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Jude shifted on the edge of the sofa, still holding onto the paper plate with one hand, he really wanted to put his other hand to his bulging belly, but he felt that in present company that would get a few strange looks. Alba had already given him a suspicious glance from where she was sitting on the floor on the other side of the low coffee table. This was the third trainee teacher grub crawl, where they’d start at one house for a starter, move on to another house for the main course, then onto the last for dessert – which was where they were lingering now. There were groups huddled all around, while Emily (the occupant of the flat and provider of dessert) made sure everyone had enough to eat and their cups were full, being the ultimate hostess.
For the past fifteen minutes, Jude had been struggling to suck in the curve of his stomach which could be seen through the fabric of his t-shirt, and he felt guilty at having over indulged, but he tried to tell himself that was a compliment to who cooked it. He was beginning to pay for that gluttony as his belly was burbling inside him. He’d checked his phone; it was only twenty past ten – a bit too early to leave he thought. But then his stomach gave a loud gurgle, clearly audible for those around him.
“My god, was that your stomach Jude?” Michael, a cheery Irish boy who wasn’t in Jude’s teaching group but who always spoke to him because he believed the boys needed to stick together – which was kind of true, there was only twelve of them in the whole year group.
“Ha, yeah…” Feeling his cheeks burn he forced out a laugh and patted his belly in an attempt to seem jovial; but almost instantly his stomach began to gurgle all over again. “The food was really great, wasn’t it?” He couldn’t quite tell whether it was making that noise because it was protesting the amount he’d forced into her, or because it was working overtime to digest everything.
“It was! Emily’s cheesecake was to die for!” He nodded, downing whatever was left in his cup and standing up from the sofa, “I’m going to get a drink, want a refill?”
“Ah no, it’s okay,” Jude picked up his own cup. “I’ve still got some.” He was glad when Michael moved, the pats to his belly had sent it into turmoil, and whether that was because he’d eaten too much or some other reason he was genuinely beginning to feel unwell.
The room suddenly felt too hot and Jude could feel the dampness of his shirt as he leant back to fish his phone from his pocket. He had to think of a reason why he needed to go – and a convincing one. He could text Eden the truth and Eden would think of a suitable reason for him having to leave. Then he remembered that Eden was out with the biochemists tonight, and Jude didn’t want to disturb him – but he could say that he needed to go and get him. Another uncomfortable burble in his stomach settled his mind on it.
He stood up and, forcing a cheery grin on his phone, found the hosts, thanking them for the food and apologising for having to leave. He was sifting through the pile of jackets at the door trying to find his own when a voice startled him:
“Jude?” He turned round to see Alba. “Are you leaving?”
“Ah yeah, sorry,” he apologised. “I just got a message from Eden, I’m going to get him…” He could feel his arms trembling as he found his jacket and pulled it on.
“Is everything okay? Do you want me to come?” She offered, but Jude shook his head – his mouth was feeling overly wet all of a sudden.
“Uuuuh no,” he shook his head, “you stay here. I’m sure it’ll be nothing, but I’ll let you know.” He didn’t give her the chance to respond as he pulled at the door handle and left. He sucked in air through his teeth as he exited the building into the cooler air, and as the night air permeated through his clothes he felt himself shivering.
By this point Jude was pretty sure that there was something wrong – over and above the fact that he truly was stuffed almost to bursting point. He’d overeaten in the past, but he didn’t usually feel like his stomach was trying to claw its way up his throat, and the shivering was unusual too. He fought hard not to groan aloud as he walked along the street, heading back to his hall as quickly as he could.
He paused, leaning against a tree as he entered the group of the hall campus; his hall was at the other end and he still had a bit to walk. He was taking deep breaths as his stomach churned inside him unpleasantly; the skin of his belly felt like it was stretched uncomfortably as it domed out. He clutched at his stomach with both hands, closing his eyes as he felt a strange frothy sensation at the back of his throat.
“BuuuuuuuuaaaaauuUURP!” The belch had broken out of him as he held his painful stomach tenderly. Then he was moving again, stumbling slightly as he suddenly realised that he couldn’t kid himself any longer. He was going to throw up.
With no desire to do so in public he moved one hand away from his belly up in front of his mouth. He just needed to get inside and to his room.
He was practically sprinting now, shoving open the door to his hall block, tasting sick in his mouth. He didn’t even cast a thought as he bolted past a small group of students huddled in the corridor as his abdomen had cramped painfully and his mouth filled with vile tasting liquid.
