Chapter Twenty-Four
TWENTY-FOUR
“Fliss?” Noah’s voice is muffled, like he’s talking to me through layers of cotton wool. “You need me to get a broom?” He comes closer, but I’m glued to the spot, staring at the floor. “Fliss?” he repeats before taking a sharp breath that cuts through my stupor.
“Izzy?” I manage to say as I take another step into the room.
I drop to my knees next to her, ignoring the slivers of glass that cut through the thin fabric of my trousers.
Images of Helen flash through my head. Every case I’ve ever encountered is telling me that something has happened to Izzy while I left her alone, that somehow the killer followed us here and hurt her, and if that’s happened then it’s all my fault for bringing her back to Blackwood in the first place.
Noah bends down and helps me roll her onto one side as I try not to hyperventilate.
I almost sob with relief when she groans and tries to bat us away.
“She’s okay, just passed out,” Noah says. “Let’s get her onto the bed.”
“Good idea. Iz?” She doesn’t answer but sort of grunts at me, which I take as a good sign. “We need you to stand up, can you do that?”
“Mmmm,” she says, or something like it, anyway. That’s enough for me.
“Let’s get her to sit first. Then we can try to get her on her feet.” We roll Izzy onto her back and I grab hold of her forearms. The side of her face looks bruised in this light. What the hell did she do? “I’m going to pull her up in three. Can you help, Noah?”
“Yep,” he replies, kneeling behind Izzy’s motionless body.
“Okay, one, two, three!”
Izzy is a dead weight and it takes all my strength to pull her up, but Noah gets behind and supports her back, so between us, we get her standing.
She groans but cooperates in a very rubbery way, and together we get her over to the bed, where she collapses and rolls over onto her side, pushing her face into the pillows.
“No, you don’t,” I mutter, pulling her back toward me. “Noah, shove some pillows in front of her, will you? I don’t want her to be able to roll onto her face.”
Noah grabs two pillows from the head of the bed and lays them down the length of Izzy’s body. I let her go and she rolls forward again, but this time she’s propped up and her face isn’t pressed into the bed.
“She’s wasted,” Noah says, slightly breathless.
I study the visible side of Izzy’s face. I’m sure there’s a bruise blooming on her left temple, but it’s too dark in here to tell. I climb onto the bed next to her and check her pulse, her breathing and anything else I can think of.
“Should I get her some coffee or something?” I look toward the voice at the bedroom door. Jen stands there, nervously twisting her hands, and the rest of the group are behind her. I was so focused on Izzy I didn’t notice them gathering.
“I think she’s past coffee,” I say. “I was bringing her water, but…” I look down at the broken glass on the floor.
“I’ll take care of it.” Jen springs into action. “Is there a dustpan and brush for the glass? And a mop?”
“I don’t know,” I apologize. “Maybe in the kitchen? Under the sink?”
“Don’t worry, I’ll find it.”
She bustles off and the others hover slightly out of sight, apart from Ford, who takes a hesitant step into the room.
“Is she okay? I just thought she’d gone off to be sick.
” He looks down at Izzy, whose eyelids are fluttering like she’s in the middle of a dream.
“She looks out of it.” His voice is more high pitched now, panicky.
“Do you think she needs her stomach pumped or something? One of my friends had to have that done and it was horrible.”
“She didn’t drink that much, did she?” I ask, looking between Noah and Ford as panic grips me once again. Does she need to go to the hospital?
Scarlett and Jake move out of the way as Jen reappears with a small dustpan and brush and starts sweeping, glass scratching on the wooden floor.
“She did have a lot of that punch,” Jake pipes up, his voice hoarse. “What was even in that?”
“It was sangria, so mostly red wine and some of my dad’s orange liqueur.
” I sigh. “It didn’t seem that strong, but I only had one full glass.
I never finished my second.” Because Izzy already seemed drunk, but I don’t say that out loud.
I look down at my friend. I’ve never seen her passed out before.
When she’s been really drunk in the past, she’s just been sick.
I glance over at Jen, who is holding a dustpan full of wet glass, and feel a twist of guilt for hating her on sight.
“Jen, please will you turn the light on? It’s just by the door. ”
“Sure.” She flips the ancient switch and we all squint for a second as the room comes into focus. I look back down at Izzy and point at her face.
“Look.” A large red welt has appeared beneath her makeup.
