The Ascendant

Chapter Twenty-Three

I woke at noon, ravaged with alcohol poisoning and dehydration, unable to move but still desperate for fluids, tablets, anything to relieve my paralytic condition. I tried to think of a way of curing myself without actually getting out of bed but in the end the dryness of my mouth and the fullness of my bladder made my decision for me. I sat upright and watched the tiny, bright, bewildering diamonds circling my head, as my eyeballs shook in time with the beat of my migraine.

I could hear the others downstairs, each sounding typically lively, fresh and apparently unaffected by last night’s events. That bastard Iain even mentioned going out for a jog ‘to sweat out the rest of the alcohol.’ I felt as if alcohol was the only fluid circulating around my body, and therefore any decision to join the irrepressible Scotsman on his haughty excursion would be tantamount to suicide.

I opted for a cold shower instead, allowing the cool water to revitalise my while I stood, jaw slack and pooling the refreshing water around my parched tongue.

I eventually made it down the stairs and immediately made a beeline for the drinking tap, following that up with a glass of orange juice and a cup of coffee. I had caught my reflection in the bathroom and knew there was no concealing the severity of my condition. My eyes were bloodshot and cloudy, my face pale and puffy while my drooping posture belied inverted energy levels.

‘Bloody hell, Ben, are you all right there mate?’, asked Joe, though I was relieved to note he bore a few minor traits of a hangover himself: his hair was unusually unkempt and his stubble had gone slightly past the fashionably coarse stage.

‘I’ve felt better,’ I replied, trying to put a brave face on it, whilst having to concentrate too hard on even the thinnest of smiles. ‘Yourself?’

‘Oh, about the same really, well sort of. It ended up being quite a long night; I stayed the night at my mate Mike’s; smoked a couple of reefers, didn’t get enough sleep, you know how it goes.’

‘Yeah, I know what you mean. Did Iain head off with you as well then or did he just head back here?’

‘I think Iain came back here but I’m not too sure. He was chatting to a girl when we left the club and he was here this morning so I imagine he just came back here.’

‘Oh, right. Well, it seems everyone had a good time then.’

‘Yeah, it was all right. Did you enjoy yourself? You seemed a bit drunk when you left the club I have to say,’ said Joe, whose smile told me what I didn’t need to know: I had looked every bit as drunk as I had felt.

‘Yeah, I was more pissed than I realised, I think. Must’ve been those spirits people kept giving me. They were pretty strong. But yeah, I enjoyed it, I think.’

Joe laughed and I tried to join in but I was on borrowed time; I had to sit down urgently or risk an embarrassing faint.

‘Sorry Joe, I’m going to dive in there, is that all right?’, I said, heading for the comfort of the living room.

Joe excused me and drained the rest of the orange juice. When I got into the living room Dawn was curled up on an armchair and Greek was stretched out on the settee. They both cheered as I entered the room and I got the impression I’d made a name for myself already, albeit for all the wrong reasons.

We had a conversation along the same lines as the one with Joe: both Dawn and Greek were feeling the effects of a heavy night out but neither was gripped with nausea on the same scale that I was.

‘You probably need some fresh air,’ said Dawn.

‘You should have gone out for a run with Iain,’ said Greek, and even I managed a laugh at that one.

We sat and watched television for a while, surfing mindlessly through dozens of channels before stopping for the Saturday afternoon matinee on BBC2. A John Wayne film had started, the one in which he plays an old outlaw dying of cancer seeking a humble room in which to spend his last days.

We watched the film in silence, Greek occasionally lighting up a Camel Light, but generally the emphasis was on recuperation rather than entertainment and by the time the film had ended Iain had returned from his run; showered and took over the helm of the television controls. Dawn granted Iain his wish and went upstairs, while Greek entertained a guest in the kitchen with coffee and conversation.

My mind was briefly cast back to Dawn’s comments the previous night about Iain’s testosterone imbalance but he seemed to be acting reasonably again. Maybe it was because of his run, maybe it was because of his medication. Either way he wasn’t singling me out for any aggravated attention, and that was all that mattered.

Dawn reappeared to ask if Iain or I fancied going out to get some fresh air and a bit so eat. Iain was ensconsed in his armchair and had no intention of moving; the football pundits were in full cry and he was hanging onto every word, goal flash and cliché. I wasn’t too keen on going out myself; not only was I on a tight budget between now and the end of the month but I had begun to empathise with John Wayne’s predicament and felt I had found a suitable place to nurse myself through my last, weakened moments … all but uninterrupted.

However, two strong influences in my getting up and agreeing to go were my rumbling but still fragile stomach and the prospect of being trapped in a room with Iain for any period whatsoever.

‘Where have you got in mind?’ I asked, half-interestedly.

‘I’m not sure, what’s it like out Iain?’

‘It’s all right, pretty crisp but not too cold.’

‘Then it might be an idea to take a walk up to Belsize Park or Hampstead,’ said Dawn. ‘I don’t really fancy going too far.’

‘Sounds OK. Is anyone else coming?’, I asked.

‘I’ll just ask Greek and Joe.’

I was left in the living room with Iain but his attention was fixed on the television and the incoming goal alerts from Berwick, Stockport and Plymouth. Cardiff were losing two-nil away from home, and the prospects of a recovery were slim so I wasn't too worried about drawing myself away.

‘Joe's coming but Greek’s staying here,’ said Dawn.

I stood up and stretched my muscles, groaning like an old man.

‘Better?’, asked Iain, clearly amused by my ailing health.

‘Not much,’ I replied as I headed for the door and both Dawn and Iain laughed, Iain more heartily so.

Joe came trotting down the stairs whilst pulling on his jacket.

‘Ready?’ he asked, and we were off.