Toxic

by Nicci Cloke

I mean, firstly: Eww.

  But also: What if I want to shag?

  ‘I can just stay on the sofa,’ I seem to be saying. ‘I’m the smallest, so that seems fair.’

  I mean, sure, Hope. Give away all your privacy – why not?

  Zack shakes his head in that over-the-top way he has, like a dog trying to get water out of its ears. ‘No way, Novak. You’re one of the lads but you’re also one of the ladies, so you get an actual bed, with the least amount of man-stink in the vicinity. That’s just how it works.’

  He’s sweet – although I feel kind of confused being described as a lady and a lad; what the hell do either of those things even mean anyway? – and I don’t want to be out in the living area, with the whole lot of them thumping back and forth to the bathroom all night. Plus the bedroom with the two beds has its own little balcony. Only a slice of one really, but enough for two people to stand on and look out at the sun setting over the hotel next to ours.

  Plus – look, I’m not proud of it – I can’t help thinking how Logan has a girlfriend and so won’t be ‘shagging’. So maybe, just maybe, it’ll be Logan who ends up in the other single bed.

  No. Hope. Seriously.

  I can’t think like that. Logan’s my friend. Daisy’s my friend, for God’s sake, although how that’s happened is anyone’s guess. And I’m OK with it all, I am. It’s just that he’s here, and I’m here, and we’re not at school and that, suddenly, feels just ever so slightly confusing.

  It’ll take time, I guess. That’s what Zack said too, actually.

  So I just shrug, and dump my bag at the end of one of the beds in the smaller room. The sun is starting to sink but only just, and I think ahead to tonight, butterflies turning in my stomach. The strip is a ten-minute walk from here, Zack said, and I can just picture it all sparking into life now, neon signs stuttering on, ice being shovelled into bars and fridges getting filled with bottles.

  I wander back into the main room, and it’s like we’re all in sync because Zack says ‘Well, apparently the strip doesn’t get going till a bit later, so we should go for dinner and beers first. But that’s ages away, so shall we just chill by the pool first? Get some cocktails in?’

  And so we do.

  IT’S ONLY WHEN I’m getting changed that I start feeling a bit weird about going out in front of all of them essentially naked. Bikini is basically naked, right? It’s not technically naked, but with a touch of imagination to fill in the particulars, it’s naked. I don’t know, maybe it’s just me, but I think it’s always going to feel slightly wrong being in what is basically your underwear in front of a load of guys, good friends or not.

  So when I first exit the little bedroom (which, so far, seems to be just mine), in my new bikini, a towel around me, I do feel insecure. It’s not like I really want them to think I look good – it’s just I’m a bit freaked out at the idea that they might be looking at all.

  But none of them bat an eyelid. They’re all in their swimming shorts, standing around with towels chucked over their bare shoulders.

  ‘Ready, Hope?’ Zack says, already gripping the door handle.

  ‘Yup.’ I pick up my key from where I left it on the coffee table, and I can’t help raising an eyebrow at Logan. See, I don’t always forget things! He grins at me, getting my message loud and clear. I’m glad to find that we still have that, that talking without speaking, the way you only get with the people you’re closest to.

  We pad down to the lift, flip-flops squeaking against the tiled floor. The air-conditioning isn’t exactly futuristic, but it’s still cool enough, and so when we’re back on the ground floor, heading out of the huge sliding doors to the pool, the heat hits me again. I’m glad I packed factor fifty along with my more optimistic twenty.

  The pool is packed with people splashing around and lolling with their elbows on the side. The white plastic loungers around the edge are also full, but as we step out onto the hot patio Zack spots a group starting to pack up in one corner. He marches over, his broad rugby shoulders pale beside the oiled bodies on the loungers. Within seconds he’s chatting to a couple of the guys in the group like they’ve been friends for years, one of the girls standing up to join in as they all laugh at some joke he’s made. He waves us over and we go, a dutiful little crocodile, to say hello to this group of friends from Swansea and take their still-sweaty loungers.

  I settle into mine – Logan to my left, Nate on the right – and lean back, eyes closed, soaking up the warmth of the sun. There’s music playing from speakers by the pool, some club number I half know, and everyone’s conversations melt into one big blur of sound, a comforting kind of white noise.

