Page 50 of The Secret
“I’m just trying to get through the day,” I say. Maybe some honesty will deflect them.
The barman appears with three sickly-green drinks, and we all eye them dubiously.
“Who was this friend who recommended these?” Jo asks, and Kate grins.
“An anesthetist.”
“Jesus, was his judgment skewed by what he does to people every day?” Jo mutters.
We sip cautiously, and as the sweet lime liquid slides down my throat my tastebuds explode.Oh, that’s fabulous.I smile at Jo. “Clearly a guy who understands the value of the anesthetic properties of alcohol,” I say.
This is actually nice, being here, with them, apart from the rabbit-caught-in-the-headlights nature of it.
“I think it’s just a question of time,” I say, mumbling into another syrupy swig. And my stomach drops, the disloyalty burning down my throat. I don’t want to forget Dan or what he was to me.
“Trying something different can’t hurt. Even if you only do it for a little while. Even if it’s shit and you come back. You could come back in weeks,” Kate assures.
“They’re desperate for volunteers,” Jo adds.
Kate bites her lip. “Thousands of people are starving.”
“Is this to do with all the typhoons they get?” I know very little about the Philippines, apart from the fact that they get a lot of tropical storms.
Jo nods. “Typhoons, earthquakes, volcanoes, you name it.”
Of course.The Pacific ring of fire.
“A lot of the endemic problems haven’t been addressed. A mountain of aid is not reaching those who need it most.” Kate taps the paper.
“Corruption,” I mumble into my drink. I’ve seen it all before. “And a significant degree of desperation too.”
I eye the pair of them sitting on their stools like a couple of chipmunks. “I don’t want to forget him.”
Jo reaches over to squeeze my hand. “I understand that, sweetie, and you don’t have to forget him. You could go, do something useful, and still remember him.” She squeezes my fingers with a grimace. “Promise me you’ll think about it.”
I’m not going to get out of this. “Okay.”
The picture I have of him in my head is already fading. The last thing I need is to be distracted from remembering the unchecked grin that would roll over his face that made me feel like I was looking at the sun.
One thing’s for sure, though, I’m not fucking going to the Philippines.
23
LISS
Friday, October 18, 2019
The next morning, I crack an eye open as a vice tightens around my temples. It’s been a long time since the throbbing in my head took over my whole skull …Congoin fact. I roll onto my back, and the whole room swings.God.Stretching out my arm to grab my phone, a piece of paper flutters to the floor and I scrabble at it with my fingertips.That goddamn article. I groan, screwing it into a ball and throwing it across the room where it bounces off my closet.
I peer at the time on my screen: 10 a.m. dammit. I shuffle out into the hall, past Kate’s door as I remember Jo drunk-dialing Janus, lurching on her stool as she whisper-shouted what she was going to do to his penis with her mouth. I laugh. I hope he had a wild night.Goddammit. I amnotthinking about penises, guys, sex, or any of that stuff. In the bathroom, I throw down water and tablets with gay abandon.Food.
The kitchen’s tidy, and a note on the countertop tells me that Kate has gone to work. How the hell did she get up early? Flicking the switch on the coffee percolator, I inhale the smoky bitterness as I grab a bowl of yoghurt. Then I curl up in bed with my laptop and press the play button for my nextCSIepisode.
Four hours later, I click pause and rest my head back on the headboard. The ceiling is as stained and peeling as it always is, and my tummy gurgles as the quiet of the apartment tickles at my senses.I’m starving.Once I’ve rustled up some cheese and crackers, I potter back to my room and flop onto the duvet, my eyes landing on the scrunched-up article. Damn that thing. I lever up and head over to put it in the trash, stopping to collect yesterday’s outfit where I shed it on the floor last night. I dump the clothes in the hamper and unwittingly smooth the paper out on the bed, eyes skimming over the page, latching on to a picture of a group of sickly-looking children.What’s wrong with them?I scan up the article and before I know it, I’m reading. Cholera, typhoid, no clean water. In ten minutes, I’m through the whole thing, gut churning. Still so bad so many years after the tsunami.
I pick up my laptop and start clicking, calling two friends in aid organizations and reading through a multitude of articles before the sunlight tracking across the ceiling makes me glance at the clock. Jesus, it’s 4 p.m. And yep, it’s terrible out there. One of the managers was delighted to hear from me, and gave me the number for Care Philippines, who, she said, would know a lot more.
TheCSIvideo is still hovering on the screen, and I release the pause button. I’m forgetting about this crap right now. I grind my teeth. I don’t need another problem to chew over. But somehow I can’t stop my mind drifting to starving children and conversations about water and cholera.Goddamn Kate and Jo.How well they know me. Urgency starts to thrum through my blood, and I toss back the covers, diving into the shower and scrubbing at my skin. The local rep for Care Philippines in the USA is someone named Letty, and when I call her, she squeaks excitedly at me, telling me to come in, so I throw on something presentable and head out the door, gathering a coffee from my favorite barista before jumping on a bus.
