Ever since I’d found her in the Vespa Lounge, I’d been sticking close by Nick’s side. Now it was snowing lightly, the fat flakes like white orchids, as I stood with Nick in front of Melissa’s flat. I thought I could hear the snow hiss as it landed. It powdered the shrubbery, making thin twigs look like the first pear blossoms of spring. I’d gone with Nick to the post office to cash her weekly giro, and she’d taken me to the Isle of Whitby, a famous East End pub. It was freezing, but I felt insulated. Melissa answered the door in a maroon dressing gown.
“Hiya, Melissa,” I shouted. “Wha’d ya know, love?”
“Where are your shoes? Don’t tell me you’ve been running around London in the dead of winter in nothing but socks. What are you doing to her, Nick?” Melissa stepped back to let us in.
I handed her my soaking-wet sneakers. “What do you know, love?” I insisted at the top of my lungs.
“Hush. Get in here.” Melissa grabbed my arm and pulled me inside. “Jesus Christ, you’re half-drowned.”
Nick sighed. “I tried to stop her.”
“Melissa, I fell in the Thames,” I said proudly.
“Not so much fell in as went for a bloody swim,” Nick muttered.
“Are you mad? Why didn’t you stop her? Don’t you know it’s bloody snowing outside?”
“I’d like to ’ave seen you bloody stop ’er.”
“She’s ice cold! And she’s pissed. Come on, you. Get upstairs. Don’t you know you could get hypothermia? I’m fucking serious.”
“What’d ya know, love?” I said, as she led me to the upstairs bathroom.
“Yes,” Melissa said, “yes. You’ve learnt a new expression, and you sound bloody English. Come on, get out of those wet things.” She ran steaming hot water into the tub. “Get in and stay in till I get back. And don’t drown,” she admonished me.
“You’re always sticking me in the bloody bathtub,” I said grumpily.
“Hmm. How about that?” Melissa left the bathroom. The water was soothing, but I couldn’t get it hot enough.
The Isle of Whitby was in Wapping, down an old cobblestone street and right on the bank of the Thames. Nick had been knocking back pints, and I vaguely remembered trying to keep up with her. We’d climbed down the back stairs so I could see the Thames up close. A few flakes of snow fell, and I felt a complete sense of oneness with my environment, like I was omnipotent—experiencing life at a revved-up rate, achieving absolute clarity. As I breathed in the sharp coldness of the air, I remembered thinking that I’d never actually touched the water of the Thames before. It seemed like the Ganges, something holy to bathe myself in.
Melissa knocked on the bathroom door. “May I come in?” She placed a cup of tea on the soap and shampoo holder.
“Ta, Melissa.”
“Listen you, don’t you realize—?”
“Where’s Nick?”
“She’s crawled into a nice, warm, sensible bed and gone to sleep. That’s where she is. Listen, you can’t go swimming in the Thames.”
“Nick gave me her socks so I’d have dry ones,” I announced.
“That was sweet of her.” Melissa sat down on the closed toilet lid. I could see the soft curve of her breasts beneath her open dressing gown and the black T-shirt that said “I Wish It Could Be ’77” and had a picture of two punks walking away with back patches on their jackets and bum-flaps attached to their belts. The band name “Special Duties” was written in blocky, different-sized punk letters. Melissa continued, “Look, I could be bloody pissed off at you.”
“But you’re not, are you? If you are, why are you smiling?”
“I’m not smiling. I’m grimacing.” Melissa did her best to look disapproving.
“Is that a real word? Grimacing. What’s a grimace? Isn’t that one of those words you say out loud then wonder if it really means anything? Say it again. It’s garble-nonsense.”
“Will you stop, please? Being adorable is not going to work.” Melissa knelt and rested her arms on the rim of the tub. Then she reached in her hand and splashed water at me. “Crikey, are you boiling yourself?” The way she left her hand hanging over the edge of the bath like that, so gracefully, the light shining off the silver ring on her finger, caused a sharp jolt of pain to run through me. I tried not to let it show in my eyes.
“The people in the pub were ever so nice. They didn’t even mind me getting the floor all wet. And they were ever so good with advice, like telling me to wrap up warm and go home immediately.”
“The people in the pub thought you were mad. And so do I. Now stay in there and drink your tea. I’ll bring you something dry to wear.”
I’m adorable, I thought, the words having taken this long to reach my sozzled brain.
Melissa left a pair of sweats, heavy socks, and a flannel shirt on the lid of the toilet for me. I felt happy in her clothes but still chilled. Melissa put me in her bed with a hot-water bottle at my feet, and I managed a minor tremble. “For fuck’s sake, Amanda.” Melissa held me against her for a minute to warm me up. “And another thing.” She tucked me in again. “You can’t match pints with Nick. Is that what happened?”
“I think so. I remember it being my shout, and my pints were stacking up.”
“Why didn’t you just buy her one and not yourself then?”
I thought about it. “That didn’t make sense at the time.” I didn’t tell Melissa the truth, that the medications I took for my brain glitches accelerated the power of alcohol. I knew I was going to pay dearly for my drinking later. On the rare occasions I drank, I never had more than one pint. I mostly stuck with orange juice, Coke, and maybe some shandy.
Melissa made me take two paracetamol tablets and drink a large glass of water. “Go to sleep, kid. I’ll be up later. No more pubs by the river for you.”
I heard her laughing as she went downstairs. By this time, I was keeping a stash of medication hidden inside the Takamine’s guitar case in Jake’s room and wobbled down the hall to take my nightly dose with the last swallow of water. No amount of alcohol short of passing out would make me forget to do that. On my way back, I stumbled in the hallway and went down with a thud.
Melissa came upstairs and found me sitting there. She shook her head. “You’re shedded.”
“What?”
“It’s an expression. ‘My shed has collapsed taking most of the fence with it.’”
That struck me as hysterical. “My fence has collapsed!” I shrieked, rolling over on my side and resting my head on her foot. Looking down at me, Melissa pursed her lips in a way that only made her mouth seem sexier.
“Your day is over,” Melissa said, grabbing my arm. “Get back to bed. And you’re lucky I’m not still an A and E doc. Do you have any idea how many people come in injured on a Saturday night because they’re pissed out of their brains and have fallen over? There’s even a term for it. You’re PFO, darlin’. Pissed Fell Over.”
“What would you do?” I asked playfully.
“Give you fluids and a very stern lecture.” Melissa pulled me up.
I lay in bed and crooned the first verse of “Sort It Out” by the Swedish band the Caesars in a loud, sloppy voice when Melissa went back downstairs. “‘I wanna smoke crack cause you’re never coming back. / I wanna shoot speed balls, bang my head against the wall. / I wanna sniff glue cause I can’t get over you. / Am I gonna sort it out?’” I repeated it until I sang myself hoarse and then to sleep.