Page 7

Since Bahrain, Harper and I have done a pretty decent job at playing nice. If you can call working out together and sitting opposite each other on the jet without bickering, playing nice. Not even the bitch that is jet lag has caused us to squabble. Yet. Especially as jet lag in Australia seems to be worse than jet lag in any other country. It hits me like a ton of bricks every year. Not that it seems to cause any disruption to Harper’s sparkling personality, he still seems to operate at high speed. Except he’s also been behaving, I even heard him turn down going out this evening when Johannes asked him right in front of me.

The clock on the bedside table blinks at me as the time ticks over to 5am. I’m not sure how long I’ve been asleep or if I even slept at all.

Sadly, the curtains are doing a poor job of shielding my gritty eyes from the blisteringly bright sunlight, so there’s no way of me going back to sleep even if I tried.

It’s evening in the UK. I could call Elise and check in, but I only spoke to them eight hours ago when I couldn’t sleep the first time round. Instead, I settle on firing up my laptop to assess what Netflix in Australia has to offer. A cooking show catches my attention and I curl around the laptop in the hope of having a restful morning.

Harper and I don’t have plans to work out until 9am, at his insistence that my 7am starts were much too early for him. It’s a tiny compromise to keep Anders off both of our backs. I might as well make the most of being awake already, but not having anything to do.

I’m halfway through the first episode when my phone starts ringing. To my surprise, it’s Harper. Before 7am, nonetheless.

‘Hello?’ I answer cautiously. What could he want at this time of the morning? Or, come to think of it, at any time?

‘Can you come to my room?’ His voice is quiet and croaky and I’m almost afraid to ask why.

It was one thing being civil and trying to learn to be teammates. And another to be asking favours before the crack of dawn.

Has he got someone in there who shouldn’t be hearing this call? What kind of mess has he got himself into now? Yet another shitshow he wants to drag me into and then expect me to clean up. Whatever it is, I want no part in it.

‘Hi Kian, how are you? Thanks for asking, Harper, I was great until this call. Do you have no manners at all?’ I let out an exasperated sigh. ‘No, I can’t come to your room. It’s five in the morning.’

‘Kian.’ Oh no. This pleading tone is new, and I’m a sucker for a lost cause. ‘I, uh…’ The line goes quiet for a couple of seconds and then I hear the awful sound of someone retching and, worse, vomit hitting the surface of water.

‘Are you okay?’ What a stupid question when he’s clearly got his head in the toilet. My flash of compassion is gone in an instant. ‘Did you seriously just call me because you’re hungover? What is it you imagine I can do to help?’

‘Mmmm… Don’t have a hangover.’ He starts to cough and I have to pull the phone away from my ear as he heaves into the toilet again.

‘Sure, sure. The sick doesn’t lie.’

‘Not a fucking hangover, mate.’ He sounds pissed off. ‘I’ve been up all night. My stomach hasn’t been right since I got into bed.’ There’s a pitiful shake in his voice. I consider that if he were hungover, I don’t know why he would advertise it to me. The way he parties, he must be permanently wrecked, so if anyone knows how to deal with hangovers it’s him. If he’s as much like my father as I think, they’re probably his speciality.

Then again. I did see him right in front of my eyes last night decline a night out on the town with some of the other drivers, instead settling on just going for a quick meal with Johannes.

‘Still doesn’t answer the question of why you’re calling me,’ I say.

‘Please, just help me.’

Why am I such a pushover?I hate that I’m so close to caving.

‘Isn’t there someone else you could have called? Like Johannes, or if you’re unwell the team doctor?’

‘I can’t. It’s so early and you’re always awake.’ Oh, so I’m just the convenient call brilliant.

‘What do you expect me to do?’

‘I’ve drunk all the bottles of water and the ginger ale in the mini-fridge. Have you got any left in yours? Could you bring me something to sip on whilst I lie on the bathroom floor? And maybe some ice? Please.’ He sounds pathetic and desperate, and I fight the instinct to immediately cave to his demands. But then I realise this is the first time he’s actually used a pleasantry with me.

