Spray Painted Bananas

Chapter 10

Some people set their morning alarm to the whisper of the sea. Maybe some waves breaking along a beach. Others opt for soft harp music. Perhaps a couple of angels too, humming a soothing melody from the far reaches of heaven.

But not me.

My alarm is like a dentist drill tearing through my brain. It’s loud from the start, high-pitched and fills me with panic.

It comes from my phone which is never where it should be. It should be on my bedside table and I should be able to reach out with one hand and silence it with a bang, like they do in the beginnings of so many films. But the reality is it’s in the pocket of one of the items of clothing trailing across my bedroom floor. I sit up and the contents of my head lurch into place with some delay.

It’s a bad one.

I try not to look at the empty bottle of wine perched on my desk, laughing at me from the other side of the road. The reek of cheap white wine wafts up my nostrils. It must be my breath. My tongue is furry with regret.

I roll out of bed without grace and scrabble to find the source of the horrific sound. When at last I find it I panic-tap the screen until it stops. I know there’s a high chance it will start up again in five minutes. Exhausted, I crawl back under my duvet and wait for the throbbing in my head to go away. But it doesn’t and it’s not going to either.

How many times do I need to learn this lesson?

Drinking is bad.

Drinking is bad.

Drinking is bad.

Why doesn’t it sink in?

I feel a light pressure as something drops onto my duvet. The pressure moves across my stomach and up to my neck. I pull my cover down a few inches and Rupert steps onto my mouth and sniffs my hair. I splutter and nudge him off me.

‘Miao,’ he whines and tries to mount my arm.

‘It’s alright for you, you weren’t poisoned last night.’

I pick him up and stroke his beautiful, soft fur. He pads at my hair like a baby intrigued by everything. It’s a brief moment of oblivion, me and Rupert against the world, and then memories of the previous night kick in. Did I really spray paint bananas in my knickers? I flush with shame as I remember Egg standing in the doorway gawping at me. It doesn’t make me feel any better that he was eating pepperoni in secret. It’s not like I had money on him lasting for very long on lentils.

He said he’d been drinking.

‘Miao.’

And then I see Egg’s crumpled note on the floor in his spidery writing; confirmation that it wasn’t just a dream. Bibiana had arrived yesterday evening and Egg had taken her to Farrell’s before her allergies could erupt. And I, I hadn’t been there for anyone.