Then the whole thing starts up again … Ducky Fuzz … Ducky Fuzz … Ducky Fuzz… It’s coming around to me and I’m trying to concentrate, but my tummy is swirling and the sick feeling is reaching halfway up my windpipe. I don’t feel great. The blonde girl before me speaks so I spit out, ‘Ducky Fuzz.’
The whole group shouts at me. ‘Wrong. Drink. Drink.’
Shit, did she say, ‘Does he?’?
Shannon begins to pour the drink.
I wave my hands at Shannon. ‘Give me the cola.’
‘That’s not fair,’ shrieks Taz. ‘You bloody cheat.’
Shannon pauses, the bottle hanging in mid-air. ‘I know.’ She scrambles to her feet. ‘We’ll make you something to drink in the kitchen. Something to down in one. Taz, come on.’
There’s an uncomfortable buzz around the group while we all wait for them to come back. When they do, Taz is holding theshot glass aloft as if it’s a trophy and there’s a dark murky liquid in it. She hands it over to me. I sniff it and wince. Thank God I don’t seem to have morning sickness anymore because I’m sure it would have knocked me sick.
The whole group has taken to chanting, ‘Down in one. Down in one,’ as they bang on the floor. I squeeze my eyes tight shut and tip my head back and pour the liquid down my throat. The group cheer wildly.
The drink is vile.
The minute it hits my stomach it wants to come back up. Acid leaches into the back of my throat and my mouth fills with saliva which I try frantically to swallow. I can’t be sick, here, now.
The girl next to me says, ‘Are you OK?’ She leans in to look me in the face. ‘Oh shit, no you’re not.’
‘I’m going to be sick,’ I mutter. ‘Bathroom.’
She scrambles to her feet a lot quicker than I do and puts a hand under my armpit to haul me up. ‘What the hell was in that?’ she spits out at Taz.
‘Some stuff out of the kitchen cupboards. She’ll be fine. It’s not alcohol.’
I’m heaving, my whole torso is pitching forwards and I’m trying desperately to not spew all over the floor.
‘I don’t think so,’ the girl spits back. ‘You’ll be OK,’ she says more gently to me and leads me out of the lounge door. I have no idea who she is, but I’m very grateful to her.
My legs are wobbly and I can’t see straight. I bang my shoulder off the door and stumble forwards.
‘Woah there. Steady.’ She leans me against the doorframe of the toilet under the stairs and wrenches open the door.
My head feels too heavy to hold up and I collapse it against the painted wood. The floor shifts beneath me and I heave, directing my stream of vomit towards the toilet bowl. When I’ve nothing more to release I wipe my mouth with some toilet paper andpush my hair behind my ears. Bits of it are wet and sticky and stink. I gag all over again.
‘How you doing?’ The girl’s voice is gentle.
‘I feel ill.’ I struggle up and sit on the closed toilet seat. Leaning sideways, I press my face into the cool tiled wall and close my eyes to stop the world from spinning.
‘What the hell did you give her?’ hisses someone.
I try to concentrate on the voices, but everything is becoming a blur and I can’t open my eyes to try to make sense of anything. The words come in snapshots and nothing seems to make a sentence.
‘Not vodka. … Thought it’d be OK. … Punch. … Not fruit. … Vinegar. … Mustard. … Bicarb. … Vodka.’
And then Shannon’s arms are around me and she’s pulling me off the seat. ‘Think you’d better go home.’
I stutter, ‘H … home.’ And lean my head on her shoulder.
The cold air hits me when we walk outside and I throw up all over again.
‘Yuck. Mind my dress will you.’ Shannon jerks away from me and my legs buckle under me.
‘Reeni’s,’ I say weakly.
