Alice had emerged from the cubicle and was washing her hands.
She stopped when she saw me. ‘Everything okay?’
The string of calls was unsettling. Had something happened?
Alice was looking at me, waiting for an answer.
‘I’m sure it’s nothing,’ I reassured her. ‘But I’m just going out to see if I can get better reception. I won’t be long.’
I pushed through the bar and out into the night air. The wind was calmer, but the temperature had dropped. My cotton shirt did nothing to keep out the sea-cooled air and goosebumps sprang up on my arms. My hand trembled as I dialled Justin’s number.
He picked up immediately. ‘Zoë?’
The line was clear at last. ‘Is everything okay, Justin? I’ve missed a bunch of calls from you.’
‘It’s Patrick.’ His voice cracked. ‘He’s had a heart attack.’
*
I walked back into the bar barely aware of anything around me. The dance floor was filled with people sitting in rows, pretending to paddle boats. A few bars from ‘Oops Upside Your Head’ filtered into my consciousness. Annette was waving at me from her prone position on the dance floor, but I kept walking till I reached the table. Laura and Seema smiled at me and I smiled wanly back, and grabbed my bag and jacket.
‘I have to go,’ I told them. But even as I said the words, I wasn’t sure what I meant. Go where?
‘Is everything okay?’ I heard one of them say, but I didn’t answer. I just kept putting one foot in front of the other. I needed to keep moving.
Alice found me when I was halfway along the pier.
‘Zoë, sweetie, what’s wrong? You’re shivering.’ She prised the jacket from my hand and wrapped it around my shoulders. ‘You’re in no state to go anywhere alone. Tell me what’s happened.’
‘Patrick’s had a heart attack. He’s in surgery now. I need to get back to London.’
‘Oh my goodness. That’s terrible. But you can’t go alone. Let me come with you.’
Her words snapped me back to the present. ‘It’s your hen weekend, Alice. I can’t let you leave.’
‘Well, I can at least go back with you to the hotel. Come on, I’ll find us a cab. I don’t want to hear any arguments.’
The taxi reeked of greasy food. The stale stench of kebab made my stomach turn. If the journey had been even one minute longer, I would have thrown up on the back seat. Instead, I retched on the pavement as Alice paid the driver. All I remember thinking was how the splatter reminded me of the shooting stars on Flo’s earrings.
*
The next morning, I felt numb. I’d bought a tea at Brighton station, but had only managed a few sips. The sachet of milk I’d tipped into it had barely affected the colour; the dark brew sloshed against the cup, murky and unappetising, as the train rumbled north towards London.
After we’d got back to the hotel last night, Alice had wrapped me in the single duvet fully clothed while she checked train times. I sat motionless on the bed, only coming back to life when my phone rang: it was Justin telling me Patrick was out of surgery. He was stable, but critical.
Patrick was alive.
The news was like oxygen; I could finally draw breath. I didn’t want to stay in Brighton – I’d suck the cheer out of everything – but I’d promised Alice I’d wait till morning to go.
She’d knocked again on my door just before midnight. I hadn’t been sleeping, just staring into space.
She handed me a slab of Green and Black’s dark chocolate. ‘Pete said it was your favourite. When I spoke to him, he sounded pretty cut up.’
My hands were shaking, making it hard to open the wrapping. Alice straightened the bed covers to give me a few seconds to compose myself before she sat down. ‘He’d mentioned Patrick before, but I didn’t realise he was a regular at your parents’ restaurant.’
I cleared my throat to spare Alice the crack in my voice. ‘He rented the office above, but some days he’d spend more time with us than upstairs – especially in winter. The heat from the charcoal grill had something to do with that.’
‘Pete said it was the lure of your mum’s home-made tzatziki.’
