Page 32 of Marley

“Please tell me he’s not in there with six birds too?” Len asked through gritted teeth.

“No, he’s on his own.”

“Well, thank fuck for that.”

“He just had three grams of coke and two spliffs for company.”

Lennon made a sort of choking noise, but I didn’t look at his face. I was too busy jumping off the bed and pulling on a pair of boxers to watch his reaction.

I banged on Maca’s door. Nothing. I tried the handle, but it was still locked.

“Maca, c’mon, get up.” I shouted, then continued banging with my fist.

“Where’s Milo?” I called to Len over my shoulder.

“In his room I s’pose, why?”

“We need to get this door open. He was a fucking mess last night. I checked on him once, but forgot to check back.” I explained.

Len was already on the phone, calling down to Milo’s room. I continued to bang on the door, then used my shoulder to try and break my way in, but it didn’t budge.

I looked around for something to unscrew the handle with and took in the empty bottles, when another realisation dawned on me.

“Oh fuck, Len.”

“What?”

“I think he might have a bottle of Jack in there with him as well.”

“For fuck’s sake, Marls.” He moved as he spoke and in an instant, he was beside me.

“After three,” he ordered. We counted, then threw our shoulders against the door, but we didn’t stand a chance against the heavy hotel, standard fire door.

There was a knock and Len moved to let Milo into the room. He promptly pulled a small leather case from his pocket and opened it up to reveal a set of alum keys and small screw drivers. He had the door unlocked in less than a minute. Milo and Len rushed in, but like a coward, I hung back.

I’ve never told anybody this, but in that moment, I knew. Don’t ask me how, but I just knew that one day, we would lose Maca.

“For fuck’s sake,” I heard Len say. Seemed to be his favourite phrase for the day.

“Get him up, Mi. Marls, get in here.”

“Fucking hell,” was the first thing I said as the stench of vomit hit me.

Maca was, luckily, face down in his own puke, lying across the bed.

“Is he breathing?” My voice sounded as terrified as I felt.

“Yeah,” Milo grunted. “Go and put the shower on. You can hold him up in there.”

I headed into the bathroom and turned on the shower. It was one of those that sits over the bath, so no room for both of us.

Milo dragged him in with his back against his chest as he held him under his armpits, lifting him and lying him in the bath. I took the showerhead off the slide rail it was on and spray water over Maca’s head, face, and chest, washing the puke away. He opened one eye.

“Morning, Princess—wakey, wakey, rise and shine. Don’t you know its breakfast time?” I repeated the greeting my mum had woken us with all of our lives.

“Fuck off, Marls,” he croaked out.

“Get showered, Maca. Get some coffee and some food inside ya. You’ve got a photo shoot in an hour and then a live to air interview. You go straight from that to the venue for a practise and a run through with the light techs,” Lennon barks at him. Maca proceeded to lean forward and throw up into his own crotch.