spine.
“What’s wrong, Savannah?” John asked, as he entered the key card into the electronic lock to their suite. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Nothing,” she lied. “Just a bit tired I guess.”
Savannah’s worries evaporated when they entered the suite.
“Oh my God,” she said, open mouthed, hands and arms outstretched. “You could fit fifty of my bedsits in here.”
It was a vision of lavish taste with luxurious curtains, drapes and crystal chandeliers. Cream-coloured walls held elaborately framed original works of art. Tied-back gold and green striped drapes separated the bedroom from the seating area and a beautifully adorned king size bed invited tired and wealthy visitors to rest their weary heads. An abundance of fine antique furniture completed, but at no time cluttered, the expansive space. Savannah was in heaven. Then John fell apart.
“Savannah, pass me that Harrods bag!” he shouted, holding his head in both hands. “How could I have forgotten?”
“What’s the matter, John?”
“Hurry up. Not that one, the one with my jeans in it.”
Savannah could see John visibly shaking as he frantically dumped the contents of the bag onto the huge bed. He grabbed his jeans, like his life depended on it, and pulled one of the pockets inside out, sending a folded piece of paper onto the pale cream duvet. John gently picked it up and sat down on the side of the bed, staring at it like he expected it to burst into flames at any moment.
“What is it, John?” Savannah ran over to the bed and sat beside him. “Are you having a meltdown?”
John said nothing and continued to stare at the paper he held in both trembling hands.
Savannah put her arm around his shoulders. “Is that an emergency number you need to call if you feel strange?”
John turned to Savannah. “It was Mark’s,” he said, ashen faced.
“Is it his phone number? Do you need to call him? Is he your carer?”
John’s pained expression turned to confusion. “What are you talking about?” he waved the note an inch in front of Savannah’s face. “Mark had this in his hand when I found him. He’s dead and I haven’t even looked at the note. What sort of friend am I...? I mean was I? I can’t bring myself to open it, even now.”
“Calm down, John. It’s not real. You’re having an episode.” Savannah began to stroke his back. “It’ll be okay,” she whispered softly, over and over.
John jumped up from the bed. “It won’t be okay!” he shouted, stomping his foot repeatedly on the floor like a child in a tantrum. “My best friend’s dead. Don’t you get it? While we’ve been gallivanting around, he’s still dead and nothing will ever change that.”
Savannah’s wonderful dream had come to an abrupt halt. Lost cause, she reminded herself. How could she have repeated the formula so soon after the last disaster? Yet, this one had helped her. He wasn’t like the others. He might need help but he was not just a taker and abuser. Her gut instinct was to make an excuse, go outside the room, find a phone and call emergency services. She had the money to pay Christos. He would abide by their deal and set her free to start over. Savannah stood up feeling like a fraud and a bitch rolled into one.
“I need to get some air,” she said, marching towards the door.
“Please don’t go,” John said, his head and shoulders drooped as he turned and sat back down on the bed. “No more hysterics, I promise.”
Go, Savannah, she told herself. But she couldn’t do it. Just like she couldn’t say no to her father or leave Graham once she knew he was no good. Savannah was just as much a lost cause as John Smith.
“Turn on the TV please,” John said.
Savannah did as she was asked, picking up the remote from the ornate table and sending the signal to wake up the television from standby mode. The angle wasn’t the best so Savannah twisted the flat screen to allow them to see the picture face on, from the
“What’s wrong, Savannah?” John asked, as he entered the key card into the electronic lock to their suite. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Nothing,” she lied. “Just a bit tired I guess.”
Savannah’s worries evaporated when they entered the suite.
“Oh my God,” she said, open mouthed, hands and arms outstretched. “You could fit fifty of my bedsits in here.”
It was a vision of lavish taste with luxurious curtains, drapes and crystal chandeliers. Cream-coloured walls held elaborately framed original works of art. Tied-back gold and green striped drapes separated the bedroom from the seating area and a beautifully adorned king size bed invited tired and wealthy visitors to rest their weary heads. An abundance of fine antique furniture completed, but at no time cluttered, the expansive space. Savannah was in heaven. Then John fell apart.
“Savannah, pass me that Harrods bag!” he shouted, holding his head in both hands. “How could I have forgotten?”
“What’s the matter, John?”
“Hurry up. Not that one, the one with my jeans in it.”
Savannah could see John visibly shaking as he frantically dumped the contents of the bag onto the huge bed. He grabbed his jeans, like his life depended on it, and pulled one of the pockets inside out, sending a folded piece of paper onto the pale cream duvet. John gently picked it up and sat down on the side of the bed, staring at it like he expected it to burst into flames at any moment.
“What is it, John?” Savannah ran over to the bed and sat beside him. “Are you having a meltdown?”
John said nothing and continued to stare at the paper he held in both trembling hands.
Savannah put her arm around his shoulders. “Is that an emergency number you need to call if you feel strange?”
John turned to Savannah. “It was Mark’s,” he said, ashen faced.
“Is it his phone number? Do you need to call him? Is he your carer?”
John’s pained expression turned to confusion. “What are you talking about?” he waved the note an inch in front of Savannah’s face. “Mark had this in his hand when I found him. He’s dead and I haven’t even looked at the note. What sort of friend am I...? I mean was I? I can’t bring myself to open it, even now.”
“Calm down, John. It’s not real. You’re having an episode.” Savannah began to stroke his back. “It’ll be okay,” she whispered softly, over and over.
John jumped up from the bed. “It won’t be okay!” he shouted, stomping his foot repeatedly on the floor like a child in a tantrum. “My best friend’s dead. Don’t you get it? While we’ve been gallivanting around, he’s still dead and nothing will ever change that.”
Savannah’s wonderful dream had come to an abrupt halt. Lost cause, she reminded herself. How could she have repeated the formula so soon after the last disaster? Yet, this one had helped her. He wasn’t like the others. He might need help but he was not just a taker and abuser. Her gut instinct was to make an excuse, go outside the room, find a phone and call emergency services. She had the money to pay Christos. He would abide by their deal and set her free to start over. Savannah stood up feeling like a fraud and a bitch rolled into one.
“I need to get some air,” she said, marching towards the door.
“Please don’t go,” John said, his head and shoulders drooped as he turned and sat back down on the bed. “No more hysterics, I promise.”
Go, Savannah, she told herself. But she couldn’t do it. Just like she couldn’t say no to her father or leave Graham once she knew he was no good. Savannah was just as much a lost cause as John Smith.
“Turn on the TV please,” John said.
Savannah did as she was asked, picking up the remote from the ornate table and sending the signal to wake up the television from standby mode. The angle wasn’t the best so Savannah twisted the flat screen to allow them to see the picture face on, from the
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