  ‘Hey, Hope, you got sun cream on?’

  I jerk awake – realising, belatedly, that I’ve actually fallen asleep – and see Nate smiling at me from the edge of his lounger. He’s wet from the pool, which means I’ve been asleep for longer than a second. I glance down at my legs, which are turning red. I swing them over the edge of the lounger and reach for my bag.

  ‘Can I nick some after you?’ Nate asks. The rest of our loungers are empty – I glance towards the pool and see the four of them over there, deep in a game of water volleyball with a bright pink inflatable ball that only travels a feeble distance through the air before sinking sadly back to the water.

  I lotion up my legs and then the rest of me, rubbing extra into my face, which feels tight and hot. And then I offer the bottle to Nate, who takes it and squirts it directly onto his shoulders, rubbing it in with his long, elegant hands. He glances up and sees me looking – where are my sunglasses? – and he passes the bottle back after going over his face and the back of his neck with both hands.

  I add another blob to my stomach, just to be sure. As I settle on my lounger, I can’t help feeling a bit insecure again, because look at all these girls with their neon bikinis against their perfect airbrushed skin, glowing. No dry patches, no stray hairs, no cellulite. Does a tan hide cellulite? I know I’m not supposed to care about cellulite or stray hairs, and most of the time I really don’t … But, I don’t know. Look at them all. It’s like I just dozed off and woke up in the middle of a magazine shoot or something.

  I find my sunglasses beside me on the lounger; slide them on. That feels better. They’re not rose-tinted but they do put a kind of gold sheen on everything.

  Nate settles back on his own sunbed, water still dripping from its plastic slats where he first sat down. His footprints on the concrete are slowly evaporating. The music changes to an old tune, one I know and used to like, by an indie band who aren’t really in fashion any more. Nate sings a line or two, putting his Ray-Bans on, and then he gets up again.

  ‘I’m going to the bar, Novak – you want anything?’

  I tip my head and look at him over the top of my sunglasses. ‘Maybe. What you getting?’

  ‘An ice cream and a beer.’

  I reach for my purse. ‘That sounds perfect.’

  When he’s gone, I think about how nice it is to be talking, and just being, with Nate. It’s not like we fell out after me and Logan broke up or anything. It’s just that we used to do a lot of stuff together, just the three of us, a lot of movie nights and hanging out at lunchtime and WhatsApping each other stupid jokes, and then me and Logan broke up and it’d have been weird to keep doing those things with Nate, so I kind of lost him too.

  So yeah, it’s nice. Things are getting back to the way they were and I think that’s what I want.

  Zack comes splashing over, water still pouring off him. He flops onto his sun-lounger and grins at me. ‘Done all right, haven’t I, Novak?’

  ‘Yeah, it’s great. Thanks for sorting it.’

  ‘No problem. Right, I’m getting a disco nap in because tonight we are getting on it.’

  He flips his sunglasses down from the top of his head and promptly falls asleep, arms crossed over his chest. The others slowly filter back too, bringing drinks from the bar. Dev’s got two Magnums, both of which he eats before Nate’s ev
en returned with mine.

  ‘Uhhhhh,’ Logan says, dropping onto his lounger. ‘The sun feels so good.’

  ‘I know,’ I say, just a tiny bit conscious of the fact that my boobs aren’t staying exactly in line with the sides of my bikini.

  He leans lazily over and raises his beer to me in a sort of cheers, before doing the same to Nate, who’s finally returned with our drinks after failing to chat up the girl at the bar.

  ‘Thanks, Nate.’ The cold ice cream feels amazing in my mouth and, weirdly, is even good when washed down with a mouthful of sour beer.

  Soon half the boys are asleep, while JB is engrossed in something on his phone and Logan is texting on his; Daisy, I guess. I slide off my lounger and go over to the pool. The sun is starting to dip towards the horizon now, and things are a little quieter, people starting to congregate around the bar instead of in the water.

  I sit down on the edge and dunk my legs in. It’s cool against my skin, washing away the beery drowsiness, and so I lower the rest of my body in. I look out at the setting sun and then back at my friends.

