man, I missed it.’
I open the door wider so he can come in, and try to ignore the strange feeling in my stomach as I watch him gently wipe the damp hair from her forehead. They’re so easy with each other.
‘Yeah, Malachi had to grab Jackson before he got Zack,’ Warren says, trying not to laugh. ‘The guy would have been obliterated.’
‘A real case of the worst person you know made a good point.’
‘Anyway, there’s a car for us. No cameras.’
Dolly looks up at the ceiling. ‘Fuck’s sake. I’m sorry.’ It rushes out in one word, and I barely hear what he says to reassure her because he crouches down, and his voice is so low and deep at the best of times.
It’s an intrusion to stay here, especially when he lifts her up, carrying her like a baby or a bride. This is what it’s supposed to look like, isn’t it? The man provides, the woman taken care of. It’s all I ever wanted, right there.
Except, it’s not even real. Not in the true romantic sense of the word, at least. Their love is all platonic. Maybe that’s a real kind of love too? How do I make Patrick as happy as they are, when they’re not even in love?
I realise that her things are still all over the place. ‘Sorry, the bag touched the floor,’ I say as I tuck it into her hands, but Dolly is already drifting off to sleep. Her face is tucked under Warren’s chin.
‘She’ll be alright,’ he says, and then he drops his voice to a whisper. It might be my overstimulated brain, but I swear he says, ‘I’ll look after her for us.’
I follow them out, unable to take my eyes off her until the two of them, combined into one figure, disappear out the front door.
I don’t know how to process all this feeling in my chest. We need to keep apart from each other, that’s what we said. A truce, not a friendship.
But I’m rattled. I didn’t think Dolly Doherty needed anyone or anything. This whole time, it’s been her coming to my aid when I’ve needed it, even when we were fighting. I guess this was just me paying back the favour, but why do I feel so strange?
I walk back to the dining table, to Patrick.
Jackson and Zack are sequestered to separate ends of the table, seemingly guarded by Malachi and Patrick respectively, along with several members of production, while first aiders attend to them.
There’s a real shiner on Jackson’s face. The Nguyens have gone already.
Bridget, Whit and Lina sit together by the big windows, far away from the men. ‘You three alright?’ I ask.
Whit gives me a look that can only be described as please save me from the most awkward situation of my life. ‘It’s been interesting!’ she says, much too brightly.
Bridget has her head in her hands. ‘God, I’m bloody mortified. Karina Nguyen had to hold me back. Karina.’
‘From what?’ I say, taking a seat.
‘Walloping Zack. And like, I did egg it on. A bit. Well. Quite a bit. He was just being such a shit to Leens.’
Poor Lina is staring out the window, her eyes just as glassy.
‘Lina?’ I whisper, but she doesn’t really respond. I know she’s there, because her eyes flick over to me, her lips becoming a flat line. I don’t think she wants to talk, so I just offer her my hand and she takes it.
‘This might be the weirdest group dinner I’ve ever been to,’ says Whit.
‘Oh, do you not usually have celebrities witnessing a brawl?’ Bridget drones.
‘If the surgeons barny, it just always ends in an arm-wrestling match. Every single time.’ Whit sighs, clearly missing the operating room. ‘You and Dolly alright? You were gone a while.’
‘Yeah. She was just a bit poorly.’
‘Probably had too much to drink,’ sniffs Bridget. ‘I know we all did.’
I don’t rush to correct her because it’s not my business.
‘Thanks for looking after her,’ says Whit. ‘She’s special to me.’
I try to ignore the bit of my heart that says me too.
Transcript: Warren and Dolly family meetups
[Opening shot on a South London house in the sunshine, a ramp leading out from the front door.
Warren steps up and knocks on the door. Dolly stands behind with a big bunch of flowers and a gift bag slung at her wrist. The door opens to reveal Warren’s mum Joyce who squeals and pulls him down into a hug.
Cut to the living room table. Connor is seated at the table in his wheelchair, with Joyce and Peter, Warren’s dad, and Dolly and Warren.]
DOLLY It’s a pleasure to meet you all. Thank you for welcoming me into your lovely home.
JOYCE And you, darling girl. Thank you for looking after my son. He is a blessing and he needs someone to keep him in line.
WARREN Hey!
DOLLY [laughing] Oh, he does. These are for you – Warren said these biscuits are your favourites?
CONNOR Did you get me any presents?
JOYCE Connor! Behave, I beg.
DOLLY I don’t know, Connor… Do you like video games?
[Cut to a similar scene at Dolly’s house, with Warren, Dolly and Dolly’s mum Moira, Dolly’s Auntie Carol and cousin Jas around the kitchen table. A cake sits between them. The angle is much tighter as the terraced kitchen is small.]
MOIRA Here now, Warren, you’re the man here. You slice this up for us.
WARREN [laughs] It’s my pleasure, Moira.
CAROL Ah well, he’s an alright sort, isn’t he? So, tell us about your wedding then?
DOLLY Don’t you want it to be a surprise?
JAS We’ll see it on telly anyway.
[Everyone laughs.]
DOLLY You’ll all come, won’t you?
MOIRA [wiping a tear away] I just wish I could be there when you pick your dress.
DOLLY Oh, Mum.
[Dolly gets up to hug her mum.]
DOLLY It’ll be better this way. You can save your energy for the big day. We’ll Zoom you in.
[A snippet of an interview with just Moira.]
MOIRA That’s the hardest bit, really. The missing out.