‘No, don't go,’ Jazz pleads, tugging on his arm like a toddler.
‘I am,’ he says to her. He takes hold of her cheek. ‘I’ll see you soon, OK?’ He smiles and leaves, with Jazz still seeming to be hanging on his every word.
‘Whatever,’ Jazz says, before stomping off to dance.
Jesus, the drama! Are they sleeping together? I didn’t hear either of them denying it, and touching her cheek; surely that's not normal friendly behaviour?
I’m suddenly aware of Grace behind me from the strong vixen perfume she insists on wearing.
‘So, wish me luck tonight,’ she whispers seductively in my ear.
‘Sorry, are you talking to me?’ I ask, swivelling round to face her. She’s wearing a short red dress with huge gold hoop earrings. She actually looks a bit like J-Lo tonight.
‘Yes, of course I’m talking to you,’ she hisses, jutting her jaw out in temper.
‘Oh, well...yeah, good luck,’ I say as evenly as I can, willing my voice not to break.
‘I know you like him, you know,’ she says, her voice accusing.
I turn away from her, burnt by her words, trying to think of a reply; some kind of put-down, a witty remark. But my thoughts are too jumbled. Instead I spot Cheryl dangerously close to Annabel. Cheryl is talking to some girls from work, seeming to be telling a story, probably about her child. Annabel is laughing at a joke Richard’s told. Cheryl looks up at the crowd as they laugh at her story. She looks straight at Annabel.
I hold my breath.
A quick flash of recollection goes through her face. Every muscle in my body tightens. Now she’s looking down at her glass of wine, as if to think of where she knows her from. Please don't remember. Please don't remember.
I make a silent prayer in my head. Dear God, please don't let this happen. I’ll go back to church, I promise. And I’ll volunteer somewhere. Anything, please!
‘Are you listening to me?’ Grace says scathingly.
‘Oh...yes,’ I mumble, remembering she’s there.
I turn quickly back to Cheryl’s reaction. She knows, I just know she knows. She’s glaring towards Annabel and I think her hands are shaking. Please Cheryl, don't cause a scene.
‘I wasn’t born yesterday,’ Grace snarls to my left. ‘I just want to warn you – you don't stand a chance.’
‘Oh,’ I say, not really listening. ‘Well, you’ve got it all wrong anyway.’
Cheryl walks over to Annabel, her hands now definitely shaking, and taps her on the shoulder.
I stare at them helplessly, feeling sick with fright, not daring to move a muscle. Cheryl, if you can hear me and have become telepathic, please understand there is no need to cause a scene.
‘What the fuck are you doing here?’ she slurs at her. I didn’t realise she was drunk too.
‘Excuse me?’ Annabel asks, leaning back from her. ‘Do I know you?’
Richard looks at Cheryl bemused, sure she must be a lunatic. Probably just assuming if she’s my friend she must be insane.
‘Just watch your back,’ Grace whispers in my ear, sending a chill down my spine.
‘You don't know me. But you know my husband,’ Cheryl slurs.
‘Really?’ Annabel laughs, seeming completely oblivious.
‘You should do. You’ve been screwing him!’ Cheryl explodes.
‘Are you fucking listening?’ Grace snarls, shoving me on the shoulder.
‘Grace, I’ve got to go.’
I don’t have time for her shit right now. I turn and start to walk across the room, my stomach flipping from nerves, towards the unfolding drama that everyone’s turned to watch.
As I put my right leg in front of the other I feel something in its way. I try to miss it, but can’t and the tightness of my dress means I can't steady myself. There’s nothing I can do. I’m going down. I’m going down and it's going to hurt.
Slam! I hit the floor, face down. An overpowering black, heavy pain takes over my forehead, spreading across my entire head. I press myself up slightly and open my eyes, but the rooms spinning as if I’ve drunk tequila. A sharp hot sting starts on my face, just above my eyebrow. Why won't the room stop spinning?
‘Shit, Poppy! Are you ok?’ I hear Izzy shout.
‘I...I...’
I try to look up at her, but moving my head even an inch starts a throbbing so strong I clench my eyes shut. Someone grabs me under the shoulders, swooping me up to standing in one swift movement. My head almost explodes from the fastness. I open my eyes and realise that I’m on Ryan’s lap and he’s inspecting my face.
‘I don't know what you’re talking about,’ I hear Annabel shout. ‘Who is this crazy woman?’
