‘Of course. But what was it Marilyn Monroe said? “If you can’t take me at my worst, then you sure as hell don’t deserve me at my best.” Me, you and Mand – we’re friends forever, you know that.’
‘Let’s give her a break today of all days, though, eh? Love you, mate, and thanks so much for having me at yours.’ Vic leant down to kiss the top of Orla’s wild black hair.
‘Love you back, and Sharpie, it’ll all work out just grand. Don’t you worry.’
SIX
LONDON
The Flu
A loud banging and somebody shouting her name awoke Victoria from a vivid dream where she was in a wedding dress, but it was Nate who was getting married – to somebody else, whose face she couldn’t make out because it was covered with a really thick black veil. In fact, the last two nights since Mandy’s wedding, she’d had anxiety dreams about being on her own and Nate not being in her life. But as distressing as they were, they still hadn’t compelled her to rush back to him to sort everything out. Right now she felt too unwell to consider it. And despite her own infidelity, she was still angry with him and also cross with herself for not having the courage to be upfront with him about what had happened in Brighton. There was clearly something amiss in their relationship, but facing it would mean decisions would need to be made – and what if she made the wrong one?
Realising she was wet with sweat, she slowly put on her dressing gown and almost crawled to the front door. Seeing itwas Orla, she raised her hand feebly then headed straight back to bed with her friend in hot pursuit.
‘Feck me, Vic, you look dreadful. What’s wrong with you?’
Vic whispered, ‘I feel so awful. In fact, I wasn’t this ill when I had what I thought was proper flu two Christmases ago. I’m burning up and my throat feels like it’s got razor blades down it.’
‘Oh, Vic. I’ve got chicken soup in the cupboard. Let me get you some of that.’
‘God, no. Could you just get me a pint of water, please? And if you go to the shop, some paracetamol and anything else that may ease this throat.’
‘You poor darling. Let me get the window open to let some fresh air in. It smells like fecking death in here.’ Orla got hold of the duvet and shook it down to make it more comfortable. ‘There’s loads going around at the moment. It’s that time of year, isn’t it? And I’ll go now and get you whatever you need. Are you sure you don’t fancy anything? How about some soft ice cream to ease that throat of yours, or a nice cup of tea? Oh, Vic, poor you.’
‘Honestly, I’m good, Orla. I think water, paracetamol and sleep will be the answer. I’ve got some kind of rash, too – must be a heat rash, as I’m literally burning up. I’ll have to buy new bedding for Aletta, as I’m sweating through. I found an undersheet of yours in the airing cupboard, so hopefully I won’t stain the mattress.’
Orla’s face was full of concern as she headed for the kitchen. ‘Don’t you be worrying about those kinds of things,’ she shouted back. ‘Do you think you need to talk to a doctor?’
‘No,’ Vic groaned. ‘If you don’t mind getting me that stuff, I just need to rest up and get better.’
As Vic rested her head back on the pillow, her phone rang. When she saw it was Nate, she groaned and ignored it. He rang again and, sighing, she reached for the phone. ‘Nate,’ she croaked.
‘Oh my God, Sharpie, you sound fucking terrible. Getting pissed isn’t going to solve anything, you know.’
‘I’m not drunk, I’ve got the flu, I think. I feel dreadful.’
‘Oh no, baby girl. Do you need anything? I can run anything by Orla’s that you need.’
‘No, it’s fine. I’ll be in touch when I’m better. OK?’
‘I miss you,’ Nate added quietly.
‘We’ll talk properly when I’m better.’ Victoria hung up.
The following Sunday, Vic appeared from her bedroom. Orla was lying on the sofa catching up onStrictly Come Dancing. She smiled at a much brighter-looking Vic. ‘Here she is. How you feeling today, darling?’ Orla paused the TiVo.
‘I can’t tell you how happy I am that I feelsomuch better. I’m just so pleased you didn’t get it. I honestly can’t believe how ill I’ve been.’
‘Well, it’s good to see you looking better. You had me worried there for a bit, so you did. You look like you’ve lost weight, though.’
‘And I’ve hardly got that to lose.’ Vic put her hands to her tiny waist. ‘It’s a good excuse to eat all I want over Christmas now, though, I guess.’
‘Bitch.’ Orla gently threw a cushion at her. ‘You never have to worry anyways.’
But there was something else on her mind and she hesitated for a second before telling her friend. ‘The only thing is… I’ve got a discharge from my bits. Without being too graphic, it’s kind of fishy-smelling. And now I’m paranoid I’ve got something wrong down there, too.’
‘Nice!’ Orla screwed her face up. ‘Maybe it’s thrush? Your body’s been fighting to get you well, so it kind of makes sense that it could be.’
