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“Mira,” a male voice calls, nearly shocking me out of my skin.
I whip my head around to find Albie slumped in a dark corner of the tent, in no better shape than either of us.
My neck hurts from having moved too fast, but I’m still crawling on my hands and knees in no time, wondering if he’s been in a fight again and needs medical attention. When I get to him, I find no immediate injury, but he’s clutching an empty bottle of whisky and looks wrecked.
“How’d you get in?” I mumble, slumping heavily against one of the beams holding the place up. For a moment I have myself convinced I’m going to bring the whole thing down, but then I remember I’m stupid drunk and this tent is no way going to collapse because of little old me.
The noise from a private party nearby continues, every beat like daggers to my already throbbing head. I blink against the blinding light in the roof; a feeling like jetlag telling me I ought to definitely retire to bed. Yet he’s here… and how…?
“What’s going on?” I rub my nose, trying to keep my eyes from rolling into the back of my head. My lips are so dry from screaming and shouting, I could cry. I would try to take a sip of water, but it feels like if I did, I’d puke instantly. Like one of those school science experiments where the mixture of chemicals makes everything boil over and spew everywhere.
I’m still rubbing my face and trying to stay lucid when I realise, he’s not answering me.
Albie is staring into space, his eyes open, his chest moving up and down.
“Do you want to sleep?” I ask. “I need to sleep. I’m seeing three of you.”
He grunts and I take that to mean yes.
I stagger to my feet and grab his hands, the bottle he was previously holding rolling across the floor, his heavy bulk nearly rocking backwards as I momentarily lose my grip on him. Somehow, I get him up.
We collapse onto my bed and the music a few doors down quietens, so then it’s just Kallie’s snoring and some couple in a nearby tipi having sex. I remember to slam my hand against the light switch beside my bed.
On my big bed, he lies on his back next to me, his hands curled into the centre of his chest. That’s when I know something is wrong. It can surely wait until morning, however.
“You weren’t there,” he mumbles after a while.
My eyes are closed but I’m nowhere near properly asleep. I have a nagging thought: how did Albie get all the way across the park without being mobbed? How did he get into our tipi before we returned? I never even told him I was staying in a tipi this year. Normally I’d stay with the crew in one of the vans, but Kallie bagged this tipi and I couldn’t say no.
“You don’t need me that badly do you, Albie?” I sigh, because I don’t want an argument right now.
“He’s dead,” he barely whispers, and my eyes shoot open.
He’s still staring at the ceiling, emotionless.
“Who?”
“My father.”
Part of me isn’t reacting, and that might be the booze, but it’s probably a bit of disbelief, too.
“What?” I gasp, my throat scratchy.
“My fucking dad is dead,” he says. “I got the call a couple of hours ago.”
“And you need me?” The penny drops.
“I need you.” He turns his eyes to mine, swallows hard, and repeats, “Just you.”
I swallow hard in response, the situation hitting me all at once. Yet all I see in his eyes is shock, numbness, a kind of hard-hearted response—and this immediate need to have me close by.
“We’ll sleep, then we’ll deal with it all in the morning. Nobody will find you here.” I move closer and brush the hair off his forehead. “I’m sorry.”
His nose wrinkles. “Thank you.”
“Okay.”
I lay myself a little closer and rest one hand of mine on top of his.
