“No, really. I’ll hang back,” I say. “Not in a pool mood.”
She frowns. “What are you going to do instead?”
Brood.
“Nap,” I say.
“I happen to know you don’t nap.”
“A night of attempting to sleep on cement is enough to overpower my insomnia.”
“Yeah, um. Sorry about that.”
“It’s okay. I deserved it.”
She shrugs and disappears into the bathroom to change. She emerges in a red, gravity-defying bikini. I have seen this garment sitting on a windowsill. I have not yet seen it on her body. It knocks the bloody wind out of me.
“Sure you don’t want to come?” she asks.
I suspect the invitation is a peace offering, and part of me longs to accept it. But I feel too ill at ease. Every time I look at Hope, I get a fresh stab of regret.
“Don’t worry about me,” I say. “Go have fun.”
As soon as she’s gone, I collapse on one of the beds and close my eyes. I really do want to sleep. Between my guilt over Hope and the bracing discomfort of the floor, I spent most of last night staring at the ceiling.
I close my eyes and let exhaustion overpower everything else.
I jolt awake what feels like a few minutes later. Except the light is different, and when I reach for my phone, the clock reads four thirty p.m.
There are also three missed calls from my mother.
Which—fuck.
I realize I haven’t updated my family since picking up the money yesterday morning.
Now that things are calm, the extent to which I have fucked up looms large and ominous in my mind.
I feel like I used to in the deepest throws of a hangover, when the fractured events of the last binge filter back in nauseating snippets. The idiotic things that you did. The people you pissed off or worried or hurt.
I open our family’s WhatsApp group to almost two days’ worth of unread messages.
Pear:Feeeeelix!!!! What is going on???
Prue:Are you a stateless person???
Dad:Were you able to get an emergency travel document? I found a contact at the High Commission who may be able to help.
Mum:Darling we’re so worried! Please check in!
Pear:You’re missing standup comedy night. Maybe you should try to swim and catch up with us.
Mum:Not funny.
And then, from late last night:
Prue:Felix WTF? Are you ok?? What is going on???
If the likes of Prue is expressing genuine concern for me, they must be very worried indeed.
