“Is Georgia going to tell anyone about us?” My heart is beating at quadruple its normal speed.
Pi hiccups again. “Probably not. She said it was fucking embarrassing, so she’s gonna tell everyone the real reason we broke up is ’cause I’m boring.” He huffs out a highly flammable breath. “She’s right. I am boring. Aren’t I boring?”
“You’re literally the least boring person I know.”
He smiles, then his face drops. His brows knit together in the centre, and his lower lip wobbles. “Don’t say things like that. It’s not fair.”
“I’m sorry,” I reply, even if I don’t understand what’s not fair about it. “Do you want me to drive you home?”
“Nope. I wanna dance some more. And drink. And I wanna suck your cock.” He slides off the bench as though he’s been hosed from it, onto his knees on the dusty ground.
“None of those things are happening,” I say, getting to my feet to help pull him up again, but he stumbles backwards and drags me down with him.
Great, now we both have muddy knees.
“Is it going to rain tonight?” Pi asks from his spreadeagled position.
“Don’t think so.”
“Good.” He crawls over to the base of the tree and collapses onto his side. “I’m just going to have a little sleep here for a bit.”
I kneel beside him. “Come on, princess. Let’s get you home.”
“No. You lie here with me. I’ll protect you. You be the little spoon.”
“You’ll protect me?” I say, laughing. “From what?”
“Spiders and . . . cows.”
“Did you know that cows are the most deadly animal in the UK?” I’m still laughing.
“You are so fucking smart, Eggling Finnoton, and that’s why I love you.” His eyes are shut and I’ve forgotten how to breathe.
I should ask him to repeat himself, pretend I didn’t hear what he’d said, just to be sure he meant to say it. He probably meant love as a friend, though. But what if it’s something more? No, of course it’s not, he’s pissed as a fart. I expect he’d tell anyone he loved them right now.
“I’m going to be sick in a minute,” he says with his eyes still closed. “Is that okay?”
How did you mean it, Pi? Why did you say that?I scream inside my head. “Let’s get you propped up, then, so you won’t choke to death.”
He whines as I pull him to his knees, and as though on cue, he vomits. I stand beside him and rub his back and play his words over and over again.
“That is a fucking lot of spew,” he says, lifting the bottom of his grubby shirt to wipe the sweat and spittle from his face. He tries to push to his feet, but I know better than that and wait for the second wave of vomming to subside before I let him stand.
“Feel better?” I say.
“Yeah, wanna dance?” Pi’s smiling, but he looks a fucking mess. He’s covered in dirt, and grime, and his shirt and jacket bear tiny holes and snags from the rose thorns. His hair is sticking out at random angles, and he stinks of booze and barf.
“Sir, we are going to get you some water, and then I’m going to drive you home.”
“Okay.”
Pi throws up another two times on the way back to the marquee, and I feel as though surely there can’t be anything left inside him. I nip into the tent to grab him a bottle of water.
Gadget’s there, watching Owen dance with his daughter. His eyes flit down to my muddy knees, and he cocks an eyebrow at me.
“It’s not what it looks like, pard.”
“Not my place to say anything,” he simply says. He leans over the soft drinks counter, grabs a palm-size plastic bag, and hands it to me. It has a sticker on the front that reads, “Hangover Kit.” Inside there are rehydration pouches, a little pack of wet wipes, a self-cooling forehead patch, and a packet of mints. “Thanks for coming.” He smiles at me. “See you both on Monday.”