  I smile and then I dive under the water and swim until my lungs feel like they’re about to burst. When I break the surface and take my first gasp of air, I start to laugh.

  THE STRIP IS heaving with people already, even though Zack said it wouldn’t get really busy until after midnight. It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before – just bar after bar after bar, bright colours and flashing lights. Music thumps out of speakers while people spill onto the street, clutching bottles and plastic cups of fluorescent-looking drinks. Everyone is smiling and laughing, and people in branded T-shirts are handing out leaflets and vouchers and grinning at groups, stopping them to try to tempt them into the bars. Within five minutes we get offered a free fishbowl, a free round of shots, then a free fishbowl and shots. Within seven minutes Zack has negotiated for us to get two fishbowls and a round of shots at a small bar with plastic chairs around bright yellow tables. The girl who brought us over, in a matching yellow vest top, lets go of Zack’s arm and goes over to the bar. The barman, a guy not much older than us, with a full tattoo sleeve on one arm and some pretty oiled-up hair, nods and flips two empty fishbowls up onto the bar. I’m not close enough to see the names on the bottles he picks up, but plenty of their contents goes into the bowls.

  Meanwhile the girl pours pink shots out of an unmarked bottle into glasses on a tray, and then winds her way back through the tables to give them to us. About half of the other tables are full, most of them with people sitting around their own fishbowls, the coloured straws streaming out of them while the liquid – layers of yellow and orange and pink – slowly turns murky.

  ‘Here you go, guys.’ The girl plonks down the tray of shots. ‘Enjoy! Fishbowls are on the way.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Zack says with one of his winning smiles. ‘Right team, ante up!’ He hands out the shots. We all grin at each other, all say, ‘Cheers.’ My shot is sugary and sharp in my throat, and the empty plastic glasses slam back onto the table like a drumbeat. My fuzzy drunk feeling from the pool has totally gone now – after a shower and a can of Coke and a bowl of pasta at the restaurant at the end of our dusty road, I feel properly awake and alive and ready to go. Buzzing.

  When the fishbowls are delivered, I end up sharing one with Nate and Logan. I’d be quite happy to sit and sip it – especially as it tastes like a mix of orange and hairspray, not exactly appealing – but Zack, who’s sharing the other one with JB and Dev, yells, ‘Race ya!’ and they start hoovering theirs up with about three straws each. I roll my eyes, but Nate nudges me and says, ‘Come on, Novak!’ and I find myself with three straws in my mouth, sucking as hard as I possibly can.

  It tastes pretty disgusting, but when we win, when Nate and Logan high-five me, I get this warm feeling in my chest and I don’t know if it’s the booze or just … everything.

  After the fishbowls, we carry on down the strip, half walking, half dancing our way between bars, until suddenly it’s midnight and I am drunk.

  I find myself by the bar with Logan, both waiting to be served. He has the sort of dozy look he gets on his face when he’s pretty drunk, like everything around him makes him both sleepy and happy, and he grins when he sees me and puts an arm round me.

  ‘I love this holiday already,’ he says, raising his voice so I can hear him over the music.

  ‘Me too.’ I’m feeling pretty dozy myself, the heat and music thudding through me and Logan’s skin warm next to mine. When he lets go to turn and order from the barman, I feel sad. Stop that, Sober Me (now a very small and quiet voice) tells Drunk Me.

  ‘Another?’ Logan says, gesturing to my empty glass, and I nod, fumbling for euros.

  ‘Here.’ He passes me my new drink and then waves my money away. He picks up his own and then, just as we’re about to head back to the group, he looks down at me.

  ‘I’m really glad you’re here,’ he says, and I feel warm all over again.

  After that cocktail, things become a little broken.

  We’re dancing on a bar somewhere, Zack with his top off, all roaring along to ‘99 Problems’.

  We’re standing outside in the warm night, watching Dev get a henna tattoo after losing a bet with Nate. The bet was that Dev could pull a girl faster than Nate in the last bar we were in – I remember it being purple, the floor sticky, but I don’t remember a name or what we did there – and Nate completed the challenge in under five minutes. Zack, doling out the forfeit, has chosen the tattoo for Dev. It’s a cartoon penis, and it’s going on his bum. Dev pulled a girl too, just not quite as quickly as Nate. Otherwise the tattoo would have gone on his face.

