Page 18 of The House Guest

I tried to stand but the room spun so violently that I fell on to my knees then crawled to the bathroom and vomited into the toilet. The stench of tequila hit me and I threw up again. Every part of my body, inside and out, hurt like I was being jabbed by a million tiny needles. Once I was sure I wasn’t going to be sick again, I was overcome by the need to get the foul taste out of my mouth. I found the bathtub and heaved myself into it, reaching up to turn on the cold tap. Then I lay there, naked, shivering and sweating, with my mouth open beneath the life-saving trickle of water.

I don’t remember getting out of the tub. When I woke again, I was lying on our bed, alone. There was no sign of Ruth. I felt wretched, feverish and sick, but I no longer felt like I was going to die. I reached out to find my phone, to see what time it was, but it wasn’t there. With enormous effort, I got up again and, this time, was able to walk – well, stagger – to the bathroom, where I found some Advil in the cabinet. I wrapped a towel around my waist and went back out into the hallway. There was no sound of movement in the house, though I could hear the usual hubbub outside, and Eden’s door was shut.

I paused outside her door, a claw of unease squeezing my insides. Something had happened last night.

Something I couldn’t remember and didn’t want to face.

I went back into my room, shut the door behind me and closed the curtains. I cranked up the A/C – it was still working upstairs, thank God – and stripped the damp sheets off my bed before lying down on the bare mattress. Where was Ruth? Asleep downstairs? Already got up and gone to her rehearsal? I knew I ought to go down and check on her, but I couldn’t move.

Like a snail crawling into its shell, I retreated into sleep.

I was awoken by the blaring horn of a van or truck outside, an endless honking that made me pull my pillow over my head. I had been dreaming about the cruise. In the dream, I was running through the corridors, shouting for help. The ship had struck an iceberg and was filling with water, but it seemed I was all alone because everyone else had already boarded the lifeboats and escaped.

The honking stopped. I still had no idea what time it was, but I felt a little better than when I’d woken earlier. Well enough to sit up without feeling like I was going to be sick. The A/C had chilled the room, though the room still stank of sweat and stale alcohol. I could taste tequila and, once again, I swore my relationship with that drink, perhaps all alcohol, was over for good. Groaning, I put on a T-shirt and yesterday’s jeans, then left the bedroom. I needed to find my phone so I could at least see what time it was.

Eden’s door was still shut. I assumed Ruth had gone to her rehearsal; I couldn’t imagine her missing it. No matter how hungover she was – and I hoped for her sake she didn’t feel anything like me – she wouldn’t risk incurring Sally’s wrath.

The walk down the stairs made me realise my hangover was far from gone – every step made my brain shake – and when I saw the state of the living room, I wanted to go straight back up to bed. The remains of our Japanese meal were congealing where we’d left them, with a bunch of flies buzzing above the cartons. Noodles hung off the edge of the table, a little pile of them gathered on the wooden floor like worms having a party. A container of dark-coloured sauce had tipped over on the sofa, as had the unfinished second tequila bottle. Books had been pulled from the shelves and scattered across the floor, and there were orange smears on the vintage jukebox, as if someone had sprayed sauce over it. On top of the mess, the room was stiflingly hot and fetid, filled with the stench of last night’s food and booze.

The kitchen was almost as bad. There were muddy footprints on the floor – presumably from when Ruth and Eden had come in from dancing in the garden – and the bins were overflowing. The sink was full of dishes. The food cupboards were open and looked like they’d been ransacked by sugar-crazed kids. To my horror, I saw that the freezer door had been left ajar and a tub of ice cream had melted and oozed out on to the floor beneath.

I was ashamed. This wasn’t our place and we had no right to treat it like this. What would Jack and Mona—

Oh Jesus. Assuming I hadn’t been asleep for more than twenty-four hours, today was Saturday. The Cunninghams were due home tomorrow.

I couldn’t think about that. Not yet. I finally found my phone, lying on the kitchen counter, and was stunned to see it was seven fifteen in the evening.

I’d been asleep all day.

My phone was nearly dead, so I plugged it into its charger and, after filling a glass with water, sat down on one of the kitchen stools.

Something had happened last night. Something I couldn’t remember. I held on to the breakfast bar and waited for it to hit me, in that way that embarrassing memories always do after a drunken night.

Nothing came. Just a chilling sense of disquiet.

I tried to peer back through the fog in my brain. I remembered sitting on the chair, the two women on the sofa. I remembered Eden telling us something. A story.

A spasm of nausea hit me and I doubled over, just managing to stop myself from throwing up.

Eden had told us something last night. A secret.

Something about a friend of hers ... a girl who had died. Or disappeared? It was unclear. I remembered Eden getting upset. We had all hugged, hadn’t we? I had a vague recollection that my stomach had hurt.

And then nothing.

I had no memory of going upstairs or getting undressed. As I thought this, I saw that the clothes I’d been wearing the night before were in a bundle on the living room floor. So I’d gone upstairs naked?

Oh God, what had happened?

The sight of the mess made me remember Jack and Mona’s impending return again. I got up and checked the noticeboard, where details of their flight home were pinned up. They were scheduled to leave Albuquerque airport at midnight. The plane would land at 6 a.m., New York time. I figured it would take them another hour or two to get through JFK and back here. That gave us twelve hours to clean up.

With three of us, that would be fine.

It was seven thirty. Ruth would usually be home by now. Had she been planning to go out tonight with the cast? I couldn’t remember. Maybe Eden would know. Eden who, I assumed, was still sleeping off her hangover.

I got up, still a little wobbly, and went upstairs. I knocked lightly on Eden’s door. There was no response so I knocked harder.

‘Eden,’ I called through the door. ‘I’m coming in.’

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