The legs wobble around me as Mark lifts the table clothand climbs under to join me.
‘Feeling a bit sorry for yourself, are you?’ he says nicely, as he plops himself down. ‘What is it?’ he says patiently.
I sigh. ‘Everything is changing around me, Mark. Why is everyone else doing stuff with their lives? What’s wrong with keeping everything the same? What’s wrong with staying put for ever?’
He looks at me hard. ‘You haven’t textedTDhaveyou, Al?’
‘No,’ I lie, hating how well my big brother knows me.
‘Give me your phone, Al, I’m not letting you do it,’ he says, hand out.
‘You are not the boss of me,’ Ishout-slur. ‘I can texchtTDif I wanch. You dunt tell me what to do. I’ll text him whenever I want, I’ll do it right now.’
I pointedly pull out my phone and squint at it.
‘Don’t, Alice,’ Mark says, a warningin his voice
I exaggeratedly pull up a new message, and begin typing elaborately.
‘You ... are a dickhead ...’I write, reading it out loud as I tap.‘I’ve wasted all my best years on you. But I still want to hump your stupid brains out just to prove a point to my dumb brother. Even though your penis has a weird bend in it that like hurts my kidneys.’
Mark sighs loudly. ‘Fine,great message, send it.’
He is calling my bluff, which he shouldn’t do when I’m this drunk.
‘I will send it,’ I say, waiting for him to take my phone.
He doesn’t.
‘FINE,’ I say louder and scroll through my contacts forTD’sname.
‘SEND,’ I shout, fake pressing it, but – in my blurry state – actually sending it.
Shit.
Oh well. I’ve sent worse toTD. I’ll still probablygo back to his in few minutes. If I can just stand up.
Mark only examines his cuticles in response. ‘Are you done fake texting morons?’ he says.
‘No, I actually sent it. Look,’ I say shoving my phone at his face, proudly. He rolls his eyes again but nonetheless examines the message. Then looks again.
‘Who is Tony Danes?’ he asks, confused.
‘What?’ I say, puzzled.
I take thephone back. No, no, no. I can’t have.NO NO NO. I haven’t? I can’t have? How have I ...? Oh God oh GodOH GOD NO.
‘Who is Tony?’ Mark asks again, louder, clocking the horror on my face.
‘My boss,’ I say in a tiny voice.
He snorts, and then looks awkward. ‘Oh, Alice.’
I reach for the tablecloth. I need to get out from under this table and fix this. I can fix this, can’tI?
I quickly try to stand but in my panic I misjudge the distance and fall backwards.
The noise is loud and unfamiliar. It takes me a hazy second to realise I have pulled the cloth off and am lying tangled in a sea of white table, surrounded by broken glass and plates, bits of leftover birthday food in my lap. Mark is standing above me looking mortified.
