The Most Difficult Thing. Charlotte Philby
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by friends, his top flaked with vomit, wobbled precariously in front of us.
‘Sorry, babe,’ one of them called out as we stepped back to make way.
Brushing past them as quickly as I could, I watched Harry and Meg disappear ahead of us into the club, Harry’s hand pressing against the small of her back as he guided her in from the street.
He is just looking out for her, I told myself. There is nothing more to it than that.
‘Maybe we should go somewhere else, it looks crazy busy in there. I’ve got some …’
David hesitated as we reached the entrance where little more than a handful of smokers gathered outside, hemmed in by a single rope. But I kept walking.
‘I don’t want to leave Meg,’ I replied without turning around.
Down a narrow flight of stairs, the club was heaving with people, a dark warren of rooms, loud and airless, house music vibrating against low ceilings and windowless walls.
The bar stood at the back of the central room, thick with bodies. The heat suddenly overwhelming, I wished I wasn’t wearing a shirt on top of my vest-top. David moved towards the bar, pulling me protectively by my waist. ‘What do you want to drink?’
‘Water,’ I called over the throb of noise, my eyes frantically weaving through the crowd, desperate to find Harry and Meg, but all I could see were strobe lights and contorted faces, spilling over one another.
When David finally handed me my drink, I sipped gratefully before screwing up my face.
‘What is this?’
‘Vodka and soda … I …’ he called over the noise, which drowned out his voice as I pushed my head back, so thirsty I drank it all in one go.
‘Steady,’ he pulled the drink away from me, laughing nervously, but I pulled it back and drank the dregs.
‘You should pace yourself … How are you feeling?’ he asked a few minutes later, his mouth pressed against my ear.
‘Let’s dance!’ I shouted back as the whole room exploded with movement, a wave of euphoria rising in one endless swell of rhythm and sound. Pulling off my top layer, I turned, my arms stretched wide, my teeth grinding out of beat, and found David, his arm around my back, his breath against my face, the smell of sambuca on his lips.
I cannot be sure how long we stayed like that, our bodies swaying in primal movements, before a sickness hit my stomach, acid rising, scraping at the inside of my throat, the walls suddenly pushing towards me.
Stumbling backwards, my leg pressed against a leather bench which I had not been expecting and I sank back onto it, grateful but also unable to sit still, my skin burning and then cold, so that I pushed myself to standing. I could feel the strap of my top slinking off my arm, but there was nothing I could think to do to pull it up again.
The room was a slush of noise by now, indistinct notes thrashing against one another as I felt my way along the wall towards the exit, my breath tightening as strangers’ bodies crushed against my own.
Finally, my fingers curled around something cold and angular. It was another wall, leading away from the crowd and into a smaller corridor, which was dark and thankfully cool. It was quieter here and I was alone. For a moment I half-stood, half-crouched, my back against the wall, the breath slowing in my chest, before, from the end of the corridor, I felt movement and I knew that I wasn’t alone. With an animal sense, I recognised the presence of another person, even as my eyes still struggled to adjust. Then a shuffle of feet, and another, followed by a voice.
‘Anna?’ It was Meg, her face moving towards mine, and then another voice behind her reaching in through the mist. Harry.
‘Shit, it’s Anna!’ Meg’s hands gripped my body as I slumped, David stepping in in time to break my fall.
When I came to, the room was quiet.
Even with my eyes closed I could register a sense of space above my head. My body, heavy and unfamiliar, pressed down against the springs of a mattress.
‘Anna? Thank God, man.’
I stretched my neck, my movements slow and unfamiliar as Meg’s voice emerged, along with her pale face as she bent over me.
Sitting, I pulled the sheets around a T-shirt I didn’t recognise. It was her flat we were in – my flat, now – the curtains sagging against the window.
‘I took your clothes off, they were covered in sick.’ She did her best to make it sound casual.
‘I’m cold.’ My voice was raspy and Meg nodded, seemingly pleased by the specificity of the instruction, jumping up and leaving the room without another word. Seconds later there were more footsteps, heavier this time, less certain, moving towards the bed.
‘David, maybe wait a minute, yeah?’
Meg followed him back into the room, the duvet from her own bed bundled in her arms. But he was oblivious, his bloodshot eyes trained on mine.
‘I’m so sorry.’
He lowered himself as I pulled the covers tighter around my chest, still dazed, distracted by the taste in my mouth.
The outside world was an uncertain grey, I couldn’t tell if it was dawn or dusk.
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘The MDMA, it was just a dab in your drink, I warned you …’
I felt myself back in the airless bar, David’s voice mouthing words I could barely hear as my eyes scanned the room desperately for signs of Harry. I had smiled as I turned back to him, masking my disappointment as I took the drink from his hand and downed it, my eyes wincing at the bitter aftertaste.
‘Leave me. I’m fine, it’s fine, I just need to sleep …’
‘I’m sorry, honestly Anna, I thought you knew … I thought it was what you wanted.’ His face was stained with desperation.
‘Just let me sleep. Please.’ I turned away from them both, the sound of their footsteps moving into the hallway, fading again a moment later.
When I woke again, the flat was silent, and the memory of the night before came back to me in waves.
Placing a pillow in front of my face in a futile attempt to stem the flow of thoughts, tears of shame pricked the corners of my eyes, the humiliation churning in my gut, heavy and hot.
How much had Harry seen? Was I sick in the club or only once we had come home? Fucking David. I said the words aloud. I never took drugs, never risked putting myself in a position where I wasn’t in control. I couldn’t. And yet, how was he to know? I had let them believe that I did, him and Meg. I remember the sharp taste of a pill on my tongue, on nights out in Brighton, those few seconds before I turned and spat it into my hands, disposing of it before either of them saw, terrified they would spot that I wasn’t one of them.
The flat was empty, silence ringing through the air as I moved slowly towards the kitchen.
On the table, there was a note.
Hope you’re feeling OK. Pizza and juice in the fridge. Make yourself at home. Mx.
Beside it, my keys, purse and phone, which Meg must have pulled from my pockets after stripping me down.
Desperate for a distraction, I pressed the home button on my phone and watched the screen light up. Rather than a message from my parents wondering where I was, I was met only by the date and time flashing on the screen against the backdrop of a photo taken by David on Brighton Pier, two summers