Page 16 of The Impossible Fortune

After a drive of no more than a few minutes the van stopped, and Ron was dragged out onto a quiet country lane by all three officers, who then proceeded to aim kicks at his stomach and testicles until they ran out of breath, at which point they rolled him into a muddy ditch and went off for their lunch.

Although Ron understood the three officers had simply been doing their job in the best way they knew how, he was now in the middle of nowhere, face down in a ditch, caked in mud and blood, and bemoaning, not for the first time, that his testicles were not quite so damage-proof as his skull. He had a date that evening, and, while a fresh scar would be useful, the state of his testicles would not.

Had he wept with pain? Ron thinks so. Could he breathe with three broken ribs? Well, yes, but not without feeling like he’d been knifed. Was the pain so excruciating that he’d begun to think that not breathing at all might be the lesser of two evils? He remembers that it was.

He doesn’t think about that ditch often. About the physical pain a human being can endure. But he’s thinking about it now, eyes tightly closed, curled up on his bathroom floor, with Ibrahim holding a cold flannel to the back of his neck. He is trying to gauge whether his hangover means he is currently in more pain now than he was in that ditch.

‘It was a lovely wedding,’ Ron mumbles.

‘Do you think perhaps you drank too much?’ asks Ibrahim. ‘In retrospect?’

‘Got to toast the happy couple,’ says Ron. Could he open his eyes? Should he? ‘Rude not to. How did we get home?’

‘Mark drove us,’ says Ibrahim. ‘And I was helping Pauline put you to bed, but you insisted on sleeping on the bathroom floor.’

‘Bed of kings, the bathroom floor,’ says Ron. He decides he will open his eyes, but it is a mistake. The world tips over a cliff and keeps rolling. He closes his eyes, and vows to never open them again. ‘Is Pauline still here?’

‘Making breakfast,’ says Ibrahim. ‘I’m assuming you won’t be joining us.’

‘Just a couple of eggs,’ says Ron into the floor. Will he die? If so, please, God, make it quick. ‘With Worcester sauce. And a bit of bacon, and there are sausages in the freezer. And mushrooms if we’ve got them. And beans. You have a nice time at the wedding?’

‘A lovely time,’ says Ibrahim.

‘Why aren’t you on the bathroom floor, then?’

‘Mainly because when Paul’s uncle suggested doing Jägerbombs at three a.m. I politely declined.’

‘Clever,’ says Ron. ‘That’s why you and Pauline are okay.’

‘Oh, Pauline had the Jägerbombs too,’ says Ibrahim. ‘Some people can just take their drink, can’t they?’

There is a ring on Ron’s doorbell. Pauline calls from the kitchen, ‘I’ll get it. Is he still alive?’

‘He is,’ says Ibrahim. ‘So I lose the bet.’

Ron hears Pauline talk into the entry phone and buzz someone up. The last thing Ron needs is company. Who isit? Joyce? Ron’s memory clears enough to remember Joyce drinking Jägerbombs too. So it won’t be her.

‘Jason to see you,’ Pauline calls. Okay, that’s not too bad. Jason’s seen worse.

‘Shall we tidy you up?’ Ibrahim suggests.

‘Jason won’t mind,’ says Ron.

‘I might just pull your trousers up though,’ says Ibrahim. ‘Sorry to be so formal.’

Ron gives a mute nod and feels his trousers being hoisted. Probably for the best.

Ron knows that he’s not going to be able to move any time soon, or even open his eyes. How is he going to have breakfast? Cross that bridge when you come to it, Ronnie, old son. At this precise moment Ron is very aware that he is a lucky man to have Pauline and Ibrahim at his side. Comatose on a bathroom floor is not the sort of trick you can pull too often. Collapse on a bathroom floor after a wedding and that can be quirky and charming; collapse on a bathroom floor every Friday night, and you’d soon find there’s no one around to cook you breakfast and pull up your trousers.

So they’ll indulge him for this one day, and he’ll make it up to them.

At some point Jason and Pauline can help him up and plonk him on the sofa, where he can eat bacon and eggs and watch daytime TV with the curtains drawn. Someone, probably Ibrahim, can cover him with a duvet and let him take a six- or seven-hour nap. Then they can all forget today ever happened.

As Ron lies there on the floor, he feels beached andharpooned, hopelessly waiting to be rolled back into the sea. But he has lived a life, and has been through worse.

Ron hears the front door to his flat open and waits for Jason to come in and mock him. What should Ron say? ‘Should’ve seen the other guy?’ Yep, that’ll do.

But instead he hears a squeal of surprised delight from Pauline, and then small footsteps racing towards the open bathroom door.