‘Che....Cheryl,’ I stammer, trying to point towards them but instead only managing to point at a wall.
‘My name is Cheryl. Cheryl Foster!’
I look up again and this time I manage to focus in on Annabel’s face, through the purple spots. Sudden recognition is written all over it and Richard seems to notice.
‘Let me see your head,’ Ryan demands.
I look up to him, my head still blurry. He looks kind of worried. A fresh sharp sting takes my attention back to my eyebrow. I put my hand up to it and feel something warm. I look at my hand to see dark red blood in between my fingers. I swallow convulsively, my stomach heaving.
‘Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God,’ I say over and over to myself, suddenly shaking hysterically.
‘Is she bleeding?’ Jazz asks from the other side, struggling to stand still.
I swing my head round to her but only manage to let the vice tighten around my skull. I close my eyes, trying to hear through the ringing in my ears.
‘It's pretty deep,’ Ryan clarifies. ‘Plus I think there's still a bit of glass in there.’
‘I honestly don't know who this woman is!’ Annabel shouts. I open my eyes to see the entire party now watching closely to see how this plays out.
‘I know it's you! Me and Poppy saw you with our own eyes!’ Cheryl screams.
Annabel freezes rigid and Richard reacts as if he’s been slapped in the face. He looks over to me, devastation in his eyes.
‘Poppy,’ Ryan says, clicking his fingers in front of me. ‘Do you think you could stay still while I try and pick it out?’
‘Can't you see a drama is unfolding?’ I attempt to shout, but instead my voice is weak and shaky.
‘Poppy?’ Richard walks towards me, his face furious. ‘Is this right? Did you see Annabel and her husband?’
I slowly raise my head, afraid to see his face.
‘Um...I...I may have,’ I admit. I’m still so dizzy.
‘WHAT?’ He stares at me, completely horrified and disgusted. ‘You knew she was having an affair? And you never fucking told me!?’
‘I’m...I’m sorry.’ I can feel my lip trembling.
‘I can't fucking believe this!’ he shouts, the vein in his forehead bulging out.
I close my eyes again and try to fight the nausea with all of my strength, clamping my lips together.
‘Mate, I think you need to get out of her face. Can't you see she’s got a head injury?’ Ryan says, putting his hands up and trying to push Richard away.
‘Who the fuck are you?’ Richard asks, his face hostile.
‘I’m Poppy’s housemate and right now you just need to get out of her face so we can take her to hospital.’
‘Richard, let’s go,’ Annabel pleads reaching for his arm with tears in her eyes.
‘Get off me, you fucking whore!’ he snaps, throwing her off.
This is really not going well.
Richard storms out, Annabel running after him, while the whole party watches in shock.
‘Jesus,’ Ryan sighs once they’re gone. ‘Drama follows you around, doesn’t it? Anyway, do you think you could stay still while I try and pick it out?’
I nod and swallow, my stomach heaving from the thought of the blood. Izzy holds my head still and Jazz holds my hand while he pokes around in my wound.
‘Aaaah!’ I cry, trying to wrench my head away from him.
‘I’m just trying to get the glass out of it!’ he shouts back frustrated.
‘Why is there glass in it anyway?’ I ask, still disorientated.
‘You fell on some broken glass,’ Izzy explains, squeezing my hand. ‘I think it was your brother’s Becks bottle.’
‘Only you could get these bizarre injuries,’ Jazz snorts, still hiccupping.
‘She needs to go to hospital and get it sorted out,’ Ryan tells Izzy.
‘Ok. Jazz, will you come with us?’ Izzy asks her.
‘I’m coming too,’ Ryan says, lifting me off him and standing up.
‘No. It's fine,’ I protest, tears pricking at my eyes as the sting turns into an itch.
‘I want to come,’ he says, still supporting me with his arm around my waist.
‘Well I don't want you to,’ I snap, getting up and walking towards the door before I burst into angry violent tears.
* * *
‘I’m afraid that you’ll need stitches,’ the greying lady doctor says to me, as she pulls the last shred of glass out of my wound and places it in a grey paper dish.
‘Stitches? Are you sure?’ I ask, my voice unnaturally shrill. ‘Can't we just put a large plaster over it or something?’
‘I’m afraid not.’ She smiles politely, but isn’t able to fully conceal her smirk. Probably thinking how ridiculous I am. ‘But, seen as it's your birthday, you can bring your friends in with you.’