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‘I saw your face directing people to the toilets,’ Freyja says dryly as we exit the training court. ‘Very glamorous.’
‘He’s still upset about being named the second-hottest player on the tour,’ I reply.
Lukas bristles. ‘Next season, I’m growing out my hair. I’ll be the next Björn Borg, just you wait.’
10
Noah
Something feels off about today. For one, it’s cooler. Maybe the sudden drop in temperature has me on edge. But there’s also thisfeelingin the air. It’s an uneasiness I can’t quite describe. Things begin to go wrong: Sadie vomits in the hallway as I leave for work. The train runs late for no apparent reason. I step in gum and it’s all soft and stringy. They’re small things but they all seem to stack on top of one another until I can’t shake the sense of dread.
It’s probably all in my head. That’s what happens when you have an incredible night—the next morning feels . . . lame. Nothing compares to the moment I turned to Gabriel and saw him staring back at me, with city lights shimmering in the water behind us, his dark hair framing his face. I wish I could go back there. I wish I could live in that night, that moment, forever.
But I can’t, and right now my reality is a shitty six-hour shift. The letter outlining my two weeks’ notice is tucked safely in my satchel, and I plan to hand it to Mark at the end of the shift before grabbing an Uber home to get ready to meet up with Gabriel.
There’s music playing when I arrive at work, I hear it faintly through the heavy wooden door. Strange, but Mark’s been known to leave it on. Grabbing my key, I unlock the door. It doesn’t budge.
Frowning, I try my key again and the door audibly unlocks. Shit. Mark must have had a serious bender last night if he hadn’t bothered to lock up.
Preparing myself to find the place ransacked, I push the door open.
Instead, I’m hit by the stench of something rancid.
Flicking on the lights, I try to pinpoint what the source of the smell could be: a dead possum, deep in the labyrinth of building vents, or a backed-up toilet. It smells weirdly . . . familiar. As I descend the staircase, I realise what it is . . .
It’s Mark.
My satchel falls to the ground. I rush towards where Mark’s slumped over a table. His skin is pallid and cool. Without thinking, I haul him out of the booth and onto the floor. His vomit follows him, dripping across the hardwood floor.
‘Mark!’ I yell into his face. My fingers search for a pulse on his neck, slippery in his chunky vomit and saliva, but I don’t really knowwhereI’m supposed to place my fingers because there’s nothing. He’s unnaturally cold and there’s justnothing.
‘Mark!’ I hit his face. Hard. I’m not sure if I’m supposed to do that, but it’s all I can think of. He doesn’t respond.
Scrambling back to my satchel, I grab my phone and quickly dial triple zero. As the phone rings, I hold my fingers under Mark’s nostrils, trying to feel if he’s breathing.
‘Ambulance, fire or—’
‘Ambulance,’ I tell the operator immediately. I hear the phone reconnect, and an officer comes on the line.
‘Ambulance. What’s your location?’
‘A bar called Mark’s Place, on Prince Close. Just off Chapel Street.’ I wedge the phone between my shoulder and ear as I turn Mark on his side. ‘Hurry; I don’t think he’s breathing.’
‘Okay,’ says the operator. ‘We’re going to commence CPR. You need to listen to me very carefully.’
Never knew how to do CPR until today. Didn’t think I’d do it on Mark. Didn’t think it would be the thing that saved his life. Didn’t expect to save anyone’s life, really. Who does?
The paramedics carry the stretcher up the stairs and roll Mark out of the bar. He’s barely conscious but after twenty minutes of CPR, they’ve deemed him stable enough to be transported.
The red and blue lights of the ambulance flash. A few people stand on the corner and watch as Mark is loaded into the back of the vehicle. One of the paramedics claps me on the back.
‘You right, mate?’ he asks. ‘You did a good job. Saved his life.’
‘Yeah, I, um . . .’ I look down at the keys in my hand. ‘I think I’m just going to close up.’
He hands me a brochure that saysWhat to do after a medical emergencyand squeezes my shoulder. Then the ambulance siren whirls and the vehicle pulls away from the kerb.
I look back to the bar. The door’s wide open and music still plays on the speaker system. Someone needs to clean up in there and it’s obviously not going to be Mark.
