Henriad (History Plays, Book 5)

12: by the imprisoning of the unruly wind

Henry

I wake up to the damned dog dropping a hockey puck on my face. Have no idea why that would happen, but to be abundantly safe I just blame Harry. Joan says I can't do that and I say I clearly can because I already am. Anyway. I throw up nothing, cough until my chest hurts and my throat is raw, and then get dressed for the day.
The children are more themselves in that they are slightly late to breakfast and surprisingly covered in traces of the woods when they were theoretically in bed but I don't ask them about it.
"Edmund isn't feeling well," Thomas says, "He's not been ill this semester so I said—"
"Yeah, it's fine, no if he's not up to it," I really don't care if the boy wants the day off at least he's quiet. Let him be.
"I can drive everyone to school if they like?" Joan says, lightly, glancing at me that I'm not going to do it, which I'm not. I have far too much here.
"Harry still isn't back," Pippa says, frowning.
"I'm sure he'll drive in with Ned," I say, genuinely glad to be rid of him for the present.
"Do you want me to call you if he's not at school?" Thomas asks.
"No, just enjoy it," I mutter. I'm sure he's cooked up an irrational excuse for his absences that I'm sure have been plentiful during my absence.
Once the others are packed off, I once again call Ned's mother.
"Did my problem return to haunt you last night?" I ask, by way of greeting, when she picks up the phone.
"Yes, um—" I swear I hear vomiting in the background, "The boys showed back up a few hours ago."
"Hours ago? It's seven am," I say, frowning.
"Don't be cross—"
"I already was, what've they been doing?" I ask, rubbing my face.
"They're both drunk. Ned passed out, but Harry's been throwing up for an hour," she says.
"He's a moron, sorry about that," I say, prepared to hang up.
"Do you want me to—"
"No, do not want him back," then I do hang up. That idiot. Where did he get alcohol?

Harry

"Is this what happens when you drink?" I ask, gagging into the sink, fully miserable. I've been throwing up for hours.
"On an empty stomach when you've not done it before, yes," Ned's mother says, putting ice on the back of my neck, "Come drink some water you'll be feeling better soon."
"My head feels like it's going to implode," I admit.
"Alcohol will do that, you boys," she says, examining my face, "What have you done to your pretty curls, Harry?"
"It's temporary," I assure her, smiling a little as she brings me water, "We didn't tell Oddcastle to call you."
"You ought to have," she says, checking a mark on my face, "Silly things."
"You're not cross with me?" I ask, holding the ice to my forehead.
"I'm cross you didn't call me yourselves, that's all. Those hangovers will school you more than my words ever will. I'm pleased you didn't drink and drive that's about it. I'm not going to get cross with you for being idiot boys if I did I'd be cross all the time," she says, smiling knowingly.
"That's my father's chosen route," I mutter, dryly.
"He's probably going mad without you."
"He's probably rejoicing."
"I won't argue with you, but I for one wouldn't know what to do without the pair of you," she says, taking the ice from me so I can vomit again. "All right? So next time you decide to go off and be stupid call me? I'd rather you here and throwing up than in the street someplace."
"Noted," I say, rinsing my mouth out with water, "How's Ned fairing?"
"He fell back asleep," she says, leaning out of the kitchen to check the sofa, "I'd suggest you lie down yourself for a bit."
"I never sleep," I sigh, "I'm not—"
"No, I'm not packing you off to school in this state. Can I ask what did posses the pair of you to do this on a school night?" she asks.
"Row with my father," I say, shrugging a little.
"Is that why he called me last night sounding sheepish like he'd misplaced you?" she asks.
"He never did. He's the one who threw me out," I say.
"He wanted to be sure you were safe with Ned. He cares in his way. But I'm not justifying him to you. You're welcome to stay until you and he work things out," she says.
"How did you know it was him calling and not me?" I ask, frowning.
"I didn't at first, then he started swearing at me and you're too polite to swear at me even in fun," she says.
"Ah, note to self, swear more in impressions of my dad," I say, raising my eyebrows.
"What are we going to do with this boy?" she sighs, as I turn to throw up into the sink again.
"I'm sure my father has many fanciful recommendations."
"I'm talking to your mother," she says, stroking my hair out of my face as I finish spitting up stomach acid.
"I'm sure she's ready to forsake me as well after last night's display," I say, dryly.
"A mother's love is not so fragile, Harry," she says, smiling, "We'd be worried about you two if you never showed up a bit hung over after being stupid boys."
"Well it's damned annoying," I say, wincing as I rinse my mouth out, "I wouldn't have done it if I weren't so cross. I still am cross, but."
"Well, wait a while before you do it again? Or call someone who isn't intoxicated to fetch you? Just ideas," she says, smiling in amusement at my illness.
"What you said earlier---why would you be worried if I didn't do this ever?" I ask, frowning, since I'd never planned on it.
"It's a part of growing up—most boys wind up getting into alcohol, getting too drunk, just like you wind up scaring us staying out to late or driving too quickly, we might not want you to, but we expect it," she says.
"Why's it a part of growing up?"
"Because sometimes, you have to be stupid so that you know how to be wise," she says, wiping my face with a cloth, "We who did the same thing are here to see you through it."
"Can't we skip the painful bits and get to where I'm a man, then? If everyone has done it before?" I ask.
"Because we don't know how we got here either. Nobody has all the answers Harry, not even you," she says.
"They ought to, there's enough people in the world," I say, leaning on the sink.
"They're different answers for different people. You've got to find your own, Ned has to find his. We're just here to help your journey, no one can walk it for you," she says.
"Inconvenient. I'd rather have a manual, some sort of training, or book, on how to be a man. The man I'm supposed to be."
"You are the man you're supposed to be, or you will be," she says, "We're just here to enjoy watching you get there."
"This is not enjoyable," I dry heave again.
"No this part isn't, for you. Bit entertaining for me after I get the call at four am that you and my foolish son are shitfaced and kissing and needing picking up," she says, amused.
"Oddcastle said all that?" I consider denying the kissing part if only for Ned's benefit.
"My son left this house in a floral suit and he's been attached to you since age five. I'm not as clever as you, Harry, but I'm not an idiot," she says, petting my hair.
"Pretty sure my father's an idiot," I mutter.
"Yeah, well, I'll tell you a secret, men tend to be. Now, if you won't sleep will you sit down for a bit and try to drink some seven-up if I give you two laptops to look at?"
"I could I suppose," I say, "I was going to—"
"You are in no shape to stand, and Ned's going to be out for hours he'll be sad if you leave, and I'd like you boys under my roof for a bit," she says, wiping my face again.
"I'll rest," I say, nodding. The melancholy is creeping back now that the alcohol is out of me. It was a balm but a brief one.
"Shh, come here now, I know it isn't easy," she says, hugging me.
"What, vomiting up an entire bottle of vodka?"
"Being you, and growing up," she says, giving me a squeeze, "Now humor me, come and lie down for a bit. Goodness knows Ned will wake up with some awful idea and you two will be out of here lying to me about where you're going."
"We actually will probably."