‘Okay.’ Ending the call, I roll out of bed and pull on a pair of sweats and a clean T-shirt. There’s a stock of bottled water and sports drinks in our mini fridges so I grab a couple of each and make my way down the corridor to his room. I knock on the door and he calls out that he’s put it on the latch. I try the handle and slip into the room.

Christ! It reeks in here.

The thick smell of sick hangs in the air and I quickly dump the bottles on his bed, cover my mouth and nose with the hem of my T-shirt and try not to gag as I race to open the windows. Opening both, grateful for the fresh air that rushes into the room. Luckily, the retching in the bathroom has stopped, but when I open the door I’m met with a very sorry state.

He’s as pale as a ghost, eyes bloodshot and face flushed. He’s curled around the base of the toilet, his cheek pressed to the cold tiles of the floor.

‘You look bloody awful.’

He eyes me with a frown, noting I’m empty-handed, and I realise I’ve left what I came with on his bed.

‘Thanks for stating the obvious,’ he croaks out, his throat sounding as rough as gravel on a cheese grater.

I hold up a finger to him, indicating that he should wait there, though he’s clearly going absolutely nowhere. I get the drinks and return.

‘Sip this,’ I say, kneeling next to him and handing him the bottle of water, ‘and then drink some of this.’ I pop the sports drink next to him. ‘You’ll be dehydrated after being so sick so you need to get some electrolytes into your system, too.’

He unscrews the cap quickly and begins to glug it down. I almost want to swat the bottle out of his hand because he’s only going to make himself throw up again doing that. Instead, I just steady his hand and hold the bottle for him. ‘Sip,’ I command, ‘otherwise you’re going to end up being sick again.’

He glares at me in response, almost as if he’s questioning why on earth he should listen to me. His stomach begins to grumble again, and he finally listens, restricting himself to small sips. Hey, he’s the one who called me instead of literally everyone else on the planet and I still don’t have a clue why.

Having done my job, I think about leaving. I really should … except his skin looks like death and his eyes are closed in pain. For the first time since we started working together, he looks vulnerable and alone. My sister might be the nurse in the family, but she’s not here and I can’t leave him on his own in this state. I need to look after him. No matter how annoying and infuriating he is. There’s a sheen of sweat across the top of his forehead and when I lean in to get an idea of his temperature, I can instantly feel he’s hot.

‘I think you’re running a fever. How about I go sort you out some fresh clothes and then you can get changed and get back into bed.’

He groans, but eventually nods.

It’s weird to be rifling through Harper’s messily packed kit bags, but I find what I’m looking for in the shape of a baggy T-shirt and some boxers, which look a size too big. Not that I know what he’s packing down there. I quickly shove that thought out of my brain.

I slip back into the bathroom, finding him exactly where I left him, pitifully clutching his stomach on the floor. ‘Do you think you can stand?’ I ask from the doorway and he shakes his head, before taking a couple more sips of water.

Christ, he’s really going to make me do this.

Crouching on the floor next to him, I gesture to the sweat-soaked T-shirt, which is clinging to his torso. ‘Am I okay to take this off?’

He nods, but the second my fingers skim the hem of his shirt he inhales a shaky breath. He doesn’t have to tell me this is awkward. I’m quick but careful as I strip him out of it; a sheen of sweat coats his chest and stomach.

‘One second.’ I pause, grabbing a washcloth from the hotel-provided pile and drench it in cold water before wiping him down.

His sweatpants are next, luckily with him being stretched out on the tiled floor I whip them off in one swift movement. I shouldn’t be surprised he’s naked beneath them, he seems like the type to enjoy going commando. Getting a clean pair of boxers on him proves to be much more difficult than taking off his sweats, but we make it work without the world ending over how weird this is.

I give him another second to enjoy the coolness of the cloth on his chest before drying him off with the hand towel and pulling the new, oversized T-shirt over his head.

