Page 12

‘Check out the talent,’ Andy says, eyeing up some girls who have just come out of the breakfast buffet in an assortment of tiny shorts and cut-out swimsuits.

I grimace at him slightly. ‘I say we head to the pool, have a dip, get them Estrellas in?’ Andy announces to everyone.

There are cheers and murmurs of approval.

I look at Max still sorting the paperwork and directing bags into a cupboard next to reception.

Or maybe he could help his mate rather than thinking about where his next drink is coming from?

How am I going to do three days with this man?

I’ve already wanted to shove him out of a bus, now I want to drown him.

I put a hand to Max’s back as they all disperse to the gardens of this well-landscaped hotel and its large winding tropical lagoon style pools .

‘I’ve got you, bro. Here, you deal with all the signatures and key cards. I’ll do the bags.’

He smiles. I spy a black trolley bag marked with Andy’s name.

Maybe it’s the lack of sleep, but an evil whim overwhelms, and I slip it into a trolley headed out towards the airport.

Sorry, not sorry. I can hear him out by the pool area, still singing like a howling dog.

I turn to Max leaning over the reception counter, looking like he’s struggling.

‘You still with me?’ I ask him.

He holds his head in his hands, scrunching up his hair. ‘I shouldn’t have drunk so much at the airport. I think that, mixed with the heat, has got me…’ he says.

I prop him up and then turn to the receptionist. ‘Disculpe, senorita. ?Tiene usted agua?’

She reaches under the desk to a small fridge and pulls out a bottle of water.

‘Down this now before any more alcohol. Did you eat anything?’ I ask him.

He shakes his head, holding the bottle to his lips and gulping it down.

I sigh. ‘It’s like I’ve taught you nothing over the years.’ I reach into my backpack and dig out a cereal bar. ‘You can have that.’

‘Yes, Dad.’

The receptionist looks at us curiously. ‘?Padre?’

I shake my head, laughing. ‘Hermano.’ Christ, I hope she doesn’t think I look that old.

There’s only five years separating us. She smiles and looks over at Max who is a whiter shade of grey.

‘Senor Max, if you are feeling unwell then I can maybe find a room for you. I can’t accommodate your whole party but I can give you the one room? ’

‘Really? Eso sería increíble,’ I tell her, getting my Spanish out again to try and seal this deal.

She looks at her screen and nods. ‘Room 345, you can use the lifts to the right here. But your friends will have to wait,’ she says, side-eyeing them.

‘Gracias,’ I say, flashing my best smile.

‘Max? Max?’ He looks at me over the tops of his sunglasses.

Oh dear, I know that look. It’s halfway between throwing up and passing out.

He did this to me halfway up some stairs before and I couldn’t deal, so had to just leave him there with a pillow and a blanket hoping he wouldn’t slide down in the night.

I prop him up against me and shuffle him towards the lifts, trying to drag two bags along with me too. ‘I owe you one, bro,’ he whispers. ‘I should have eaten,’ he says, cereal crumbs spitting out the side of his mouth.

‘I should have forced something down you at that pub. Some bacon or something,’ I say, realising that I am carrying his body weight.

I push him into the lift where he collapses into a corner, curling into the fetal position.

He looks about twelve, partly because he’s always had a baby face but also because he had to borrow someone’s SpongeBob SquarePants swimming trunks that he’s wearing with a tie-dye T-shirt and some trendy bright blue rimmed sunglasses.

‘Can you make it to the room? Or do you want a piggyback?’ I ask him. I don’t know why I’ve offered this. This was perhaps an option when I was fifteen and he was ten but I don’t know if I can carry him now.

He pushes himself up and clings to my back like a koala, wedged between me and the side of the lift. This will all be in the legs. His head nestled on my shoulder, he mumbles in my ear, ‘I wonder what Amy is doing. Do you think she’s also drunk? I love her so much, man.’

I didn’t realise he was this wasted. The philosophical end of the drunken spectrum.

It’s good to hear him talk about Amy like this though.

They were childhood sweethearts and, despite my reservations that maybe he hadn’t lived enough, they stood the course and she’s a sweet girl who looks out for him.

She’s at a spa in Bucharest this weekend and I am hoping she’s got better friends and just living her best life with some mud packs and an infra-red sauna.

‘I know you do. Please don’t throw up on me.’

‘I won’t.’

The lift stops. This is the test. I can carry five bags of shopping at the same time, I reckon I can do this. I straighten my legs and lean forward to take his weight. ‘Oh my dicking hell. How heavy are you?’

‘Rude.’ He places his head on the back of my shoulder. ‘Can we get room service?’

I look up momentarily to look at the floor signs, kicking our bags along as we go. ‘Shall we get chips?’

‘You know me so well.’

‘I’m your brother, that’s part of the job description. Get that key card ready. I don’t have enough hands.’

He holds it up so I can see it. In this heat, the carrying of another human is really not great. I have a newfound respect for people who carry things. Sherpas, camels, horses. I count the doors, sweat starting to form around my temples. I feel a shot of hot air around the back of my neck.

‘Max, did you just burp on me?’

‘Just be glad you can’t smell it.’ I feel his body convulse.

‘Don’t you dare, don’t you dare.’ I can’t have this stag do start with steaming hot sick down the back of my neck.

I pick up the speed, counting the doors.

340, 341, 342, 344, 34…This feels like an awful relay where the changeover has to be perfection to avoid disaster.

Max waves the key card at the sensor. ‘Go go go,’ I shout like an army major, plonking him down by the entrance.

He storms into the room, heads to the bathroom and then I hear him throwing up violently.

I look in and he’s clinging onto the toilet bowl, a look of sadness yet relief on his face.

Thank god. I drop the bags, put my hands on my knees to steady myself, my T-shirt sticky on my back.

And then I look up. I frown. Why are there shoes in this room?

And an open suitcase? An older woman stands on the balcony with what looks like a butter knife in the air, petrified.

I put my hands to the air to show I come in peace.

And then the screaming.

‘INTRUDERS! POLICE! HELP! WE’RE UNDER ATTACK!’

The noise is coming not from her, but from inside the bathroom. I look in, and in the bath, another woman, completely naked, pelts bottles of free toiletries at Max, then holds a showerhead directly at him as he cowers in the corner, the bath mat his only defence.