“Let’s get her to sit first. Then we can try to get her on her feet.” We roll Izzy onto her back and I grab hold of her forearms. The side of her face looks bruised in this light. What the hell did she do? “I’m going to pull her up in three. Can you help, Noah?”
“Yep,” he replies, kneeling behind Izzy’s motionless body.
“Okay, one, two, three!”
Izzy is a dead weight and it takes all my strength to pull her up, but Noah gets behind and supports her back, so between us, we get her standing. She groans but cooperates in a very rubbery way, and together we get her over to the bed, where she collapses and rolls over onto her side, pushing her face into the pillows.
“No, you don’t,” I mutter, pulling her back toward me. “Noah, shove some pillows in front of her, will you? I don’t want her to be able to roll onto her face.”
Noah grabs two pillows from the head of the bed and lays them down the length of Izzy’s body. I let her go and she rolls forward again, but this time she’s propped up and her face isn’t pressed into the bed.
“She’s wasted,” Noah says, slightly breathless.
I study the visible side of Izzy’s face. I’m sure there’s a bruise blooming on her left temple, but it’s too dark in here to tell. I climb onto the bed next to her and check her pulse, her breathing and anything else I can think of.
“Should I get her some coffee or something?” I look toward the voice at the bedroom door. Jen stands there, nervouslytwisting her hands, and the rest of the group are behind her. I was so focused on Izzy I didn’t notice them gathering.
“I think she’s past coffee,” I say. “I was bringing her water, but…” I look down at the broken glass on the floor.
“I’ll take care of it.” Jen springs into action. “Is there a dustpan and brush for the glass? And a mop?”
“I don’t know,” I apologize. “Maybe in the kitchen? Under the sink?”
“Don’t worry, I’ll find it.”
She bustles off and the others hover slightly out of sight, apart from Ford, who takes a hesitant step into the room.
“Is she okay? I just thought she’d gone off to be sick.” He looks down at Izzy, whose eyelids are fluttering like she’s in the middle of a dream. “She looks out of it.” His voice is more high pitched now, panicky. “Do you think she needs her stomach pumped or something? One of my friends had to have that done and it was horrible.”
“She didn’t drinkthatmuch, did she?” I ask, looking between Noah and Ford as panic grips me once again.Doesshe need to go to the hospital?
Scarlett and Jake move out of the way as Jen reappears with a small dustpan and brush and starts sweeping, glass scratching on the wooden floor.
“She did have a lot of that punch,” Jake pipes up, his voice hoarse. “What was even in that?”
“It was sangria, so mostly red wine and some of my dad’s orange liqueur.” I sigh. “It didn’t seem that strong, but I only hadone full glass. I never finished my second.” Because Izzy already seemed drunk, but I don’t say that out loud. I look down at my friend. I’ve never seen her passed out before. When she’s been really drunk in the past, she’s just been sick. I glance over at Jen, who is holding a dustpan full of wet glass, and feel a twist of guilt for hating her on sight. “Jen, please will you turn the light on? It’s just by the door.”
“Sure.” She flips the ancient switch and we all squint for a second as the room comes into focus. I look back down at Izzy and point at her face.
“Look.” A large red welt has appeared beneath her makeup.
“Did she hit her head?” Ford asks, hovering anxiously. He twists the gold ring I’ve noticed him play with before, and I make a mental note—Ford fidgets when anxious.
“Maybe,” I say, running through the possibilities. “If she was sick, she could have hit it on the toilet? But I was just in the bathroom, and it all looked clean. I doubt she was sick, hit her head and then cleaned it up?”
“She might have hit it on the sink? Or she could have tripped over something when she came in here? It was dark,” Noah offers, surprising me by perching gently at the foot of the bed. Ford continues to hover nervously.
“I can’t see anything on the floor,” I say, looking toward the door, where Scarlett and Jake whisper between themselves before disappearing. I wouldn’t be surprised if they thought it was a good time to go for another smoke without me interrupting.
Jen finishes brushing up the glass and stands. “Nope, nothingdown there. You need anything apart from more water for the patient?”
“See if there are some bandages?” Noah asks. “Fliss’s legs are bleeding.”
“Will do,” Jen says, carrying the full dustpan out of the room.
“What? No, I’m fine,” I say, but I look down. My trousers have ridden up and my legs are crisscrossed with scratches and tiny rivulets of blood. As soon as I see them, they start to sting. “Oh…I knelt on the glass, I think…I’m fine, I’ll sort them in a minute. I don’t want to leave Iz yet. If she hit her head, she might have a concussion or something.”
“Then we should take her to the hospital,” Noah says, and Ford nods.