Page 71 of How Much Wine Will Fix My Broken Heart?
‘I know you miss Tom, Gracie. I’m sorry I can’t make things better for you. I can’t be Megs and Emma and look after you in that way. Sometimes I don’t know what I should be saying or doing,’ she says, snuggling into me.
‘You do make things better. You remind me to smile again. All Tom ever wanted was for me to go out there, full-bore, and live. You do that exceptionally well,’ I tell her.
‘I do, don’t I? If there was anything Tom’s death taught me…’
‘Errm, you were like that when he was alive too…’ I remind her.
‘True.’
I retch a bit and Lucy holds my hair back once more. I’d like to say it’s sweet and considerate but I think she also takes a picture of me at the same time as I lean over the docks again.
‘Have we broken her?’ a voice says suddenly. Astrid appears, eye make-up halfway down her face and looking particularly joyous that she has managed to acquire us kebabs. I see Farah gorging hers down, strands of shredded lettuce hanging off her lips like whiskers, and retch again. Lucy jumps up to see the food and they all stand over me, like they’re looking down on a body and working out how to dispose of it. Just roll me over the side, girls.
‘What’s that?’ Farah asks me, her garlic-sauce breath clouding the air.
The three of them all turn to something behind me, and I arch my head to the source of their glances.
‘It’s calledThe Matthew. It’s a replica caravel ship from the fifteenth century,’ I mumble.
‘All right, Wikipedia,’ Astrid says, peering down at me. I would look up but I can hear the sound of her chewing.
I only know this information as I once went on it on a school trip as a parent volunteer. One child got the wrong message and came dressed as a full pirate that day.
‘Can you go on it?’ Farah asks.
‘Yes. You can hire it out for things. But…’
Too late. It’s Astrid who starts jogging towards it and the other two follow with mischief in their eyes. I mean, don’t mind me. I’ll just choke on my own spew on the actual ground. Please don’t go on the boat. There’s a big locked gate there for a reason, girls.
‘Girls, no,’ I shout faintly, but it falls on deaf ears. I try and sit up. What are you going to do, jump onto it? Lucy is in heels. There’s no walkway.
‘Lucy, check for seamen on board,’ Farah announces into the night air.
‘Aye-aye captain! You know I like seamen.’
At least be original with the jokes too.
‘Arrr, me hearties! Lucy’s here to walk your plank,’ Astrid adds, sounding less pirate, more Brummy. That’s the joy of being drunk: the jokes are funnier, the voices are louder. At least be discreet pirates. That’s not the way to turnover a ship. I think I can hear them actually singing sea shanties. Please. No. It’s called trespassing. That thing is run by old people volunteers too. I met one of them. His name was Neville and he knew a lot about the sea. Don’t get kebab on it either because it’s replica and that looks expensive to replace.
Oh balls, they’ve found a way. I watch as they tiptoe on like burglars, the unfortunate acoustics of these docks meaning I can hear their every move and the sound of the ship swaying and creaking in the water. A group of people walk past me and I hear them audibly tut. Shit, they’re going to get reported, aren’t they? I’ll spend the rest of the evening down a police station trying to bail them out. I stand up and stumble over to the stern of the boat.
‘Lucy, get the fuck off. It’s trespassing!’
Lucy’s head pops up, her eyes darting in different directions like she’s looking for intruders. She puts a finger to her mouth.
‘Sssshhh, matey!’
‘You’re not a pirate.’
‘How dare ye?! I am the mistress of the seven seas.’
To her credit, she’s always done accents incredibly well but now is not the time.
‘Don’t touch a thing. Tell the others too.’
Her head disappears and my phone suddenly glows.
Yikes. I thought it best you saw this before the school gate goes into hyperdrive.
