Gravity's Chain by Alan Goodwin

again the moment it was gone.
    The evening grew colder and we dispersed for jumpers and sweatshirts. On the way past Jo’s room, she called me in. ‘Hi Jack, how’s it going?’
    â€˜Getting pretty hammered actually.’
    â€˜I never realised just how fucking brilliant you were. I mean you hear about it and everyone says it, but to see that, wow.’
    â€˜It’s no more than a trick really.’
    â€˜No it’s not—you wouldn’t be going to Cambridge if it was just a trick. Is it right you were chosen from hundreds around the world for this scholarship?’
    â€˜Yes.’
    â€˜Never seen anything like it. Physics at Cambridge, that’s something else.’ She was sitting on the end of her bed and shebent down to tie a shoelace that looked tied. The loose shirt she was wearing fell open. She wore no bra and I could see her breasts: how funny, I thought, that I’d felt but never seen them. When she stood up she smiled, though it was a poor imitation of Mary’s earlier brilliance; however, there were those breasts.
    â€˜Come on, guys,’ Duncan came to the doorway, ‘it’s drinking game time.’
    â€˜Be there in a sec,’ Jo replied and bent again, this time to collect her jumper from the floor. With Duncan at the door she was careful to hold her top tight to her body, thus preventing any sight of her breasts and to make clear the earlier view was for my benefit only.
    I don’t know who invented the form of alcoholic torture known as drinking games, but Mike must have read the book because he seemed to know them all and he unleashed a whole assortment of them. He won every game. He was a master and when finished he surveyed the drunken human wreckage with a quiet satisfaction. In the early morning I found myself sprawled on the grass bank that led to the beach, completely ignorant of how I got there. I lay back and let the wind cool my face. The sound of the surf in the distance was a welcome reminder that somewhere beyond my assaulted senses was the real world and that if I hung on long enough I might just make it back there. Stars spun in and out of sight like a kaleidoscope and the earth rotated ten times faster than I remembered. I gripped tufts of grass so I wouldn’t whirl off into space. I have no idea how long this state lasted—it could have been five minutes, or maybe two hours—but the next time my senses reconnected with my surroundings there was some improvement in that the world had slowed down and I no longer felt in danger of falling off. Mystomach and head ached, but I was confident of seeing another morning.
    My new reality was filled with the unmistakable sound of puking—and it was bad. This was no delicate vomit but a huge, gut-wrenching evacuation. It just went on and on, seemingly with no end, and so guttural were the noises there was no way of telling the gender of the victim. With some effort I hauled myself to unsteady feet and eventually found Mary on the other side of the house, leaning against a wall with one arm at an extraordinary angle. She retched as I approached, but clearly her stomach was empty and nothing came up except the smallest dribble. I went inside. Jo and Duncan had passed out on the floor, Helen was half on the sofa and Mike was presumably safely tucked up in bed. With a glass of water that I managed to half empty on the steps I returned to the hapless Mary who stood in the exact same pose except her body had slumped further, forcing her arm out at an even more acute angle.
    â€˜Here, have some of this.’ I held the glass in front of her, but she ignored the invitation and just swayed. ‘Drink,’ I commanded as I put the glass to her lips and tipped it back. Automatically she drank, although most of the water dribbled down her front. Gently I pulled her arm from the wall. She stumbled as the weight balance changed and I held on to her as she shuffled her feet to avoid