He forced his keys in the lock and leaving it there, ran to his bathroom without even turning on the light. The while light in the bathroom flickered on, giving Jude a momentary glimpse of his sickly white face, complete with bulging cheeks, before a hiccupping gag had forced a stream of puke out of his mouth and he only just managed to get it in the sink. He hung his head over the basin; glad that he’d managed to make it to somewhere he wouldn’t have to clean up.
The sludge that had splattered into the white sink still looked vaguely like the salted caramel cheesecake that he’d had for dessert; this thought caused another heave and he banged his head on the tap as a large cascade of puke poured from his mouth. His chest felt tight as he burped into the sink, now decorated with not only the dessert he’d had, but a portion of the chilli he’d eaten as a main. He raised his head, panting heavily, and saw the full extent of how dreadful he looked. His skin wasn’t just white, it was grey, and covered in sweat which was making his hair stick to his face. He felt like he was in a sauna and his arms were shaky. But the worst thing of all was he knew he definitely wasn’t finished yet.
Covering his mouth with his hand again he turned away from the sink, dropping to his knees in front of the toilet and lifting the lid. He positioned himself so his head was hovering over the bowl, the sight of the water making his mouth over salivate in anticipation; another burp forced up another wave of vomit which splashed noisily into the bowl. The squeezing in his belly was relentless, pushing up more and more puke – he was sure he hadn’t eaten this much, but more kept coming up and he began to feel weak and light headed.
He couldn’t tell how much time he spent with his head so far into the toilet bowl that his hair was nearly in the water. The more that he heaved the pain in his stomach changed – evolving from the churning queasiness to a dull ache. When finally the puking seemed to have slowed to a stop, he got to his feet, his knees struggling to support his weight as he wobbled back into the darkness of his bedroom. He stumbled to the edge of his bed and sat down on it, drooping his head into his hands, his stomach was still going through the ringer as painful cramps gripped him.
He felt so awful that for a moment he considered phoning Eden, but he remembered again that he was on a night out – it wasn’t fair to disturb him. He would just go to sleep and ride whatever this was out…
He kicked his shoes off haphazardly, pulled his jacket off and lay down onto his side. Both of his hands went to his painful belly, reaching underneath the damp fabric of his t-shirt he was surprised to find that it was still bloated out into a curve and the skin was warm underneath the touch of his fingers. Slowly and cautiously he massaged his stomach, trying to bring some kind of relief from the pain. He screwed his eyes shut, even though it felt like the bed was pitching and swaying. Counting his breathing, in slowly and out slowly, hoping against hope that he’d fall asleep soon.
He was sure he’d lain down on his right side, but he was definitely now on his left and he felt like the bed was moving – his stomach gurgled ominously again as he tried to shift his arm out from under his face, numb from him sleeping on it. His head was pounding as he struggled to open his eyes into the dark of the room, and his t-shirt was sticking to him, wringing with sweat. The small movement of his arm had totally sapped him of energy, he was too weak to remove his sudden t-shirt even though it was uncomfortable. His mouth had suddenly filled with saliva and the gurgling of his stomach turned, once again, to full blown nausea.
The impending certainty of him throwing up again, and soon, made him struggle to push himself upright, but as his arms could barely take their own weight. He wasn’t going to make it out of bed, so he rolled as far as he could, his head sticking out over the edge. The rolling action in his stomach didn’t stop as he clutched at the edge of the bed with his right hand, a rush of liquid spurted up his throat and he heard it hit the floor with a splat that turned his stomach even more. He hung there, his hand gripping into his bed sheet, retching weakly as his stomach tried to turn itself inside out, but there was nothing left to throw up. It felt like a lifetime as his head dangled there, above the dark chasm that was the space between him and the floor.
He eased, back from the edge, screwing up his face, and rubbing one hand at his chest, the sick tight feeling now present through the whole of his chest and abdomen. He could feel warm tears leaking from his eyes with the combination of retching, the exhaustion that it brought and how ill he felt. He needed help, now was not eh time to put up and shut up; he was going to phone Eden. He fumbled in the darkness trying not to move enough to unsettle his stomach more, but as his hand reached up to the right side, in search of his phone, it came into contact with something wet and sticky.
Retracting his hand very quickly he realised that he must have puked in his sleep, and that thought made him gag again, an empty belch escaping him. What was he going to do? He couldn’t find his phone, and he had no other way to contact the outside world. As he thought about this, tiredness was dragging his eyelids down; he couldn’t keep them open, and he gave into deep, dreamless sleep.
