18
Oscar Evans was exactly as described: shorter and rounder than Tom, but with familiar facial features that denoted they must be brothers. Also, he was hideously drunk.
Rachel found him with three slightly less incapacitated friends, slumped against the outside wall of a pub on Bethnal Green Road. After establishing that they were capable of getting themselves home, Rachel put the other boys on a bus to Liverpool Street station and instructed them to get on the first train back to Colchester. This, she’d been informed, was where they all lived.
She said they could call her again if they needed anything, but also left them in no doubt that she wasn’t some soft touch. If any further rescues were needed today, she warned, it would be the police or their parents picking them up off the pavement. Rachel got the impression the boys took her at her word, and felt confident they wouldn’t drink any more.
Oscar himself was in no fit state for public transport, so after getting him to sip some bottled water she threw her arm around his waist and helped him plod slowly back in the direction of the studio. What should have been a ten-minute walk took more like twenty, but eventually the railway arches were back in view. When she got close enough, Rachel saw that the door to A24 was propped open.
Concluding that Zack and Nate must be gone, she hauled Oscar inside. Tom rushed over to them, pulled his brother’s arm from around Rachel’s shoulders and manhandled him into a seated position on the kitchenette’s yellow-gold sofa.
‘Thank you so much,’ Tom said, folding Rachel into the tightest hug they’d ever shared. She leaned into it, enjoying the sensation of being held upright by someone else after the exertion of getting Oscar back here.
‘Fuckin’ hell, get a room …’ came a groggy voice from the corner.
Tom whirled around, advancing on Oscar in a single angry stride.
‘Watch it,’ he warned. ‘You are in aworldof shit with me, but that’s nothing compared with the bollocking you’ll get from Christine if I phone her and tell her what’s happened.’
Oscar quailed and looked as though he might throw up. ‘Don’t. Please.’
‘Here’s what’s going to happen. You are going to sit there quietly and drink some more water while I put this equipment away. Then you’re going to come back to my flat and stay there – at least until you’re in your right mind and I’ve worked out what to do with you.’
Oscar was no longer listening. He was now half-asleep and smirking, his head leaned back against the couch he’d been deposited on.
‘I’ll help you get him home,’ Rachel said. ‘You finish packing up, I’ll call an Uber.’
‘Rach, you’ve already done enough. Honestly, don’t let me –this– take up any more of your Saturday.’
‘Stop arguing,’ she said. ‘The car’s already on its way.’
Tom sighed and shook his head, but continued sliding lights and lenses back into their foam-packed cases.
Moments after he’d collapsed the final tripod and slipped his laptop into his bag, Rachel said, ‘Taxi’s here.’
Between them they loaded Tom’s equipment into the boot of the Prius that had pulled up, then went back inside the arch for Oscar. Tom dragged him to his feet. ‘Stay quiet and act normal,’ he ordered, ‘or the driver won’t let you in the car.’
‘Psshhhhh, no such thing as normal,’ Oscar slurred. ‘Fascist conspiracy.’
Rachel tried not to laugh as Tom made a face and hissed, ‘Not a word.’
They helped Oscar shuffle towards the taxi and then clamber inside.
‘What’s up with him?’ the driver asked, pointing, the second the car doors were closed.
‘Jet lag,’ Rachel said swiftly. ‘He’s just very, very tired.’
Oscar began sniggering as the driver rolled his eyes and put the car in first gear. ‘You’re paying for a full valet if he chunders.’
‘He won’t,’ said Tom grimly, then looked at Oscar. ‘It’s not far and he’ll hold it in unless he wants his mum to get the bill.’
Oscar went pale and remained silent the rest of the way back to Stroud Green.
By the time the taxi stopped a few metres away from Tom and Will’s building, Oscar looked thoroughly nauseated. His skin was damp with the unhealthy sheen of the soon-to-be sick.
‘He’s going to throw up,’ Rachel said as they heaved him out of the Uber.
‘’M fine,’ Oscar mumbled unconvincingly.
