Chapter 9
Tim tried his best to shield his friend from view, but the sound of someone being violently sick was impossible to disguise. It had been just a week since they had finished their latest stint of Army Reserve training and returned to their office jobs, and already Bane had bullied him into jogging with him each lunch time. The late April humidity was at least bearable, but it was still easy to become dehydrated very quickly, and about a third of the way around the New Farm Park loop Bane had slowed to an uncharacteristic stop before bee-lining for the nearest jacaranda tree. At least, Tim hoped that dehydration was the problem.
An elderly woman frowned at them, looking like she was about to whip a pen from her handbag and write someone a complaint letter. Apparently vomiting unexpectedly was bad etiquette. Tim gave her his most winning grandson grin. She just scowled. How come the elderly were exempt from good manners? He turned to check on Bane. Nope. Still not done. They’d shared a pizza the night before and the meat-lover’s supreme had tasted great, but now he was a bit worried that he was going to be next. Although, if it got him out of jogging …
Finally Bane leant back against the tree, shaking, and when Tim handed him his water bottle he noticed that his skin was on fire. Even more disturbing than that was his expression.
‘Okay. That’s a little creepy. Your face is as pale as an officer’s arse, but I’ve never seen you smile like that before. You almost look happy. Stop it.’
Instead of answering, Bane ducked back to the other side of the tree again.
Great. Tim thought. It must have been the salami. I’m in for a bad, bad night.
Half an hour later he had somehow managed to get Bane back to his flat. He’d tipped the taxi driver generously to make up for the less-than-healthy state of his friend, even though by then there wasn’t much left for Bane to make a mess with. It was still unpleasant though. The poor guy was as weak as a thirsty kitten but still looked hideously euphoric.
Bane fell onto the couch, clutching at his belly and chuckling.
‘All right. What’s the matter with you?’ Tim asked. ‘You’ve been laughing your guts out. Literally. It’s not normal.’
‘You’re right. This isn’t another false alarm. Hand me my phone please, Tim. I need to book a plane ticket.’
Instead of explaining, Bane tried to make a lunge for his backpack. Tim grabbed it first.
‘And where exactly are you going? Some special hospital that caters for nauseated insane people?’
His friend tried to nod but passed out instead.
After Bane had almost destroyed his laptop for being too slow, Tim had suggested he call the airline instead. The woman on the phone had been very helpful but Bane had been just plain rude to her, so Tim had wrestled the phone from him and taken over the negotiations. And confiscated the laptop before Bane could be tempted to try using it again.
‘Everything’s fully booked today,’ Tim relayed. ‘The next available flight to Melbourne is tomorrow at eight am, and there’s a connecting coach that leaves a couple of hours after you land.’
‘No good. I need to be there much sooner than that,’ came the scraped reply. Sweat was pouring down Bane’s face and his throat must have been burning because he could barely speak. Tim frowned as he watched him sip some more water and then immediately clutch at his stomach again.
‘There’s plenty of room on this afternoon’s Adelaide flight but no coach service from there so you’d have to hire a car, and driving’s not really an option for you right now, is it?’ Tim argued.
‘Adelaide. Book it,’ Bane all but whispered. ‘How soon?’ He looked very intense, scowling, and his fists were clenched like he was ready to hit someone. He had been like that since he’d regained consciousness. One second he would be smiling and excited, the next he looked terrifying. It was a good thing Tim knew he wasn’t naturally violent or he would have hidden under the table at that look.
‘Two tickets on the next flight from Brisbane to Adelaide, please,’ he told the agent. ‘And we’ll need to sit together, sadly.’
Bane tried to protest and only managed a painful sounding rasp, so Tim threw a wet hand towel at him. ‘It takes a real mate to be willing to take you home when you can’t stop spewing, remember?’
His friend groaned in what he presumed was some form of gratitude, and pressed the cool towel against his forehead while Tim finalised the tickets.
They stumbled onto the plane in a fluster of flapping boarding passes and badly packed hand luggage. Tim complimented the cranky-looking flight attendant on his moustache, and then dropped everything and lunged to catch Bane as he swayed dangerously close to a woman in the front aisle seat. Bane had passed out twice more since booking the flight, and Tim didn’t trust him not to do it again in her lap. He all but carried Bane to his seat, and then had to go back for his backpack and the plastic shopping bag that contained his spare shoes.
‘Are you sure about this?’ Tim asked once he finally had everything stashed away in the overhead locker. He kept his voice down in an effort not to frighten the other passengers. ‘I still think I should be taking you to a hospital. This seems worse than normal gastro, and it hasn’t let up at all.’
‘I’m sure. This is it, Tim. It’s what I’ve been waiting for. I’m not going to let a bit of nausea stop me. I’m going home. Now shut up and let me concentrate on breathing.’ Bane’s grin looked very out of place as he curled up against the window.
Tim knew better than to argue with him, despite his ecstatic demeanour, so instead he turned his attention to collecting the sick bags from as many nearby unoccupied seats as he could reach, ignoring the worried sour looks from everyone who noticed. He tossed one back to Bane when it was clear that ‘concentrating on breathing’ wasn’t working.
‘Hey, look, some other dude brought a guitar on board,’ Tim said once the unhappy flight attendant had left with the used bag. ‘We could have brought yours after all.’
‘Didn’t have time for that argument with the check-in staff,’ Bane mumbled. ‘I had to check in without them noticing I was sick or they might not have let me board.’
‘Since when have you played guitar, anyway? I would never have picked you as the creative type. Why haven’t I heard you play?’
‘You wouldn’t want to hear the songs I’ve been writing. Maybe I’ll start writing better ones now that she’s back.’
Tim gaped at the grown man wilting in the window seat with his knees pulled up to his chest. ‘She? Are you telling me this all has something to do with a girl?’ He plonked himself down next to his sick friend. ‘I barely even got to pack. I think I forgot socks. I can’t believe you had a bag ready to go. Was it your zombie apocalypse emergency pack? I knew I should have kept mine.’ The plane began to roll. They really had cut it fine. ‘So did you find out she was back before or after you came down with this illness? You didn’t mention anything before our run.’
Bane nearly answered, but then swallowed hard, and squeezed his eyes shut.
‘Talk about bad timing,’ Tim mumbled, opening another one of the sick bags in preparation.
‘It could have been a lot worse,’ Bane said, grinning again.