  We’re dancing on a table somewhere, Logan, JB and me, and the table is not very steady. The bouncer looks angry. Zack lifts me down and throws me over his shoulder. He spins around until I think I might be sick from laughing.

  He falls.

  We both fall.

  I’m still laughing.

  There are more shots.

  There are more fishbowls.

  We are sitting at a table outside a place I don’t remember, sweat cooling on our skin. Some of the boys are smoking and there are cold bottles of beer in front of us. A girl walks past in denim cut-offs and a suede bralet, and Dev makes the mistake of muttering aloud, ‘She’d get it.’

  ‘Tell her!’ the others roar, and Tell her is the law.

  Dev swears and hurtles off down the street. He taps the girl on the shoulder and we see his lips move.

  The girl throws her drink at him.

  I’m still laughing.

  We are still sitting at a table outside a place I don’t remember, and Dev’s shirt is slowly drying. The beers are almost empty. A girl walks past in a black cut-out dress, slices of tanned hip showing through, and Dev makes the mistake of muttering aloud, ‘Oh my days, she is fine.’ But he’s quicker this time – he glances up and remembers to say, ‘Tell her,’ just before the others say it and so he’s safe.

  The girl walks on by.

  We are dancing on a flashing dance floor in a dark, dark bar where all our white bits glow blue. Dev is kissing the girl in the cut-offs and Zack is with a girl whose face I don’t remember. Logan holds my hand and twirls me around.

  ‘You caught the sun,’ he says, and the music is so loud he has to come right up close to say it.

  We’re in McDonalds, ordering food. JB is outside McDonalds, throwing up orange and yellow and pink.

  We’re walking home, the laughter and the music and the smell of the strip fading behind us, hands greasy and speckled with salt, open burger boxes wobbling as we walk.

  I am happy.

  I am so happy.

  I AM HUNGOVER.

  I am so hungover.

  I groan and throw the sheet over my head, trying to block out the bright sunlight that’s flooding through the thin white curtains. My mouth feels dry and sticky and my eyes are still crusty with last night’s make-up.

  I turn onto my side and peep o
ut from under the sheet. JB’s in the bed beside mine, and I have a vague memory of the two of us sitting up in bed eating chips – yep, there are the empty cartons on the floor – and talking intensely about life. No idea what we actually said though – I vaguely remember him saying something about Josh not treating Georgie very well, and I wish I could remember it properly because it feels like it was important.

  JB’s flat on his back, snoring. He’s clutching his phone, his hand flopped over the edge of the bed. I close my eyes, wondering if I can get back to sleep – with any luck, I’ll feel better next time I wake up – but music starts playing from the pool outside. My eyes pop open again. I’m wide awake and I need a wee and my head feels like it’s about to fall off. I throw the sheet aside again and get up as quietly as I can, padding barefoot around JB’s bed.

  Nate is asleep on the sofa in the living area, although he was obviously too drunk to unfold it into a bed – so he’s scrunched up uncomfortably on it, his feet hanging over one wicker arm and his head propped awkwardly against the other. The other bedroom door is wide open and I can see Zack’s stomach rising and falling as he snores, loudly, flat on his back, Dev curled on his side with a pillow pressed over his head. I can’t see Logan on the camp bed on the other side of the room, but I imagine he’s in a similar position – he hates snoring, although he’s just as bad half the time. I sneak into the bathroom and close the door as quietly as I can – although I probably don’t need to bother, given that Zack’s currently drowning out most other sounds.

  I sit on the loo, pressing my hand against my forehead as another bolt of pain throbs through my skull. Like an idiot, I didn’t drink any water last night. That, plus mixing all those drinks … I’ve really only got myself to blame.

  Bits of the night come back to me and I can’t help smiling, thinking of Zack’s goofy dad-dancing, Nate’s one-liners, Dev trying to leapfrog a bin and tipping sideways into a bush. And then I’m smiling in a different sort of way, because I’m thinking of Logan’s arm round my shoulders, Logan’s face near mine.