Ash

I get woken up by the bloody message tone on my phone. I can hear it somewhere near my head. I reach out my hand and feel around, but I can’t find it. So I open my eyes. And I realise right away that I’m not in bed. I’m not even in my room. I’m in the bloody lounge, lying on the floor. I raise my head up a bit and look around. My phone’s on the floor, near the sofa. I sit up and groan. I feel like shit. I pick it up. There’s a message from Mum. Hope you are OK. We’ll be back at teatime. Mum x

I sigh. Was it really worth waking me for that? I put my phone in my pocket and look around the room. Rabbit’s sleeping on the sofa, snoring. There’s an empty bottle of rum and a bottle of whisky lying on the floor. And some others as well, ones that I don’t remember drinking, like a half bottle of vodka. At least it explains why my head’s spinning and I feel like I’m gonna vom. There’s loads of fag butts and ash in the vase on the table as well. Mum and Dad’ll kill me if they come back when the house is like this.

But right now I can’t even think about stuff like that. What I need is sleep. And water or something. I stand up, not too steady on my feet. I walk through to the kitchen. And as soon as I get in there, a smell of vomit fills my nostrils. I put my hand up to my face and cover my mouth and nose. I go over to the sink and there it is: a big pile of sick. It makes me gag. I don’t remember doing that. Must have been Rabbit. I look away from it and try not to breathe the smell in. I grab a mug from the draining board, fill it with water and then gulp it down. I fill it straight back up again and gulp it all down.

I turn and go out of the kitchen, clutch at the wall to steady myself. I head up the stairs to my bedroom. When I get in there it’s a total mess. My clothes are all over the floor, the bed and my drum kit. And the money from the bag’s spread all over the place. As I stand there, I kind of get a flashback: me and Rabbit standing in my room, throwing the money around as though we’re millionaires. Oh shit. I hope he doesn’t remember. Joe’d kill me if he knew I’d told someone else.

But I’m too fucked to think about it right now. My bed’s calling me. I pull everything off my bed, get in and pull the covers over me.

I wake up a couple of hours later. Just after eleven. And I still feel like shit. My head’s swimming. I think I might still be pissed.

I lie in bed for a while, looking around my room at the mess, at the money. And I get a pang of something as I look at the money. Guilt, I guess. Not guilt that I have the money. More that I might have let Joe down, that Rabbit knows our secret – if he can remember what happened last night. I mean, there are worse people to know your secrets than Rabbit. He wouldn’t tell anyone. But . . .

I jump out of bed. I’ve gotta tidy this stuff up. If anyone saw all this money and the weed, that would be it. So I start picking it up, handfuls of notes at a time, stuff it back into the bag. As I’m doing it, my head pounds and my stomach feels like it’s filled with acid. But I have to do this right now.

When I’m done, I pick the bag up and shove it back into the wardrobe and I let out a sigh. I think about getting back into bed. But then I remember Rabbit asleep downstairs. Maybe I can find out if he remembers seeing the money. Subtly, of course. So I leave my room, go down the stairs to the lounge.

Only Rabbit’s not there any more. He must have woken up and let himself out. The room’s a total mess. I turn and go into the kitchen with my hand over my mouth so I don’t have to smell the sick. I put the tap on, aim it at the sick and leave it running so it’ll wash the puke away. I look under the sink, grab a black bin bag and go back through to the lounge.