Page 35 of Hot to Go

‘Your loss, beautiful. Mate, taxi is here to take you to the hospital to see your bro. Quad bikes at five. You think you’ll be up for that?’

‘Well, obviously,’ he says in return, exasperated.

I furrow my brow at this mate’s stupidity, trying to hold in the laughter. What happened to his brother? How is he getting in this taxi? Is his mate coming with him? My bleeding heart wonders whether to help him but I look at my phone. Meg’s party starts soon. Maybe that should be the priority. Having put my trust in a complete stranger and nothing coming of it, maybe it’s safer to just head to those who love me without condition. I put a hand to Max’s shoulder. ‘Look, take care…’ I say, leaving a gap for him to introduce himself.

‘Max. And you?’

There’s no point lying anymore. Being Aurelie was nice for half a day, but it’s time to leave her behind. ‘Suzie. Hope you and your brother get better soon.’

‘I hope so too.’

Charlie

‘¿Señor? ¿Señor? How are you feeling?’

Like something is sitting on my head. I open my eyes to blinding white lights, white walls, perforated ceiling tiles and those blinds that we have at work in the office that always get tangled up. This feels like an awful dream.

‘Charlie! Charlie, mate! It’s me, Max.’

I completely open my eyes and look down to see my legs under a lemon yellow blanket, the sound of a machine beeping in the background. I see Max next to the bed beside a shorter lady with her hair slicked back into a bun.

‘Who are you?’ I say in a weak voice.

‘It’s me, Max. I’m your brother,’ he says, the colour draining from his face.

‘Who?’

‘Oh god, has he forgotten me? Is this some sort of brain injury?’ he cries, panicked.

‘I’m messing with you, you idiot. You’re Max Shaw, my brother. Birthday the twentieth of January,’ I say, trying to force a laugh. Instead, my throat feels dry, my eyes heavy.

‘Sense of humour still intact then,’ he tells the nurse, as he throws his body over mine to give me a massive hug. I drape an arm over him to return the gesture.

‘Señor Max, be careful with the leg, please,’ she says, concerned. ‘Señor Charlie. I am your nurse, Elena. I’m going to go and get the doctor. It is good to see you up.’ Elena leaves the room as I try and sit up a bit more to take in my surroundings.

‘The leg?’

‘Fracture in the tibia. I’ve got a cast,’ he says. I glance down to have a look at the large cumbersome cast on his leg. I’llhazard a guess that the person who drew the large penis and exceptionally hairy balls on it was Andy.

‘Insurance?’ I say, my practical head still on my shoulders.

‘I’m on it. Amy has been helping out too. Brooke and Sam were worried. They were wondering whether to fly in?’

I shake my head. ‘God, no. I’ll be fine. I am fine, no?’ I ask, still straining to focus.

Max holds his phone in front of my face and plays a video of the event, obviously filmed by one of his ever-faithful stags. In my faint memories of the incident, I thought I was being heroic and an excellent brother but really as I scramble on to the inflatable, I look like a toddler learning to walk, falling on my face and then trying to get to my feet again. Then Max is thrown off the bull, and I gasp to see us both flying through the air. It’s like that whole Avengers thing manifesting itself. The crowd scream, we land with the biggest of thuds, but unlike Iron Man and Hulk, we don’t get up. ‘Holy fuck, are they dead?’ says the person behind the camera. I can’t wipe the look of horror from my face that someone has caught the whole thing on camera.

‘Well, when I flew off the bull, you took most of the force of my fall. We totally missed the bouncy castle bit. They’ve done some scans. You really were out cold. They reckon you’ve got a concussion, and they did a small operation to fix your wrist yesterday. They want to keep you in for one more night.’

I look down at my wrist bandaged up and in a cast. I’m lucky that Andy and his graffiti has not got to that yet. My mouth and throat, however, feel like they’ve been attacked by razors.

‘Well, that’s my tennis career buggered,’ I say.

‘I hope that’s not your wanking hand,’ Max says, attempting to get some humour out of the situation.

I try and laugh but the movement hurts, everywhere. And I’m starving and need a wee.

‘Tell Brooke and Sam, I fine. I’ll call them later.’ However, a thought suddenly strikes through me.

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