Page 37 of Hot to Go

‘Señor Shaw, you say a French party? Not English?’

‘Non. Definitely French.’

‘OK. I will pass that on.’

‘Muchas gracias, señora.’

I close my eyes. Please, please, please. I should get Max to go down to the beach to look for her but then I look down at the cast. Maybe I should go. I could get a taxi there now and explain myself. It’s a good story and I have the scars and cast to prove it. I try and sit up and feel something inside me creak.

‘Mate, can you just…’ Max says, putting a hand to me telling me to sit down.

‘But…’

‘But it’s just one girl, that you met once,’ he says, frowning. I see a look of sadness and complete fear fall across his face and realise I’ve not considered how awful this must have been for him, for me to have been in hospital. This might go down in history as the worst stag do ever. ‘When you were on that restaurant floor and wouldn’t get up, I seriously thought you were dead.’

‘What a fucking place to die…’ I mutter.

‘Don’t joke. I’ve been in this hospital for twenty-four hours now. I’ve not slept. I can’t even take a proper crap with this thing on my leg.’

I try not to laugh but I see the panic in his expression and immediately feel guilty that I made him so worried. ‘Where are the rest of the stags?’

‘Where do you think? They’re quad biking in three hours and then they’re off to a strip club.’

There’s a real look of disappointment in his face and I don’t think that’s from missing out on the evening’s entertainment. He puts his head down by the side of my bed and I pat it affectionately. ‘Did you keep a vigil?’

‘Obviously. I even went to the chapel and lit a candle.’

‘Really?’

Max laughs. ‘Of course not. I got crap from the vending machines and watched another nineties action movie without subtitles on that chair.’ He points to the corner of the room. I am curious as to how many paprika Pringles one person can eat. ‘How have you remembered my mobile number after all these years?’ he asks me.

‘I know all three of your numbers by heart. It’s my job.’

‘I don’t know yours.’

‘Because you don’t love me as much.’

He smiles at me. There is something about hospitals that will always strike fear into both of us but I’m glad that we’ve both come out of this relatively unscathed. My wrist starts to hurt and I wince to move it.

‘Do you need any painkillers?’

I nod.

‘I’ll get Elena on it.’

‘I’m also very conscious that it’s a bit airy downstairs,’ I say wriggling around in my paper dress.

‘Pants?’

‘Yeah, that would be good. Maybe a drink, something fizzy.’

‘Anythingelse from the hotel? I’ll find your phone.’

I stare out the window of the hotel where the blinds mask the tops of some palms poking through, letting me know I’m still on holiday, a brilliantly aqua sky in the background. Please let that message get through. Please don’t let this be another classic episode in Charlie Shaw’s failed love life. I put my head back on the pillow, trying to get comfortable.

‘I started reading some book I picked up at the airport. David Nicholls. I think it’s in my rucksack. And maybe something sweet. Like a doughnut or something?’

‘Bunyol,’ Max says in a forced Spanish accent.

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