The Spread: Book 1 (The Hill)

the rest of them. Tom, on the other hand, had been born with something better. As a kid, he would often disappear on month-long summer holidays with his family, or weekends down the races. He had a full life, and his friends were only a small part of it. Loobey, Ryan, and Sean, however, had grown up with little else besides each other. Their bond had been stronger than anything else in their lives.
Until the last couple of years.
Loobey had met Tracey – and welcomed Lucy into the world before realising what a psycho her mam was. Ryan had met Sophie and was about to get married. Brett was a vet, working sixty hours a week. Tom was seeing a lot of Amanda and driving fancy cars. But Sean…
He’s been left behind.
Sean was two years older than the rest of them, but was the furthest behind in almost every conceivable way. He’d never been in a long-term relationship, had scarce family, and as for a career; he did the odd shift as a doorman for a couple of Manchester’s seedier clubs, but had never possessed anything resembling a steady job. Nothing about his life today was any different today than it had been five years ago – or even ten years ago. The only thing Sean had was his friends, and today he had pushed them away. Loobey’s heart ached for Sean, because he was going to wake up to the worst hangover ever.
And he’s already had his share of skull-splitting hangovers. Tonight might have been rough, but tomorrow is going to be so much worse.
Loobey turned onto his side to watch his sleeping friend. “You mad bastard. What are we going to do with you?”
Sean mumbled and coughed. It was a wet sound, and if it continued Loobey would have to go and get Brett. Fortunately, Sean returned to silence. His breathing seemed okay.
Loobey began to cry.
Loobey didn’t know if he’d fallen asleep, but he had dwelled beneath its edges for a while, his dreams entangling with reality. He pictured his cancer growing worse. Coughing and coughing and coughing, over and over again.
But it wasn’t him coughing.
Loobey’s eyes snapped open and he bolted upright on the bed, still fully clothed in everything bar his coat. He threw his legs over the side of the mattress and saw Sean choking on the other bed. His chest was heaving in and out and his arms and legs were flapping. “Fuck! Sean! Sean, wake up!” He grabbed hold of his friend’s shoulder and tried to stop him convulsing. “Shit oh shit oh shit. Brett! Brett, I need you here, man. Brett!”
Thirty seconds later, Brett crashed through the door. “Move aside.”
Loobey stumbled away, falling onto his bed. His vision tilted as waves crashed against his stomach lining. He couldn’t stop himself from vomiting over the side of the mattress onto the floor. Brett didn’t seem to notice.
One by one, the others filed into the room. Ryan saw Loobey lying on his side and probably smelled his vomit. He came rushing over. “Shit, Loobey, are you—”
“I’m fine. Sean needs help.”
“Get me some water,” Brett yelled, “and towels. He’s burning up.”
“I’ll go get them,” said Tom, rushing away. He might have held a grudge, but it was clearly forgotten for the time being.
Aaron stood in the doorway, clutching himself and staring. Loobey put a hand on Ryan’s thigh and pushed him weakly away. “Get your little brother out of here, man. He shouldn’t see this.”
Ryan turned and noticed his brother. Cursing beneath his breath, he quickly ushered Aaron out of the room just as Tom hurried back inside with bottled water and towels. Brett told him to soak the towels, which he did before handing them over.
Brett cooled Sean’s forehead. “Sean, Sean, stay with me. Try to breathe for me.”
Sean thrashed on the bed, jaws locked together. It was unclear if he could even hear anything being said.
“What can I do?” asked Tom, white as a sheet.
“Help me get his clothes off.”
Loobey wanted to help, too, but if he moved, he would be sick again. There was nothing he could do except watch in horror as one of his oldest friends fought for his life. He understood the battle more than anyone else in the room.
You gotta pull through, Sean. There’s no giving up. You have to fight.
Sean frothed at the mouth, eyes rolling back in his head. The smell of piss filled the room, mingling with the stench of Loobey’s vomit. Brett shook him repeatedly. “Sean! Sean, look at me.”
Sean stopped seizing and went still.
“Sean, can you hear me? Sean? Damn it, Sean!” Brett started pawing over his body, checking for a pulse, for breathing, for any signs of life. Loobey wanted to look away, but he couldn’t.
I can’t do anything to help him.
Brett and Tom ripped off Sean’s shirt, then Brett performed chest compressions followed by mouth to mouth. The sound of his palms pumping against Sean’s brittle chest was sickening, and Loobey had to take deep breaths not to throw up again. He had spent much of the last few months in hospital, witnessing the fragility of the human body, and he wasn’t sure how much more of it he could take.
I came here to escape death. Just one weekend without black clouds hanging over me.
Tom was shaking his head in despair. “Sean, you fool, what have you done?”
Brett switched back and forth between chest compressions and mouth to mouth. Ryan stood in the doorway looking like a ghost, pale skin and mouth hanging wide open. They had failed Sean. They had all stood by and let this happen.
Because we’re blokes, and blokes don’t nag each other. Blokes don’t tell each when they have drug problems or relationship issues. They don’t tell each other they have cancer. We stick it out on our own, alone and terrified.
The room fell silent, the only sound that of Brett’s palms pumping against Sean’s chest. It went on for a full minute, the air