Page 12

puts her knife and fork down. She just sits, staring at the plate. Chris wants to know where we’re going on holiday. Helen thinks my shirt is one I used to wear years ago, before the wedding, even, and I laugh. We’re trying, amongst ourselves. San stands up. Brushes down her dress. Walks away from the table. Helen goes to stand too, but I reach across, touch her hand. ‘Leave her,’ I say. I take a long drink of wine. ‘I mean, what’s the point?’ ‘It’s getting worse, isn’t it?’ says Helen. ‘She’s been fine for weeks,’ I say. ‘Well, at least a week.’ ‘Christ, she’s my best friend and I can’t do a thing about it.’ ‘How do you think I fucking feel?’ I say, then straight away, ‘Sorry. ‘ Helen nods, looks away, and I drain my wine glass. When I put it down I see that there’s only a fork on San’s plate. Her knife has gone. I look around, and just as I do there’s a scream from the toilets. A waitress heading back to the kitchen breaks into a run, pushes open the toilet door, and I’m already on my feet, shouting. A woman, still screaming, stumbles out of the toilets, looks about her, and I push past her, yelling ‘San!’ * I’ve drawn the curtains around the bed. She’s asleep. It’s quiet in the ward, most of the other beds are empty, or the patients are in the dayroom or somewhere. San is lying on top of the covers because of ÉCLAT FICTION

12

MAY 2012

Profile for Eclat Fiction

Éclat Fiction - Issue 3  

The third issue of Éclat Fiction (an online short story anthology). www.eclatfiction.com

Éclat Fiction - Issue 3  

The third issue of Éclat Fiction (an online short story anthology). www.eclatfiction.com

Advertisement