Party Animal by Marian Keyes

Author:Marian Keyes
Language: eng
Format: azw3, mobi
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Sarah McInerney is a Sunday Tribune reporter.

19. HITCH

Sarah McInerney

A row of white-washed cottages sat sleepily in the dawn, their occupants snug in bed. Except for Josephine Banks. She hopped on one high heel down the tiled hallway, bag, umbrella, coat, keys and phone growing like weeds from various parts of her body. She bit into an apple, and held it in her mouth, fastening the strap on her other shoe and struggling with the wrought iron deadbolt that promised her safety. Up earlier than everyone else, Josephine was still in a hurry.

Flinging open the door, she squinted into the morning sun, and grabbed the wreath of flowers that sat on the hall table, sucking water from a punctured green oasis. She plucked at a curling brown petal that hung from one of the lillies, shut the door behind her, turned, and tripped on her own haste and carelessness. Her apple took flight. Her body surrendered to gravity. Her hands were too busy saving the flowers to be of any help.

She hit the ground head first. A headache burst into life, streaming down the back of her skull to sympathise with the shooting pain in her neck. Cheek scratched against gravel. Curses flowed. She lay there. Aching. Hurt. And wondering if any of the neighbours saw. Two doors down, McKenzie’s curtains twitched. More curses. Her skirt rode high on her thigh, a ladder racing up her new stockings. A patch of blood blossomed on her knee. She pushed herself upright, straightened her skirt, and kicked her apple under a bush. For the birds. Blood pooled in the sole of her shoe. Sticky and warm. She looked at her car and looked at her door. She walked to her car. No time for changing clothes. Sliding into her little red mini, Josephine located a packet of tissues and a box of painkillers from her glove compartment. Using the tissues to stop the blood flow, she threw three white tablets into her mouth and swallowed them dry. Grimacing. Turning the ignition. Trying to ignore the reflex to gag. She reversed the car. And hit something. She felt the reverberations just before she heard a surprised grunt. Trickles of foreboding ran over her body as she peered in the rear view mirror. A perfectly manicured lawn sparkled in front of a perfectly manicured house. Slowly pushing the door open, she peeked around to the back of the car. A pair of army boots protruded from behind the back wheel.

“Jesus Christ.” She got out. A man was lying behind the car. Pale. Unconscious. A puppy sat beside an upended cardboard box, bathing the man’s face in saliva. He paused just long enough to look up at Josephine, brown eyes accusing. Josephine took out her phone and called an ambulance. She slid down the side of the car. Her legs didn’t want to hold her up. Her mind did somersaults. What would she say? She didn’t know the man. She looked like she’d done ten rounds in a boxing ring.

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