The Flatshare(56)

‘Maybe nothing if you’re a woman, but it’s a little different if—’

Presumably Leon finishes his sentence, but I don’t hear the rest of it. Suddenly I’m underwater, and all I can think about is a searing pain in my ankle.

I shriek and swallow a gulp of seawater so salty it burns the back of my throat; my hands flail, and for a moment my good foot connects with the ground, but then my other foot tries to find purchase too, and the pain sends me falling again. I’m twisted, spinning; everything is flashes of water and sky. I must have twisted my ankle, some distant corner of my brain registers. Don’t panic, it tries to tell me, but it’s too late, I’m coughing up water and my eyes and throat are burning, I can’t turn, I can’t find my footing, my ankle roars with pain every time I move it as I try to swim—

Someone’s trying to grab me. I can feel strong hands scrabbling to get a grip on my body; something knocks my bad ankle and I try to cry out, but it’s as if my throat’s closed up. It’s Leon, and he’s hauling me up out of the water, pulling me close; I reach for him and he stumbles, almost tumbling in with me, but he kicks out until he’s swimming, arms tight around my waist, and drags me closer to shore until he can find his footing.

I’m so dizzy everything is sliding back and forth. I can’t breathe. I grip his sodden T-shirt, retching and coughing as he lays me down on the pebbles of the beach. I’m so tired – the kind of tired you get when you’ve been up all night because you’re sick, where your eyes just can’t bear to stay open.

‘Tiffy,’ Leon is saying.

I can’t stop coughing. There’s so much water lodged in my throat – I vomit great spurts of it on to the wet shingle, my vision still spinning, my head so heavy I can hardly keep it lifted. Distant, almost forgotten, my ankle throbs.

I’m gasping. There can’t possibly be any more water inside me. Leon has smoothed my hair away from my face and is pressing his fingers gently into the skin of my neck as though checking for something, and now he’s wrapping me in my jacket, rubbing my arms with the fabric; it hurts my skin and I try to roll away from him, but he holds me tightly.

‘You’re OK,’ he says. Above me, his face slides back and forth. ‘Think you’ve sprained your ankle, Tiffy, and you swallowed a lot of water, but you’re going to be OK. Try to breathe more slowly if you can.’

I do my best. Behind him appears the worried face of Johnny White the Sixth. He is struggling back into his jumper, trousers already back on.

‘Is there somewhere warm nearby where we can take her?’ Leon asks him.

‘The Bunny Hop Inn, just up there,’ Mr White says. I vomit again and rest my forehead on the pebbles. ‘I know the manager. She’ll give us a room, no problem.’

‘Grand.’ Leon sounds perfectly calm. ‘I’m going to lift you, Tiffy. Is that OK?’

Slowly, my head pounding, I nod. Leon picks me up and carries me in both arms. My breathing slowing, I let my head fall against his chest. The beach passes in a blur around me; faces are turned our way, shocked pink and brown splodges against the multi-coloured backdrop of towels and sunshades. I close my eyes – keeping them open makes me feel sicker.

Leon swears under his breath. ‘Where are the steps?’

‘This way,’ Johnny White says, somewhere off to my left.

I hear the screech of brakes and the rush of traffic as we cross the road. Leon is breathing hard, his chest rising and falling against my cheek. In contrast, my breathing is getting easier – that tightness in my throat and the weird heaviness in my lungs has lifted a little.

‘Babs! Babs!’ Johnny White the Sixth is shouting. We’re inside, and the sudden warmth makes me realise how much I’m shivering.

‘Thank you,’ Leon says. There’s commotion all around me. For a moment I’m embarrassed, and try to shift out of Leon’s arms to walk, but then my head lurches and I cling back on to his T-shirt again as he stumbles. ‘Easy there,’ he says.

I cry out. He’s knocked my ankle into the bannister. He swears, pulling me closer so my head lolls back against his chest.

‘Sorry, sorry,’ he says, backing up the stairs. I can see pale pink walls covered with paintings in ostentatious frames, all gilt and swirly bits, then a door, then Leon’s laying me down on a gloriously soft bed. Unfamiliar faces shift in and out of view. There’s someone dressed in a lifeguard’s kit; I blearily wonder if she’s been here this whole time.

Leon is pulling the pillows up behind me, supporting my weight with one forearm.

‘Can you sit up?’ he asks quietly.

‘I . . .’ I try to talk, and start coughing, rolling on to my side.

‘Careful.’ He shifts my sodden hair back behind my shoulders. ‘Are there any extra blankets in here?’

Someone is spreading thick, scratchy blankets over me. Leon is still tugging me up, trying to get me into a sitting position.

‘I’ll feel better if you’re upright,’ he says. His face is close to mine; I can see the start of stubble on his cheeks. He looks me right in the eyes. His are a soft dark brown that makes me think of Lindt chocolate. ‘Can you do that for me?’

I shift myself higher against the pillows and grab ineffectually at the blankets with freezing fingers.

‘How about a tea to warm you up?’ he says, already looking around for someone to fetch one. One of the strangers slips out of the door. There’s no sign of Johnny White any more – I hope he’s gone to get himself some warm clothes – but there are still about a million people here. I cough again and turn my face away from all the staring faces.