The weather is one perfect summer's day after another—never too hot or humid and never too dry either. It only ever rains at night, but never at a time that would spoil an evening stroll on the beach or a midnight picnic. The beaches are swathed in warm, white sand and the sea magically blue. The grounds of the hotel and the surrounding city are bedazzled with gardens filled with beautiful blooms and foliage so green, lush and verdant, they threaten to compare to those on Hell.
The Risans are genuinely welcoming too and as for the accommodation...
We have two suites between us: Al and I are sharing one while Luke and Rutter are just down the corridor. Al and I have a huge lounge area with patio balcony, a bedroom each and a large bathroom. It's very comfortable with sofas and lots of comfy chairs so we are tending to spend our evenings between the lounge and the balcony, chatting and playing cards. It's very therapeutic and I'm loving it, as is Al and Rutter.
Luke, though, remains unhappy. He's still talking gibberish and it's really getting him down. During the day, he has to attend various medical assessments and speech therapy, but nothing seems to be working.
In the evenings, he sits listening to us chatting and laughing, looking on enviously. Every now and then he'll try to join in and say something, but it's incomprehensible. He soon gives up and an expression of deep melancholy will cloud his eyes once more. The mind bleaching really has taken its toll on him.
To try and take his mind off it today, we wangled an afternoon off for him and all four of us went out exploring the tropical forests. We took a picnic with us and sat on the edge of a crystal clear lake to eat it. It was a beautiful spot with the sound of water trickling gently down a small gulley nearby to sooth us, and water fowl gracing its surface. It did seem to cheer him up, for a while at least, but by the time we returned to the hotel, his malaise had returned. By the time we had finished dinner, he was well and truly miserable again.
Suddenly, he stood up and declared, "Rufus trees breed ruby fish in black tanks for being in red walnuts," and then he left us. I was going to follow him, but Rutter caught my arm and shook his head.
For me, the evening was spoiled. I shouldn't have listened to Rutter; I should have gone with Luke. I spent the next few hours worrying about him, my stomach churning with angst and my mind unable to settle on anything.
Around eleven, I went for a walk alone, leaving Al and Rutter chatting on the balcony. If I'm honest with myself, I was looking for Luke, not actively, but I found my eyes searching for him wherever I went.
It was gone two o'clock before I got back to the apartment and Rutter had left. Al was in the bathroom cleaning her teeth. She came out to greet me, a mouth full of foam and a toothbrush. Her eyes said it all. She knew the pain I was feeling.
"He'll be okay," she assured me. "He's made of strong stuff," but I wasn't so sure. I just hoped he hadn't done anything stupid.
I changed into my pyjamas and was just scrubbing my teeth, taking out my anger on my gums, when there was a loud, clumsy bash on the door. Was it someone knocking or just someone larking about?
I came out of the bathroom to see, toothbrush hanging from my lips and looked at Al, searching her for an explanation. She shrugged as the banging was repeated, a little more orderly this time. Al went to the door and opened it a crack. I saw her face crease in concerned surprise.
"Who is it?" I asked to which she opened the door fully.
Standing in the doorway, hanging onto the doorframe as though his life depended on it, was a very drunk Luke. My heart leapt. He was alive!
He looked awful, though, and glared at me in that stupid drunken way that drunkards do, with their eyes not quite synchronised. He leaned forward, waggling a finger and began to slur some words, but was cut short as he fell through the doorway and spilled onto the floor. He laughed weakly and then dissolved into a strange mixture of tittering and crying. It was a truly pathetic sight.
"Oh joy!" exclaimed Al. "I'll get Rutter."
"No!" I shouted a little too harshly.
She frowned at me.
"Please, let's not," I pleaded. "He's going to feel crap enough in the morning without Rutter to face as well."
She heaved a sigh, but her face melted as she stared into my eyes.
"Okay," she relented. "So what do you wanna do?"
Luke had managed to roll over and was heaving himself up onto his hands and knees.
"I dunno," I replied as I threw my toothbrush through the bathroom door and into the sink where it rattled around noisily.
"Let's... let's get him onto the couch," I suggested.
Taking an arm each, we hauled him up and began manoeuvring his body over to the sofa. His feet didn't seem to work which didn't help. Suddenly, he yanked his arm free from Al and shouted rudely, "No! I ... don't ... love ... YOU!" he bellowed, unintentionally spitting in her face.
Al's face screwed up in disgust, but even she had registered the important fact.
They were proper words! Real words and meaningful ones! Well ... as meaningful as you can get out of someone who's so piddled they can't even walk. But we had no time to comment as Luke threw himself fully into my arms and wrapped himself around me like a limpet.
"It's YOU I love," he screamed and buried his face into my neck like a baby, but I could feel his grip weakening as consciousness was abandoning him. His legs buckled beneath him and, unable to hold his dead weight, I let him slip to the ground in a pile of limbs and dishevelled clothing. We stood and stared at his pathetic body for a few moments, not quite sure what to say or do. It was Al that broke the silence.
"Well, at least he's talking sense now."
"Humph," I snorted.
"Although, I bet he wishes he wasn't when he remembers this in the morning."
"IF he remembers this," I added.
Her face shrugged.
"True."
We stared at him a little longer.
"I don't envy him that hangover either," said Al. "So what now?"
I sighed.
"You get a bucket. I'll get a blanket."
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