‘I’m sorry… I can’t… I’m with someone…’
She pulled back and laughed. ‘So am I. So what? I don’t want to fuckingmarryyou.’
With each bob of her head, she was blowing his mind.
He’d stop her in a second, but – oh God – she was insanely good at this. All he needed to do was ask her to stop. He should do it now before it was too late. He should do it rightnow. Oh God, he’d reached the point of no return. He may as well get it over with.
As he came, pain detonated in his skull.
Daylight flooded the room, the baby grand piano a silhouette against the bright window. He needed to piss. He stood up but collapsed back onto the sofa, his head throbbing. He tried again, this time not fully straightening up, gathering his undone jeans at the waist. Using the sofa to support himself, he shuffled towards the hallway. He paused, leaning on a table with an enormous display of flowers. The smell of lilies turned his stomach. Across the hall he found the bathroom in all its honey marble splendour with another slice of the city reflecting in the mirrors. He pissed, then lay down, resting his forehead on the cool marble floor. He must have dozed off again because he woke to the sound of Christie talking on the phone across the hall.
He needed to get out of there.
He hauled himself up on the toilet bowl and staggered to the sitting room. Where the fuck were his shoes? He crawled around the sofa on his hands and knees, searching for them. He’d have to go barefoot. It took all his effort to make it down the corridor to the lifts. Where the hell was he? He got in the lift and pressed the ground floor button. Jesus, this was the worst hangover he’d ever had. His head was on fire, but his body was freezing, and his throat felt raw when he swallowed. He allowed his body to slide down the mirrored wall of the lift and sat shivering on the floor, praying no one would get in. The bell dinged, and he made it out of the lift just before the doors shut. Ed always made sure they each had a hotel business card, so no matter how hard they partied, they could get a cab back to the hotel. He rummaged in hispockets: no card, no wallet, nothing. Sweat was collecting in his eyebrows. He couldn’t think straight. He’d stayed at so many hotels over the last few months, he couldn’t remember where he was staying.
A front desk clerk was approaching – no doubt she wanted to kick him out. He was out of place, bedraggled and barefoot in the smart lobby. At least he’d done up his fly in the lift.
‘May I help you, sir?’ She took him by the elbow and led him to a discreet desk behind a pillar, where he sank into a seat.
He went to speak, but his throat was coated in broken glass. All he could manage was a hoarse grunt. He tried again, but it was no use – he’d lost his voice.Fuck.
‘I’ll get some water,’ she said.
She was back in a moment. He took a gulp of the iced water, but swallowing was agony.
‘Do you need a doctor, sir?’
He shook his head.
She sighed. ‘You’re with the record company, aren’t you?’
He nodded. She got a pen and notepad out of the desk drawer. ‘What’s your name?’ she asked, sliding them towards him.
He scrawled his name on the paper.
Her frown melted as she read his name. ‘You’reWill Bailey?’ She looked at him with wide, round eyes. ‘I love “Fever”! I bought it yesterday.’
He wrote:I can’t remember where I’m staying.
‘You’re staying here!’ she gushed.
Relief washed over him.
‘Have you lost your key?’
He nodded.
‘I’ll get you another. I’ll be right back.’
His head was so heavy he rested it on his forearms while he waited.
‘Here’s your new card, Mr Bailey. When you use it, the old one will be deactivated automatically.’ She spoke with a sing-song voice. ‘You’re in room 1046. Take this elevator to the tenth floor and follow the signs.’
He took the key card and mouthed ‘thank you’.
As he walked the few steps towards the lift, it was as though someone was turning down the volume on the world. The edges of his vision became bleached, closing in around him.
Everything went white.