It's...“ I trail off helplessly and look around the pavement. Fi has disappeared back into Mr. Curie's arms. Debs and Carolyn are doing the worst ”Dancing Queen“ routine I've ever seen; in fact, I don't blame that taxi driver. The traffic is whooshing by, drenching us with spray; rain is drumming through my denim jacket into my hair; thoughts are circling around my head like socks in a dryer. We'll never find a taxi. We'll be stuck out here in the rain all night. Those banana cocktails were noxiousI should have stopped after four. I have my dad's funeral tomorrow. I've never been to a funeral before. What if I start sobbing and everyone stares at me? Loser Dave's probably in bed with some other girl right this second, telling her she's beautiful while she moans ”Butch! Butch!“ My feet are blistered and they're freezing ”Taxi!“ I instinctively scream the word, almost before I've registered the distant yellow light. It's coming up the road, signaling left. ”Don't turn!“ I wave frantically. ”Over here! Here!“ I have to get this cab. I have to. Clutching my denim jacket over my head, I run along the pavement, skidding slightly, yelling till I'm hoarse. ”Taxi! Taxi!“ As I reach the corner the pavement is crowded with people, and I skirt around them and up the steps to some grand municipal building. There's a balustraded platform with steps going right and left. I'll hail the taxi from up here, then run down and jump in. ”TAXI! TAAA-?XHI!“ Yes! It's pulling up. Thank God! At lastI can get home, run a bath, forget all about today. ”Here!“ I call out. ”Just coming, wait a sec“ To my consternation I notice a guy in a suit on the pave 9 ment below heading toward the taxi. ”It's ours!“ I roar, and start pelting down the opposite steps. ”It's ours! I hailed that cab! Don't you even dare Argh! Aaaaargh!" Even as my foot skids on the wet step I'm not sure what's happening. Then, as I start falling, my thoughts rush with disbelief: I've slipped on my stupid, cheap, shiny-?soled boots. I'm tumbling right over, down the steps, like a threeyear-
old. I scrabble desperately at the stone balustrade, scraping my skin, wrenching my hand, dropping my Accessorize bag, grabbing for anything, but I can't stop myself Oh shit. The ground's coming straight toward methere's nothing I can dothis is really, really going to hurt...
Chapter 1
How long have I been awake? Is it morning yet? I feel so rough. What happened last night? God, my head hurts. Okay, I'm never drinking again, ever.
I feel so woozy I can't even think, let alone... Oww. How long have I been awake? My head is splitting and kind of foggy. And my mouth is parched. This is the most monster hangover I've ever had. I'm never drinking again, ever.
Is that a voice? No, I have to sleep... How long have I been awake? Five minutes? Half an hour, maybe? It's kind of hard to tell. What day is it, anyway? For a moment I just lie still. My head is pounding 12 with a rhythmic pain, like some sort of massive concretebreaker. I'm dry-?throated and aching all over. My skin feels like sandpaper. Where was I last night? What's wrong with my brain? It's like a fog has descended over everything. I'm never drinking again. I must have alcohol poisoning or something. I'm trying to remember last night as hard as I ' canbut all that's coming into my head is stupid stuff. Old memories and images from the past, flashing by in random order, like some kind of iPod shuffle in my brain. Sunflowers waving against a blue sky... Amy as a newborn baby, looking like a little pink sausage in a blanket...
A plate of salty french fries on a wooden pub table; hot sunshine on my neck; my dad sitting opposite in a Panama hat, blowing out cigar smoke and telling me, “Eat up, sweetheart”...
The sack race at school. Oh God, not this memory again. I try to block it out, but too late, it's rushing in I'm seven years old, it's sports day, and I'm winning by miles, but it feels so uncomfortable to be out front that I stop and wait for all my friends. They catch upthen somehow in the melee I trip and wind up coming in last. I can still feel the humiliation, hear the laughter, feel the dust in my throat, the taste of bananas...
Hang on. Somehow I force my brain to hold steady for a moment. Bananas. Through the fog another memory is glimmering. I'm desperately trying to retrieve it, to reach for i t . ..
Yes. Got it. Banana cocktails. We were drinking cocktails at some club. That's all I can remember. Bloody banana cocktails. What on earth did they put in them? I can't even open my eyes. They feel heavy and stuck down, like that time I used false eyelashes with dodgy glue from the market, then tottered into the bathroom the next morning to find one eye glued shut with what looked like a dead spider on top of it. Really attractive, Lexi. Cautiously, I move a hand up to my chest and hear a rustle of sheets. They don't sound like the ones at home. And there's a weird lemony smell in the air, and I'm wearing some soft cottony T-?shirt thing I don't recognize. Where am I? What on earth Hey. I didn't score, did I? Oh wow. Was I unfaithful to Loser Dave? Am I wearing some hot guy's oversize T-?shirt that I borrowed to sleep in after we had passionate sex all night and that's why I feel so bruised and sore No, I've never been unfaithful in my life. I must have stayed overnight with one of the girls or something. Maybe I'll get up, have a shower...
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