Page 82 of Just Like That

‘That’s one way of putting it. Maybe I’d feel sorry for myself if I hadn’t kicked my brother square in the teeth while he’s already down.’ I hang my head shamefully.

‘Are you maybe being a bit hard on yourself? I’m sure he’ll forgive you.’

‘I’m sure he will too – eventually. That’s the worst part. He’s such an amazing guy, he doesn’t judge anyone. He would never have done the same to me.’

‘Give it time. Sure, you messed up, but it’s what you do when you realise it that counts, and time heals all wounds.’

‘I guess. Do me another?’ I gently nudge the base of my glass in his direction.

‘You sure?’

‘Yes. Two cocktails are hardly going to be the end of me.’

‘Just checking.’ He gives me a little salute.

We chat some more while I sip away at my second drink, then a man enters the bar and hops up onto a bar stool. Catching this newbie stealing glances in my direction, I sneak a look at him and give a little ‘wow’ under my breath. He’s around my age with a broad frame, sun-kissed blond hair and deeply tanned skin, which I decide can only mean one thing.

‘You a surfer?’ I ask him, my inhibitions lost somewhere in my drink.

‘Sure am,’ he replies in his sexy Australian accent. ‘You look down. Want some company?’

I weigh this up for all of one second. ‘Why not.’

He shifts himself along to the bar stool next to me. ‘I’m Shane. And you are…?’

‘Jess.’

‘Course you are.’ He gives me a little wink, and I have no idea what he means by this, but he’s just the distraction I need right now, so I don’t really care.

‘Another of the same for my new friend here,’ he says to Eamon, who raises his eyebrows at me.

I go out of my way to pretend I didn’t see him, so he has no choice but to honour the request.

While Shane and I chat away animatedly, Eamon melts into the background, and is eventually is replaced by another staff member. It’s obvious Shane is trying to flirt with me, meaning I have to continuously rebuff his efforts, but at the same time I’m enjoying this stress-free evening after the day I’ve had. The last thing I want when I’ve badly (but unintentionally) hurt the person I love most in the world, is to be alone with my thoughts in my hotel room. And that’s before even considering my failing career, which is weighing on me so heavily. So instead, I lose myself – and my inhibitions – in Shane’s good-natured company and more drinks.

After two rounds of tequila slammers, in follow up to my third cocktail, Shane suggests heading out somewhere where there’s more going on.

‘I thought you’d never ask,’ is my giggly, intoxicated reply, before we drunkenly charge our way out the hotel and into the night.

I’m standing outside the assembly hall of my high school, waiting with my schoolmates to enter our final sixth-year exam. We can almost taste the freedom, only a few short hours away. While we mingle, half excited, half terrified, I feel a cool breeze whipping around my waist, which I find odd. Then I hear someone say ‘Geography is my favourite subject. I’m so glad it’s the final exam.’

‘What?’ I turn in their direction anxiously. ‘I thought this was modern studies.’

‘Modern studies was yesterday,’ says another voice from behind me.

I quickly shift back round but I’m unable to identify the owner of the voice. ‘No, that can’t be right. I can’t have missed it.’

‘Did you miss it like you missed getting dressed today?’ A third voice is accompanied by echoing laughter and I look around wildly, seeing people but not really recognising anyone.

Then I look down in horror to discover I’m not wearing anything on my bottom half.

‘Stop laughing! Stop laughing!’ I cry out.

‘Stop laughing.’ I bolt up into a sitting position in my bed, sweating, breathless. Then a razor-sharp pain rips through my head and I immediately lie back down and wait for death to take me.

Obviously, it doesn’t. So I lie there, trying to orient myself through the thick porridge that is my hungover brain. I’m in my hotel room – the room I booked because I screwed over my own brother. I went to the bar, chatted to the barman, talked to some Australian bloke, went out drinking with that Australian bloke – Shane, I think his name was – and—

Oh, bloody hell. I shoot up again, my head clanging like a Sunday bell, scanning the bed and the room around me. At least there’s no one here. That’s a promising start. But I have no memory of anything that happened after we went out. I really hope I didn’t do anything I’d regret.

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