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BY THE TIME LUCY HAD reached Imogen's small house, the girl was more level-headed. She was able to exit the car, high heels in hand, hugging Lucy over the window. Her murmured 'thank you' was heartfelt, and Imogen planted a big, cheesy smooch on her cheek before she retreated into the quiet house.
Quil was still deposited in the back seat, sprawled on his side. Lucy tried to drive carefully, not wanting to jostle or hurt him. The only sounds that emitted from his mouth were delirious groans, and Lucy couldn't help but feel distressed. She couldn't count how many times she had to help her father like this, and this was not a path she wanted her cousin to become familiar with.
What had happened?
Lucy's car was freezing, and she had thrown her jacket over her sprawled cousin. Her car heater was broken, clearly, because no amount of toggling or button-pushing could turn it on. She spent the ride shivering.
When they arrived home, roughly around midnight, the house was dark, and Joy's bedroom light was off, indicating she was sleeping. It took a while for Lucy to be able to manoeuvre Quil out of her car, body flimsy and limp, and even longer to make it up to the door. His eyes were flickering open and closed, and during the walk, even opened his mouth once, before promptly throwing up all over the garden.
Lucy's nose had wrinkled, disgusted, but she gently pulled the male, with great effort, into the house. She cursed a lot, complained about his weight, groaned as he leaned on her.
They had taken not even a step into the house when the living room lights flickered on, and Old Quil was staring at them in both amusement and incredulity. He slowly stood from his recliner as Lucy strained to keep both of their bodies upright, arms aching. She was nervous, not wanting her cousin to get into trouble. After all, she really didn't know how tolerant Joy and her grandfather were about drinking.
Her grandfather paused in front of them, and Lucy shrunk back in worry. He peered harshly at his grandson's face, before a mirthful chuckle rasped from his mouth. "Boy's got the tolerance of a little girl," He chortled, voice hushed.
Lucy stared, open-mouthed as her grandfather's frail body moved to help support the groaning boy.
"Probably drank some giggle water and now look at him." Old Quill continued, amused smirk lining his face. "Weak boy."
"I shmulitaeraa... shifvmf..." The limp boy between them mumbled, a dopey smile on his face.
Old Quil laughed, entertained by his total intoxication, whereas Lucy couldn't bring herself to find any humour in the situation. Seeing her cousin like this resurfaced a myriad of unpleasant memories for the Richardson girl; ones she was hoping were behind her. Just glancing at Quil, it was like she was pulled back through time: the harsh stench of alcohol blanketing the house, the salt of her tears when her father passed out two nights in a row, blue and red flashing lights as he was admitted for alcohol poisoning.
