Page 73 of How Much Wine Will Fix My Broken Heart?
‘Are you just drunk or are you sad I nearly drowned?’ she says, her jaw quivering.
I take off my padded coat and wrap it around her as she shivers uncontrollably. She reminds me of a very sad version of Captain Jack Sparrow without the hat. She pulls something that looks like an old leaf out of her mouth. I hope to god it’s nothing else. I try and warm her up, rubbing my hands up and down on her arms. If anything I now feel completely sober.
‘I’m sorry,’ she says. ‘No one will let me in an Uber now.’
‘We’ll have to wring you out first…’ I say, laughing, trying to stop her body from convulsing. ‘But don’t worry, I have spare knickers in my handbag.’
‘Who carries spare knickers in their handbag?’ she asks.
‘Me. For moments exactly like this.’ See, Tom Kennedy. Useful.
‘Thank you for not running off with the others,’ she says. ‘Where’s my other boot?’
I look down and indeed she has lost a shoe, á la Amsterdam.
‘At least all our super-drunken nights out now have a theme.’
‘They’re expensive boots.’
‘Well, I’m not going scuba diving to find it, you daft cow.’
In this street light I’m not sure, but her lips look to have a blue tinge to them. She’s right, we won’t be able to get an Uber, but it’s lucky I know someone who might be up.
‘Arrrrr…’ she says in a faint pirate voice, a light tapping noise making me realise her teeth are chattering.
‘I think you’ll find the term is “shiver me timbers”,’ I say. ‘Let’s get you home, sailor.’
17
Tom, I will be in Amsterdam. I’ll be taking the train from the airport to Centraal and then I will be taking a bus to Astrid and Farah’s. When you say you’ll be there too, will you be staying at theirs? I am sure it’s big enough for the two of us. And it’s not quite a holiday. I am combining travel with a trip to our Utrecht office. Do you have anything booked in? I want to go to Anne Frank House but I suspect that might not be your bag. I look forward to seeing you then. Where to next after that? Do you need anything from the UK?
Grace x
‘I didn’t know what to do so I put her in a hot bath and put some Dettol in it. How do I check for frostbite?’ I ask Emma. She is super unimpressed that I have her up at three in the morning but she’s a sister and so needs to be privy to these things, and I don’t want to disturb Linh and wake the rest of the house.
‘There’d be loss of feeling and discolouration in her extremities. They’d be a funny colour. I’m more worried about Weil’s disease…’ I hear her switch a light on and chat to her husband stirring next to her. Her husband. That’s new but good.
‘What the hell is Weil’s disease?’ I ask.
‘It’s a disease you get from rats’ piss in the water. Did she swallow any of it?’
‘She was pretty drunk. Could she die?’
Emma senses that this is something which preoccupies my mind more than it used to so I can sense her guilt immediately.
‘Do you want me and Jag to come and help?’ she says.
‘God, no. It’s the middle of the night and then, if you wake the house, Mum and Dad will get up and it’s not worth the drama.’
‘She likely won’t die but just check the usual symptoms – fever and if she goes yellow like a canary then that’s her liver failing so get her to A&E.’
‘I can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic or not,’ I say.
‘I’m just being thorough. A hot bath, lots of blankets and socks.’
‘Should I wrap her in foil?’
‘She’s not a turkey…’
