With a huge effort I wrench my eyes open and incline my head a few inches. Shit. What the hell I'm lying in a dim room, on a metal bed. There's a panel of buttons to my right, a bunch of flowers on the nightstand. With an inward gulp I see an IV drip in my left hand, attached to a bag of fluid.
This is unreal. I'm in hospital. What's going on? What happened? I mentally prod my brain, but it's a big, stupid, empty balloon. I need a strong cup of coffee. I try peering around the room for cluesbut my eyes don't want to peer. They don't 14 want information, they want eyedrops and three aspirin. Feebly I flop back onto the pillows, close my eyes, and wait a few moments. Come on. I have to be able to remember what happened. I can't have been that drunk... can I? I'm holding on to my one fragment of memory like it's an island in the ocean. Banana cocktails... banana cocktails . . . think hard... think... Destiny's Child. Yes! A few more memories are coming back to me now. Slowly, slowly, in patches. Nachos with cheese. Those crummy bar stools with the vinyl all split. I was out with the girls from work. At that dodgy club with the pink neon ceiling i n . . . somewhere. I can remember nursing my cocktail, totally miserable. Why was I so down? What had happened Bonuses. Of course. A familiar cold disappointment clenches my stomach. And Loser Dave never showed up. Double whammy. But none of that explains why I'm in hospital. I screw up my face tight, trying to focus as hard as I can. I remember dancing like a maniac to Kylie and singing “We Are Family” to the karaoke machine, all four of us, arm in arm. I can vaguely remember tottering out to get a cab. But beyond that... nothing. Total blanko. This is weird. I'll text Fi and ask her what happened. I reach toward the nightstandthen realize there's no phone there. Nor on the chair, or the chest of drawers. Where's my phone? Where's all my stuff gone? Oh God. Was I mugged? That has to be it. Some teenager in a hoodie clonked me over the head and I fell down in the street, and they must have called an ambulance and An even more horrendous thought grips me. What underwear was I wearing?
I can't help giving a small moan. This could be seriously bad. This could be the scaggy gray knickers and bra I only put on when the hamper is full. Or that faded lemon thong with the fraying edge and cartoon of Snoopy. It wouldn't have been anything posh. I mean, you wouldn't for Loser Daveit'd be a waste. Wincing, I swivel my head from side to sidebut I can't see any clothes or anything. The doctors must have incinerated them in the special Hospital Incinerator for Scaggy Underwear. And I still have no idea what I'm doing here. My throat's feeling really scratchy and I could die for a nice cool glass of orange juice. Now that I think of it, where are all the doctors and nurses? What if I were dying? “Hello?” I call out feebly. My voice sounds like someone dragging a grater over a wooden floor. I wait for a response, but there's silence. I'm sure no one can hear me through that thick door. Then it occurs to me to press a button on the little panel. I select the one that looks like a person, and a few moments later the door opens. It worked! A gray-haired nurse in a dark blue uniform enters and smiles at me. “Hello, Lexi!” she says. “Feeling all right?” “Um, okay, thanks. Thirsty. And my head hurts.” “I'll fetch you a painkiller.” She brings me a plastic cup full of water and helps me up. “Drink this.” “Thanks,” I say after gulping the water. “So...I'm guessing I'm in hospital? Or, like, a really high-tech spa?” The nurse smiles. “Sorry. Hospital. You don't remember how you got here?“ ”No.“ I shake my head. ”I'm a bit hazy, to be honest.“ ”That's because you had quite a bump on the head. Do you remember anything about your accident?“ Accident... accident... And suddenly, in a rush, it all 16 comes back. Of course. Running for the taxi, the paving stones wet with rain, slipping on my stupid cheap boots... Jeez Louise. I must have really bashed my head. ”Yeah. I think so.“ I nod. ”Kind of. So...what's the time?“ ”It's eight o'clock at night.“ Eight o'clock? Wow. I've been out of it for a whole day? ”I'm Maureen.“ She takes the cup from me. ”You were only transferred to this room a few hours ago. You know, we've already had several conversations.“ ”Really?“ I say, surprised. ”What did I say?“ ”You were a little slurred, but you kept asking if something was 'baggy.'“ She frowns, looking perplexed. ”Or 'scaggy'?“ Great. Not only do I wear scaggy underwear, I talk about it to strangers. ”Scaggy?“ I try to appear baffled. ”I've no idea what I meant.“ ”Well, you seem fully coherent now.“ Maureen plumps up my pillow. ”Is there anything else I can get you?“ ”I'd love some orange juice, if there is any. And I can't see my phone anywhere, or my bag.“ ”All your valuables will have been put somewhere safe. I'll just check.” She heads out and I look around the silent room, still dazed. I feel like I've put together only a tiny corner of the jigsaw puzzle. I still don't know which hospital I'm i n . . . how I got here... Has anyone told my family? And there's something else nagging at me like an undertow... I had been anxious to get home. Yes. That's right. I kept saying I needed to get home, because I had an early start the next day. Because Oh no. Oh fuck.