Eden had been nursing a semi hangover for most of the day. He’d managed to do most of the things on his to do list by mid afternoon and was finishing typing up his notes from this week’s lectures. He’d been expecting to hear from Jude before now, it was almost quarter to four and they had arranged to get something to eat together, but Eden hadn’t heard anything from him. He was printing his notes, hole punching and sorting them into the correct folders when his phone buzzed. Thinking Jude had finally surfaced, he picked it up to find a message from Alba, one of the girls in Jude’s group in teacher training who’d become part of their friend gang:
‘Hey Ede, did Jude get you last night? I’ve had a bit of a gyppy tummy all night and so have some of the other teachers, I think it might have been something at that grub crawl we were at. I’ve been texting Jude but haven’t got any reply from him.’
Eden reread the message over a couple of times, frowning at his phone screen. He hadn’t seen Jude last night; he’d been out with Eppie and a bunch of the other biochemists. He phoned Jude and it went straight to voicemail. There was something off, the concern rising in his chest as he started to shove his feet into his shoes. He was going to go and check on him, and if everything was okay then he’d just be early for them getting something to eat.
The brisk walk in the afternoon air had cleared all vestiges of hangover from Eden’s head by the time he reached Jude’s hall block. The first thing that he noticed as he approached Jude’s room along the corridor was that Jude’s keys were still in the lock of his door, dangling motionless. That really wasn’t like Jude…
Eden tapped on the door, then turned the keys to let himself in. As the door opened he was hit with a sour, stuffy smell that cloyed at his airways as he breathed, he covered his mouth with one hand as he fumbled for the light switch. On turning the light on he was confronted with what he could only describe as a train wreck. Jude’s shoes and jacket were discarded on the floor; Jude himself was no more than a lump on the bed and down the side of his sheet was what looked like dried sick, the splatter on the floor confirmed that. Eden let the door swing shut as he approached the side of the bed, avoiding the pool of vomit he leaned over and pulled the duvet away from Jude’s face. Eden couldn’t remember a time when he’d ever seen Jude so pale, his skin taking on a waxy hue, his hair clinging to his face with sweat and a bruise blossoming on his forehead above his right eye.
“Jude?” Eden gently nudge his shoulder, his own heart speeding up in his chest as his friend didn’t rouse. “Jude? Wake up!” Jude groaned lowly, the hand which had been up at the side of his face moving instinctively down to his stomach region as he returned to consciousness. “Oh god Jude…” Eden murmured as Jude’s shoulders hitched as he coughed weakly; his eyes were open but he didn’t seem to be able to bring Eden into focus.
“Mmmmmm Ede?” His throat sounded dry and scratchy and he blinked, screwing up his face against the light. “’S – not time for us to classes…” Jude had closed his eyes again and was swallowing in discomfort as he sagged into the mattress.
“No, it’s okay Jude,” Eden said soothingly, pressing his hand against Jude’s cheek, worry bubbling inside him as Jude didn’t seem to be responding. “How long have you been this bad?”
“Not time to interrupt, I didn’t want to…” Jude mumbled nonsensically, but was cut off as a deep wet sounding belch rolled up and out of his mouth. He clamped a hand over his mouth, his upper body jerking as he descended into a string of gags that sounded unproductive but very painful. When that died down Jude settled back.
“I’m going to get you some water,” Eden spoke aloud even though he knew Jude clearly wasn’t taking in anything he said; he grabbed a glass from the bedside table and moved to the en suite bathroom where he discovered just as much carnage as in Jude’s bedroom. The toilet hadn’t been flushed and was almost full of vomit, and the sink had unmistakeable signs of drying puke splashed all over the basin. “Oh jesus Jude…”
He glanced back at the lump on the bed that was Jude, realising that he was much iller than he first thought. He filled the glass up and headed back to the other side of the bed, thinking he might get better access to Jude, but there was another puddle of sick on that side of the bed. Skirting around it he perched on the edge of the bed.
“Jude,” he touched Jude’s shoulder and pulled him into an upright position; Jude wobbled unsteadily, unable to hold himself up. Eden held up the glass up to Jude’s lips, supporting the back of Jude’s neck with his other hand. “Just a little sip… come on,” Eden coaxed, relieved when Jude obliged, taking a few sips of the water; once he’d had a drink he seemed to want more, finishing the glass as Eden held him.
