‘Yes, sure. Sorry,’ I say, instantly thumbing through photos to delete any with him on. ‘I always forget to check with people.’
Hank Junior waits until I have completed the action. ‘No problem. I just don’t like my image out there, is all.’ He swiftly changes topic. ‘Liberty told me about the jerk who keeps following you round.’
Oh.
‘Uh, yeah. He’s just…’How to explain?
‘Well, just to let you know. I’ll take care of it.’ Hank winks at me.
‘Thank you, but what…?’
‘You’re welcome.’
‘No. I meant, sorry, did you say, “take care of it”?’
He taps his nose.
What is happening here?
‘Could you explain what you mean by that, please?’ I can barely get the words out. Hank is smiling at me like your everyday, very rich playboy about town.
Hank laughs, shaking his head. ‘You Brits.’
‘But when you say “take care of it”, what do you mean?’
Hank rolls his eyes as though I’m in on some sort of joke and wanders back over to Liberty. I turn to Matteo, who has gone deathly pale.
Oh, shit.
16
If it wasn’t for Cherry throwing up all over the floor, I would have followed Hank Junior to find out exactly what he meant by ‘taking care’ of Luke.
‘We know nothing about him!’ I hiss to Matteo.
The barman is inspecting the mess with a horrified expression, but he has conjured a mop out of thin air and is scrutinising the sea of vomit sliding around the floor. Unfortunately, Cherry has positioned the contents of her stomach, a vibrant yellow liquid, between the group and the bar. He is trapped on one side and everyone else is trapped on the other. Tash is livid.
‘Better out than in, as they say,’ says Cherry, wiping at her mouth with a weary expression. The air is filled with a pungent, sickly-sweet smell. ‘Morning sickness. I have morning sickness because I am pregnant.’ Her tone is becoming increasingly angry. ‘That’s what happens when a man impregnates a woman without telling her.’
Cherry’s words hang in the air, causing an abrupt halt to all the shrieking.
‘What?’ says Cherry, accusingly.
‘You were… unconscious at the time?’ Big Sue appears to swallow a lump in her throat. This is all getting very dark, very quickly.
‘No,’ Cherry says, impatiently.
A collective sigh of relief reverberates around the pod.
‘Sometimes I can’t feel it going in,’ she explains, bluntly. ‘It’s a bit thin, that’s all. Plus, I was unloading the dishwasher at the time. My mind was on other things. And he’s going thin on top, did I mention that? He never warned me that might happen. I’m so bloody furious with him!’
She’s not exactly painting the most romantic picture of wedded bliss.
None of us know where to look. Cherry has started to go nuclear on the world’s tallest ride, and we are right at the top with half the journey still to go, and a pool of sick is taking up three quarters of the space. Oh, and the windows don’t open.
* * *
Finally, we arrive back on solid ground. Matteo and I barely had time to discuss the Hank Junior situation because it felt as though we were being listened to the whole of the way down. Everyone was pretty much silent. Stunned at the bizarre predicament we have once again found ourselves in.