“Did she hit her head?” Ford asks, hovering anxiously. He twists the gold ring I’ve noticed him play with before, and I make a mental note—Ford fidgets when anxious.
“Maybe,” I say, running through the possibilities. “If she was sick, she could have hit it on the toilet? But I was just in the bathroom, and it all looked clean. I doubt she was sick, hit her head and then cleaned it up?”
“She might have hit it on the sink? Or she could have tripped over something when she came in here? It was dark,” Noah offers, surprising me by perching gently at the foot of the bed. Ford continues to hover nervously.
“I can’t see anything on the floor,” I say, looking toward the door, where Scarlett and Jake whisper between themselves before disappearing. I wouldn’t be surprised if they thought it was a good time to go for another smoke without me interrupting.
Jen finishes brushing up the glass and stands. “Nope, nothing down there. You need anything apart from more water for the patient?”
“See if there are some bandages?” Noah asks. “Fliss’s legs are bleeding.”
“Will do,” Jen says, carrying the full dustpan out of the room.
“What? No, I’m fine,” I say, but I look down.
My trousers have ridden up and my legs are crisscrossed with scratches and tiny rivulets of blood.
As soon as I see them, they start to sting.
“Oh…I knelt on the glass, I think…I’m fine, I’ll sort them in a minute.
I don’t want to leave Iz yet. If she hit her head, she might have a concussion or something. ”
“Then we should take her to the hospital,” Noah says, and Ford nods.
“I can’t. They’ll call Izzy’s mom.” I shake my head. “She’s not happy that my dad isn’t home after the situation at the gallery. There’s no way Iz will be allowed to stay if she finds out. It’s okay, I’ll stay up and keep an eye on her.”
“I’ll stay here until you’re happy, then. Just in case,” Noah says as Jen reappears with a glass of water and a little green box. “Do you want me to get the others to leave?”
“No need—we’re going to go, if Izzy is okay?” Jen says, putting the items on the cluttered bedside table. “I found a first aid kit under the sink, for your legs. I’ll mop up the water on the floor and then we’ll get out of your hair.”
“Thanks so much, Jen.”
“Of course.” She bustles away and I see Scarlett hovering back at the door, though Jake hasn’t reappeared. Her eyes are still red, and she looks even paler than usual. I wonder if the whole scenario has ruined her buzz.
“Is she sick?” Scarlett asks, stepping into the room but not coming any closer.
“No, just—” I’m cut off by Izzy’s body bucking next to me.
“Bucket,” she rasps, and an almighty retch racks her body. Looks like I spoke too soon.
“Ford, it’s under the window!” I shout as Izzy leans over the pillows. Ford grabs the little wastepaper basket and thrusts it at her, his skin turning a weird ashy color as Izzy empties her stomach into the bin. Well, that’s definitely ruined his buzz.
“Whoa.” Noah pushes himself to standing and Scarlett moves back to the door as the rancid smell of red wine and stomach acid fills the room.
Izzy keeps retching, Ford awkwardly holding the bin as I gently pull her hair back from her face. After what seems like hours, Izzy sits up.
“Water.”
I hold the glass to her lips. She wraps her hands round it and takes a sip, her eyes blurry. She looks like death warmed up, and her lipstick is smeared around her mouth, but I relax a little now that I know she’s vaguely coherent.
“How are you feeling?” I ask, trying to move the glass away, but she keeps a tight grasp on it.
“Rough.”
“You don’t say.” Noah approaches us with a box of tissues from Kim’s dresser. “Ford, I think you can put the bin down now.”
“Yeah,” Ford says, and I almost laugh. He looks in shock at what he’s just witnessed. He carefully places the bin on the floor and makes a beeline for the hallway, gulping in huge breaths as he goes. “Thank god,” I hear him say to Scarlett. “I thought I was going to start as well.”
I hide a smirk and look back at Izzy. She’s leaning precariously against the body pillows and gripping the glass of water like it’s tethering her to reality, but she’s also looking around with blurry eyes.
“You guys go home,” I say. “I think she’ll be fine.”
“Are you sure?” Ford asks from the door, but I can hear he doesn’t mean it. He just wants to get out of here, and based on the smell coming from the bin, I don’t blame him. Maybe he’s got that vomit phobia thing.
