“It’s just oil or something. Don’t get your knickers in a twist.” He shook his head and tutted. “It’s just a bit of oil.”
Brett’s ankle had got worse, leaving him unable to get down the hill unaided, so Ryan and Tom had to carry him. They only narrowly avoided tripping over themselves in several places and were relieved when they finally made it to the bottom safely. Once back inside the cottage, they placed Brett in the armchair and raised his foot up on a stack of beer crates. When Ryan pulled off his friend’s trainer, he found an ankle puffed up and swollen.
“Jeez, it’s twice the size, mate!”
“It’s fine,” said Brett.
“It’s bleeding. You must have sliced it on the rocks.”
“I’m certain it’s just a sprain. Do we have any ice for it?”
“Sorry, mate. There’s only a tiny freezer, and I filled it with pizzas.”
“It’s fine. Just get me a drink… and make it strong.”
“Coming right up.”
Sean was already in the kitchenette, ranting and raving by the sink. Loobey was scrubbing at his hands with a dish scrubber on the end of a stick.
“Just get this shite off me, Loobs.”
“I’m trying! It’s not coming off.”
“Get it off!”
“Calm down!”
Ryan hurried into the kitchen. “What’s going on?”
Sean held his hands up to show what was up. His palms were stained dark green with flecks of yellow. Off-hand, Ryan couldn’t come up with any idea of what such a substance could be. Instinctively, he took a step back to keep Sean from touching him. “It’s not coming off at all?”
Loobey showed Ryan the dish scrubber. Its coarse surface was in tatters. “I got some of it off.”
Sean rubbed his hands on his white Armani T-shirt. It was sacrilege, but thankfully the green stains failed to transfer from his hands onto the cotton. “It looks like I’ve been wanking off the Hulk.”
Ryan tried to reassure him. “I don’t think there’s anything strong enough to permanently stain your skin. Try to chill out.”
Sean eyeballed him suspiciously. “What about tattoos and that? They stain forever.”
Loobey shook his head. He was leaning over the counter, slightly out of breath and still wearing his coat. “The ink goes underneath the skin, on like the deeper layers or something.”
“He’s right,” Brett shouted from the lounge. “The outer layer of your skin sheds constantly, so nothing can stain it permanently. Not unless it’s some kind of dangerous chemical that alters your DNA. Can I have that drink now, please?”
Sean’s eyes widened. “Alters my DNA?”
“I’m messing with you,” said Brett. “Drink?”
Sean shook his head. “Yer daft bastard, Brett. I’ll get you your bloody drink. What you having?”
“Vodka. Neat.”
“Think I’ll join yer.”
Sean fixed a pair of drinks and left Loobey and Ryan alone in the kitchenette. Ryan popped the tab on a fresh beer and offered it to Loobey.
“No, thanks, mate. Reckon I’ll get my head down in a minute. Climbing that hill really finished me off.”
“Seriously, Loobey, what’s wrong with you? This is my stag do and you haven’t had one drink. I’m starting to take it personally.”
“Well, don’t, because it ain’t.”
“Then what is it? Why aren’t you having a laugh with the rest of us?”
Loobey glanced towards the lounge, then back at Ryan. He leaned forward conspiratorially. “Because I’ve been having chemo, all right? Just keep it to yourself. If Sean finds out…”
Ryan rocked back against the counter, rattling a drawer full of cutlery. The others in the lounge glanced over, but only briefly. They hadn’t heard Loobey’s confession.
Ryan kept his voice low. “What do you mean, you’ve been having chemo?”
“Exactly what I said.” He ran a hand over his clammy forehead and sighed wearily. “About six months ago, I started getting really tired and weak, you know? Remember, I missed that Man United match with the flu? Next thing I know, I’ve lost a stone in weight. Then I notice these lumps in my neck. The doctors took some blood tests and samples from the lumps and the results came back wrong. Two weeks later, they tell me I have this thing called Hodgkin’s lymphoma. It’s rare, but they can treat it.”
“They can? So you’ll be okay? You’re not going to… you know?”
Loobey shrugged, almost like it didn’t matter. “What? Am I gonna die? Don’t know, mate. They caught it late, which is bad. Normal survival rate is like eighty-five per cent, but I have worse odds than that because I ignored the symptoms for a while. Tell you the truth, I’ve been feeling exhausted for over a year. I should have got it checked out sooner. Anyway, the chemo has been rough, but the doctors think it’s working. It’s fine. It’s my problem, not yours.”
Ryan felt sick to his stomach. “I don’t get it, Loobey. How can you have cancer? You’re twenty-five.”
“I turned twenty-six last month, mate, but it don’t matter anyway. Someone has to be the unlucky statistic, don’t they? It’s fine. I’m dealing with it. Don’t tell anyone, okay?”
“They’ll wonder why you’re not drinking. Is it the chemo?”
Loobey nodded. “Alcohol makes me puke – most things do to be honest. I have some pills to help with the sickness, but I feel rough all the time, mate. Like I said, don’t take it personally.”
“Jesus, Loobey. I’m so sorry. Is there anything I can do?”
“I just want to take my mind off it for a couple of days. Let’s talk about something else, okay? You nervous about the wedding?”
“You could say that. I don’t know how I feel about it, really. I know I should be excited. Sophie is amazing, and that, but… I’m head over heels for her, but…”
“But what? What’s the problem?”
Ryan blurted it out. “I don’t think I want to get married.” He placed his fingers against his temples and massaged a circle, closing his eyes. “My head is a mess, mate. I just feel like I’m making this big mistake and that my life will be over. I mean, once I’m married, that’s it, right? Next comes kids,