The whole time, he’s been watching me, eyes half-lidded. I’d describe it as awe if he didn’t look moments from passing out.

‘Come on, let’s get you to bed.’ I tuck my arms under his shoulder to lift him off the floor and move one around his waist for support as we trudge back into the bedroom, before lowering him down on the bed.

He’s lethargic and looks damn exhausted as he shuffles across the bed. Why does this make me want to do nice things for him?

I find myself pulling back the duvet currently on his bed and grabbing a spare sheet from the wardrobe to drape over him. ‘You don’t want to overheat, so get comfy under this and then when your temperature comes down grab the duvet again. I should probably call the team doctor and ask for his opinion in case it isn’t just food poisoning and you have a stomach bug or something.’

‘No!’ he calls out, quickly interjecting. ‘Don’t notify them. They’ll just think I’m hungover and I don’t need a bollocking right now.’

‘Okay, okay.’ I’m holding my hands up defensively, but I can kind of see his point. We’ve both been chewed out enough recently by management. ‘I just don’t want you to get worse and not know what to do.’

A moment of realisation zings through me. ‘My sister is a nurse. How about I call her if you don’t perk up within the next twelve hours? Food poisoning – if that’s what this is – can get really bad, or it might be something else and you actually need medical attention.’

‘Sure. Not like she reports to the team or whatever, right?’ Harper’s struggling to keep his eyes open at this point, but every time he seemingly gets comfortable, he has to reach up and swipe his matted, sweaty curls off his head.

Something weird has come over me, because seconds later I’m in his bathroom, dampening yet another flannel with cold water, wringing it out and folding it into the perfect forehead size for Harper. Just call me Florence fucking Nightingale.

‘Am I okay to put this on your head?’ I dangle the cloth in front of him and he nods, so I sweep the curls off his forehead and replace them with the soothing flannel.

The noise that escapes his lips at the contact of the icy coolness on his forehead should be illegal, and my groin definitely shouldn’t be twitching.

The man is sick, Kian. Come on.

‘Thank you,’ he mumbles as he finally relaxes into his pillow.

I’m not sure how long I’ve been perched on the side of his bed for, but it’s definitely a couple of hours. Between scrolling social media and sending some emails, I’ve been checking on his fever every half hour or so, and I’ve done that at least three times. He’s still running warm, but nowhere near the scorching temperature his forehead was the first time I checked.

He’s not stirred for a while, either. For the first hour or so he thrashed under the sheet, arms wrapped around his stomach, and I was convinced he was going to wake up and be sick again. Eventually, however, he settled.

I check the world clock on my phone and it’s probably an okay time for me to call Elise, just to check I’m doing everything I should, so I slip into his bathroom and click her name on my phone.

‘Morning,’ she says cheerfully and I’m glad to hear it, if I’m honest. She’s sounded down the last couple of times we’ve spoken, even if she won’t openly admit things are hard right now.

‘Morning,’ I whisper back and she immediately laughs. ‘What?’

‘I thought the day would never come. Whose place are you calling from this early in the morning that has you whispering to your big sis?’

Oh, brilliant. I don’t know who she thinks I am, but she can’t for a second imagine I’m hiding in the bathroom of a hook-up, can she?

‘Christ, El. Get your head out of the gutter. I just need some medical advice. About food poisoning.’

‘Are you not well?’

‘No, it’s not me.’

‘So, who? Gotta know the patient before I can tell you the fix.’ I roll my eyes because it’s not like I’m asking her to diagnose a dramatic condition. I just want to check I’ve done everything I need to.

‘Elise…’

‘Kian, humour your big sister, please. You never have fun stories to tell me.’

Yeah, because looking after a vomiting rookie has been so much fun.

‘Sounds like Harper ate a bad burrito and spent half the night chucking up his guts. He was running a fever but is starting to cool down now. I hydrated him before he slept and tried to keep him cool. Just need to know anything else I can do.’