“Yeah, sorry the night was ruined,” I say, though I’m not sorry at all. I’m not exactly Izzy’s biggest fan right now, but at least I don’t have to endure having people in my dad’s place until the early hours. “And thanks for cleaning up the mess, Jen. That was really nice of you.”
“No worries. I hope she’s okay in the morning.” Jen gives me a sympathetic smile. “We’ve all been there.”
“Jen more than most,” Noah jokes, and she shoves his shoulder, but she’s laughing.
“I don’t know what you mean,” she says airily. “Come on. Jake said he’d meet us outside—and don’t worry, Fliss, I made sure he was smoking away from the house.”
“Thank you,” I say gratefully.
Jen nods and gestures for Scarlett and Ford to follow her. Noah ushers them down the hallway and I hear a mumbled chorus of goodbyes as I hesitate for a second before calling him back. “Noah?”
“One sec,” he replies, then appears in the doorway. “Yeah?”
“Can you do me a favor? I want to move Izzy to my room, but it’s locked. Could you grab the key for me?”
“Sure, where is it?”
“It’s in the cupboard over the kettle, in the blue mug.” He nods but leaves before I can read anything into the expression that flits across his face. Is he glad I’ve agreed to him staying a bit longer? My heart flutters in a much nicer way than it has all evening.
“Come on, trouble,” I say to Izzy. “Let’s get you into bed.”
“No move,” Izzy mutters, and I do laugh this time.
“Yes, move, because thanks to you, spewy, I have to wash these bedsheets. You are not going to forget about this, I’m afraid,” I tell her.
“ ’Kay,” she agrees, holding the glass to her lips but not quite managing a sip. The mark on her temple is still red, and it’s starting to swell a little.
“How’s your head?” I ask, reaching out but pulling my fingers away before I touch it because Izzy winces. “Can you remember how you did it?”
“No.” She shakes her head and winces again. “It’s sore.”
“I bet.” I wonder where Dad keeps the painkillers—there were none in the first aid kit. “Do you think you can walk if I help you?”
“Maybe.” Her voice is starting to sound much clearer, and I send out a silent thank-you to the universe.
“Wait there.” I swing my legs off the bed and walk over to the door, the damp floor tacky underfoot as I pad into the hallway. “Noah?”
“Yeah,” he replies before he emerges from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a tea towel. Is he cleaning? “How is she?”
“Surprisingly with it,” I say. “Actually, it’s not that surprising. Last Easter she was sick as a dog and then got up and passed her driving test the next morning.”
“Legend.” He grins. He throws the tea towel into the kitchen and follows me, holding out my key. I take it. “It was in the green mug.”
“What?”
“The key was in the green mug, not the blue one.”
“Oh.” I could have sworn I put it in the blue, but I was rushing, I must have gotten mixed up.
When we get back to Dad and Kim’s room, Izzy has managed to put down the glass, move the pillows and perch on the end of the bed. I’m almost impressed.
“Come on, sunshine,” Noah says cheerily.
Izzy groans. “Who else saw me like this?”
“No one,” he lies, dodging the bin and holding out a hand. “Can you walk? Or do I need to practice my fireman’s lift?”
“Sod off,” Izzy grumbles, and we both burst out laughing.
She gets to her feet slowly and walks Bambi-like to the door as I shuffle behind her. I follow her to my bedroom as Noah trails behind, gingerly holding the wastepaper basket at arm’s length.
“I’ll get rid of this.” He wrinkles his nose as he pauses outside the bathroom. “Unless you want to do the honors?”
“Now who’s a legend?” I reply. I am not turning down that offer. “Thank you.”
“You owe me.”
I smile and catch up with Izzy so I can unlock the bedroom for her.
I gently lead her over the threshold as she begins trying to get out of her shorts without unzipping them.
I close the door behind us and give her a hand, though it’s like looking after a toddler.
Finally, we get her pajamas on and she crawls under the duvet.
“Will you be okay on your own for a few minutes?” I ask her.
“I need sleep.” She yawns widely and snuggles down.
I still don’t like the look of the bump on her head, but she’s gained a bit of color and is way more coherent than she was twenty minutes ago.
Typical Izzy. I manage to get her propped up on several pillows and wait until she dozes off again.
Then I turn on the bedside lamp and switch off the main light as I go, leaving the door open so I can hear her gentle snores.