Jesus Christ, Arabella thought. What the bloody hell was in those cocktails? Her head spun as she hung onto Roxanne, who was helping her out of the club and onto the main road. She was vaguely aware of people. People everywhere. Yet all she could see were their feet. High heels, sandals, painted toenails, trainers. She tried to put one foot in front of the other, yet her legs were like Bambi on ice.
‘Watch where yer gawn hen!’ someone shouted. Was that to Arabella? Had she bumped into someone?
‘Sorry,’ she tried, yet her words slurred and slithered out of her mouth, barely audible.
‘Come on,’ Roxanne said.
Her friend’s voice was close to her ear but Arabella could hardly lift her head to smile in response. She didn’t want to attempt to talk again, it was embarrassing trying to get her words out when she was so drunk she’d forgotten how to speak. And walk. And hold herself upright.
Roxanne, please get me home, Arabella thought to herself.
Barely aware of Roxanne flagging down the taxi, Arabella found herself being bundled into the back seat. Thank god her friend was there to help her.
‘Let me strap her in first, mate,’ Roxanne said, this time her voice sounding far away. ‘She’s had a bit much to drink.’
‘Nae bother, hen. You know there’s a soiling fee of fifty quid if she’s sick.’
‘Aye, she’ll not be sick. She just needs to get to bed and she’ll be all right,’ Roxanne said, sitting down next to Arabella.
The movement of the taxi, the bumps in the road and the speed made Arabella feel woozy. You’re wrong, Arabella thought. I might just throw up.
She tried to focus on something still. The folded-up seat in front of her. The advert for a funeral company. The words swam in front of her eyes and she closed them to stop the motion but that made her feel worse, so she opened them again and tried to focus on something else. The red light on the door. The red light that indicated the doors were locked. The sign said as much. She could just about read it.
‘You still alive down there?’ Roxanne’s face came into focus as she dipped down and stared at Arabella.
Down there? Down where? Arabella realised that she had been focusing so hard on watching the stillness of the red light on the door that she was practically folded in half.
‘Sit up, Arabella. That’s going to make it worse.’ She felt Roxanne’s hands on her, forcing her back onto the seat.
‘I’m so drunk,’ Arabella said, her head lolling. She heard Roxanne laugh.
‘Aye, I can see that. You’ll be at home in your bed soon enough. Almost there.’
Time seemed to speed up then, yet Arabella couldn’t comprehend how long it had been since she last saw Eddie. Where was he and why wasn’t he the one looking after her? Did he even know where she was? Come to think of it, she didn’t even know where she was.
‘Cheers, mate,’ Roxanne said.
A door slammed, and they were no longer in the taxi. Her skin felt chilled by the night air. Her feet throbbed in her shoes. She bent down to take them off before falling forward, her face crashing down against the concrete. She was consumed by darkness, a black shadow coming at her from all directions inside her head.
She was beyond drunk. She was unable to comprehend what was going on. Suddenly, she was being rushed along, dragged. Traffic noise in the distance. A voice echoed above her, like she was in a tunnel or under an archway. It was so dark that Arabella couldn’t see where she was going. Suddenly she was a little more sober, but still fuzzy enough that she couldn’t piece together how she’d come to be here. In this place.
‘Roxanne? Rox?’ She tried to call out, but a hand was thrown across her mouth.
‘Sssh!’ Roxanne hissed in her ear. ‘Move quicker.’
‘But what’s…’ Arabella’s words trailed off as Roxanne dug her fingers into Arabella’s arms, forcing her to stay as upright as possible while pushing her forward.
‘Unless you want to end up back in jail, then move your fucking feet, Arabella.’
Why would she end up back in jail? What the fuck was going on?
It was beginning to rain, and the cool breeze on her cheeks made her realise how hot she felt. The wave that came before the alcohol-induced vomiting began.
‘Stop,’ Arabella said, tugging away from Roxanne. ‘I’m going to be sick.’
‘No. Not here. You’ll get caught.’
Hunching over, hands on her knees, Arabella began to retch as the multitude of cocktails and fizz came back on her. It burned intensely in her throat, the acidic taste making her retch even more.
‘Fuck’s sake, Arabella.’
Before she could answer, even before she could stand up, Arabella threw up the last of the contents of her stomach. As she retched, she questioned why she was so ill. She hadn’t drunk that much, had she? Not enough to make her so violently sick. In the past she’d been used to drinking and taking coke all through the night as she partied; she knew her body could handle much more than she’d drunk tonight.
‘I’m sorry,’ Arabella murmured as she wiped at her mouth with the back of her hand.
Jesus, she thought. Just out of prison, reunited with her best friend and look at the state of her. A drunken mess.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said again. But Roxanne didn’t answer her as she tugged at her arm, pulling her along.