‘Oooooh, I can’t believe you’re looking after Harper James right now. Like, I swear, all I’ve heard from you nonstop is what a pain in the ass he is.’

‘He was sick, El. What should I have done? Just abandoned him?’ That shuts her up because there isn’t a world in which she would tell me to leave someone to look after themselves when they weren’t doing great. ‘Is there anything more I can do for him?’

‘Make sure when he wakes up that he takes a painkiller of his choice. He’ll probably have a sore throat from being sick and a raging headache from being dehydrated, even if you’ve given him water. Also, he needs to eat something today – small and often is key – as his stomach will be empty.’

I wasn’t planning on leaving straight away, but I also didn’t plan to be here when he woke up. Yet now I have no choice. Elise would be disappointed if I left him in his hour of need.

‘Sure. I can do all of that. I’ll get him some room service or something when he wakes up.’ If I get them to leave it at the door, they won’t even need to know I’m in here. I could just pretend to be Harper on the phone.

‘You’re a good guy, Kian, taking care of him when he’s been nothing but a dick to you.’

Talking about taking care of people… ‘How is everything at home?’ I say, I ask every day, but it still doesn’t feel like enough.

‘We’re good. Kids are tucked up in bed and Grant’s here for another day as a conference he was meant to be speaking at was cancelled. Mum’s been in her chair today – I gave her breakfast in it and everything. She remembered how much she loves cornflakes, so Grant’s been out and bought several boxes.’ Elise sounds pleased – vibrant, even – that Mum’s had a good day. It’s so good to hear right now.

Yet pinpricks sting my eyes and I have to control my breath out, completely hollowing my cheeks, to stop myself from crying about these moments I may never get to see first-hand again. And the guilt. The guilt that El’s doing it all…

‘I’m glad, Els,’ I croak out, my throat feeling dry as I swallow down another round of fresh tears. ‘Give everyone a big kiss from me, especially Mum. Tell her I love her so much.’

‘I will, every day, Ki. She knows you do.’

I’m not sure Mum does know. Neither me nor Elise can be sure. She may never know again how much her son loves her – or even that she has a son. God! I can’t cry in the same room as Harper. If he wakes up right now, he’ll never let me forget it, and who knows who else he’ll tell. Johannes, probably.

So, after we say our goodbyes, I busy myself with the mess that is Harper’s room. There’s nothing like tidying and organising to help me feel in control.

The hotel provides a laundry bag in every room and whilst I make the most of it when I’m on the road, it doesn’t look like Harper does. There are little mounds of worn clothes all over his floor, plus the clothes he vomited in which I left in the bathroom. I gather them all up in the bag, fill out the form for the express twenty-four-hour turn-around and pop them outside his door for collection.

It’s yet another thing Harper won’t appreciate, but there’s nothing worse than being unwell and being in a messy room. Or having to put dirty clothes on.

A little nap won’t hurt either of us. We’re heading towards mid-morning now and the curtains aren’t doing enough to stop the light streaming in. I close the windows and put the AC on – the smell has finally gone and the heat will soon become unbearable. I wedge the curtains tightly closed around the edges using Harper’s discarded shoes to hold them in place. The darkness is a relief, and the AC starts to take the edge off the warmth that’s been building.

I’m not prepared to do my back in my trying to sleep in one of the armchairs – I’m too old and my body is too important to my career. I tell myself that if I stick to the very right-hand side of the bed, this won’t be weird. I peel off my T-shirt and slide into the bed – on top of the sheet I gave him, obviously – and let my head hit the pillow.

It’s a relief when I finally close my eyes, the jetlag making my brain feel groggy. A couple more hours’ sleep will make me feel more like myself – this day has already been like an out-of-body experience. I set an alarm, because I’m due to meet the media team to film some bits for the Hendersohm TikTok later this afternoon.

And then I let myself drift off.

In Harper’s bed.

It may be a stupid thing to do, I think, but it’s too late because the world goes dark.