The lights flare on amidst a roar of protestation, which only gets louder when the music comes to an abrupt halt. I realise that Zach is the one responsible for pulling the plug – literally, judging by the cable in his hand. A boy tries to square up to him but quickly realises that this might not be a good idea when he registers the size of Zach’s chest.
‘He’s upstairs, in the front bedroom.’
I turn around to find Josh – who I last saw at Leo’s 12th birthday party at Alton Towers – looking scared and shaken.
Zach and I weave past him and race up the stairs, stumbling over empty bottles and the odd body, as Josh follows us, saying, ‘It’s first left.’
Zach enters first and there, lying in the foetal position on a double bed, is my son. He is unconscious, or asleep, or something. I rush over and try to rouse him, slapping him gently across the cheek, shaking him by the shoulder.
‘What’s he taken?’ Zach demands.
A lightning bolt strikes at my core.
Josh’s eyes widen. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean, has he takendrugs?And if so, what?’
Josh begins to stammer. ‘I . . . I don’t know. He might have just been drinking . . . although he was talking to a couple of kids who had some Molly . . .’
Molly. That’s Ecstasy, isn’t it?
My heart cracks wide open. My head swims. My hand suddenly feels cold and wet. I turn it over and realise there is blood on my fingers. It’s coming from Leo’s temple, matted into his hair.
‘What the—’
‘He fell over,’ Josh explains. ‘I think he hit his head on the side of the bath. He said he felt weird afterwards. That was when he came in here and I used his phone to call you.’
My bones feel as if they are about to give way. I am initially groping to make sense of all this, when I have a sudden rush of clarity. Of what we need to do to help him.
‘LEO! WAKE UP!’
He groans, opening his eyes briefly before closing them again.
‘Whose party is this?’ I hear Zach asking Josh, who looks as if he’s about to cry. ‘It’s my older brother’s, but it was never meant to be like this. He’s in the kitchen trying to get rid of people. There are tons of gatecrashers. He’d only planned to have a few mates over but word got out and . . .’
Zach puts his hand on Josh’s shoulder. ‘You’ll be okay. Go tell your brother that if people won’t leave he should call the cops. Okay?’
Josh sniffs, nods, then disappears.
‘We need to get Leo to a hospital,’ I tell Zach.
Despite my son’s current state, we manage between us to get him vaguely onto his feet, down the stairs and into the back of the car. I continue trying to keep him awake the whole time, having read somewhere that this is what you’re supposed to doin a situation like this. But I’m fighting a losing battle. He does open his eyes and mumble something every so often, but none of it’s close to comprehensible. When we arrive at A&E, I wait in the car while Zach runs inside to get a couple of nursing staff to bring out a stretcher.
As they transfer him onto it and take him inside, I follow in a surreal daze, passing images of cartoon characters on the walls. We are in a children’s hospital. The same place I brought Leo to when he was five and broke his wrist after falling from a climbing frame. Back then, he went away in a cast, with a sticker and a lollipop. We see a nurse first, who takes his observations, before a doctor comes to take over.
He is young, Asian and has a gentle, unflustered air. In his presence, everything seems to slow down.
He manages to rouse Leo enough to ask the same questions we did on the way here and a few more.
Have you taken drugs, Leo?
You’re not in trouble, Leo.
It’s important we know.
‘His friend seemed to think he’d been drinking and fell over and banged his head on the bath,’ I tell him.
‘And has he vomited?’
