ALICE Ch 244

“Anything?” Kylie asks when Lora returns to the bar.

Katya is just as Lora left her, except Kylie has put the umbrella from her new drink into the poor girl’s hair.

Lora plucks it out and tosses it away, glaring at Kylie.

“No,” she says, annoyed. “Nobody even knew her name.” A couple of people had thoughtfully reacted the way that Lora did: saying that she looks familiar. But nobody knows where she is supposed to be, or even what team she is with. Of course, if she is with one of the teams, what’s she doing down here looking as though she’s dressed for a party?

Lora senses that Katya was waiting for someone. A date, surely. And that person didn’t show up, hence the level of consumption. That feels like a sane and rational explanation. Perfectly understandable. Lora likes things that she understands. She doesn’t like talking to strangers, and she doesn’t like being looked at by strangers, or even perceived by strangers in any way. Having made the rounds in the bar and talked to loads of people, the battery that powers her ability to interact is less than empty. This makes her irritable. Irritability is unlikable; as though she wasn’t self-conscious enough already. She wants Kylie’s beer as much as Katya does, but she can’t drink before a race. She needs to get a good night’s sleep.

“Lora,” Kylie says in a singsong voice. “Stop ADD-ing.”

“That is not a verb. What do we do with her?”

“Reckon she’ll have to sleep it off.”

“If I find out she’s with Red Bull,” Lora pants as they haul Katya into the elevator. “I’m going to send Christian Horner a bill for one million pounds.”

“He has that in sofa cushions,” Kylie replies.

They get the mumbling girl through Kylie’s door, only for her to suddenly reanimate and stumble into the bathroom.

Relieved, Lora closes the door for her. Maybe they can be rid of her after all.

“If she’s being sick, she had best not miss,” Kylie warns as she bends to take a beer from the mini fridge.

“Let me have some. Just a bit.” Lora takes it from her and drinks a quarter of it. “Fuck all this,” she mutters.

“Yeah. You tell them, Lora,” Kylie says, making devil horns with her fingers. Lora rolls her eyes.

The toilet flushes. Moments pass. Kylie tries to take her beer back; Lora holds on for a moment but quickly loses the struggle. As Lora’s going to Kylie’s fridge for a bottle of water, Katya emerges blearily from the bathroom. The water’s still running in there, but that’s not as attention-grabbing as Katya. She’s shed her dress and wears only an appallingly minimalist thong that really isn’t sufficient to contain her package.

Her level of lucidity isn’t exactly clear as she shuffles past them, apparently unseeing. She does not so much flop onto Kylie’s bed as simply tip forward onto it, like a building falling over. She stays as she lands, like a plank, feet dangling, perfectly still. She has a lower back tattoo of two pistols and a skull surrounded by roses.

Lora’s had enough. She leans over. “Oi,” she says, giving Katya a shake.

“Is she dead?” Kylie asks.