“My throat…” he croaked once Eden had moved the glass away. “Thirsty…”
“I know,” Eden stroked at Jude’s forehead tenderly as his head lolled against Eden’s shoulder. “I’ll get you some more in a minute. How long have you been throwing up Jude?”
“Didn’t want to disturb your night…” That was all Jude said before a loud gurgle issued from his stomach, he leant forwards over his lap as a belch preceded the sudden rush of water he’d just drunk pouring from his mouth onto the bedspread. He let out a strangulated whimper; Eden could see his stomach clenching. “Really feel sick…” Jude said, and Eden could feel him shivering. “Need water…”
“I’m not sure you’re going to keep it down though Jude,” Eden told him, he moaned again and Eden had bypassed worry and hit terrified. If Jude was so ill that he couldn’t keep water down then he was only going to get worse. He’d made the decision instantly that Jude needed proper medical treatment, not just someone bringing him water and cleaning up his spew. “I’m gonna get help Jude, just hang in there.” By the time he’d dialled for help Jude had sunk back into unconsciousness.
Jude was aching all over. His chest and stomach, in particular, felt like an anvil had been resting on them, and his mind was hazy. At least his insides no longer felt like they were crawling up his throat. Then a flash of memory came back to him – leaning over the edge of his bed to throw up. He really wasn’t looking forwards to clearing that up… But at least his belly no longer felt like it was stretched to bursting point, and the constant swells of nausea he’d been fighting seemed to have stopped.
As he moved his hand to his stomach, a sharp pain shot through the top of his wrist and he opened his eyes. The white ceiling that he could see was unfamiliar and he looked around in confusion.
“Jude?” He heard Eden’s voice before realising he was sat next to the bed. Jude was in, and the pain in his hand was coming from an IV drip attached to a cannula. He was confused as to what was going on and Eden must have noticed his sudden agitation because he was at the side of the bed in seconds. “Don’t panic. You’re in hospital.”
“Why?” Jude forced, trying to sit himself up but his body was still to weak. “I don’t… What happened?”
“Here, let me help,” he insisted, pushing the back of the hospital bed up so he was sitting up; as he was levered up the ache in his abdomen strengthened and he winced. “What? Are you feeling sick?” Eden asked, Jude shook his head, massaging the pain with his uncannulated hand.
“No, just sore…” Jude replied.
“Ah, well that’s to be expected.,” Eden said sounding calmer. “You were really ill when I found you – you weren’t making any sense, and you couldn’t keep water down.”
All Jude could remember was being really sick after getting back to his room; he put his hand up to his forehead: “Do I have a bruise on my face?’
“Yeah…” Eden nodded. “Just above your right eyebrow, why?”
“I remember banging my head on the tap as I threw up,” he muttered, “when I got back from…” Even though he wasn’t feeling queasy anymore he couldn’t bring himself to say ‘grub crawl’. “How did I get here?”
“I got a message from Alba saying she’d been up most of the night ill, that’s when I came to check on you,” Eden explained. “You were out of it when I found you, and I phoned an ambulance.”
“You did what?” Jude asked, feeling embarrassed.
“If it had been me – unresponsive, covered in puke, unable to keep even water down, you would have done the same!” Eden said, slightly defensive that Jude was questioning his judgement. “And your doctor agrees with me! You’re severely dehydrated, that’s why you’ve got a drip!”
More and more Jude was remembering bits from the night before: running through the corridor with his mouth full of vomit; clinging onto the toilet with his head in the bowl; retching over the side of his bed; feeling so awful that he thought he might be dying.
“What’s wrong with me?” Jude asked.
“Food poisoning they think,” Eden answered, “especially as Alba was ill, and apparently some other of people from the grub crawl too…”
“Food poisoning?” Jude sounded unconvinced. “Would that really make me this sick?”
“The doctor said it could – they’re running tests to check though,” Eden said. “They’re going to keep you in overnight until you’re completely rehydrated.”
“Great…” Jude sighed.
“Take it as time to rest,” Eden instructed, then sat down on the chair next to Jude’s bed. “I wish you’d phoned me Jude… I would have come to you, you wouldn’t have been disturbing me!”
“I don’t even – I just – I didn’t mean… I’m sorry.” Jude said.
“I’m glad you’re okay… You just need to get better,” Eden sighed, shaking his head. “Next time you phone or text me – no matter what!”
“Mmm….” Jude groaned lightly, his hand back at the aching muscles of his stomach. “I’m really hoping there’s not going to be a next time…”