Unexpected Billioniare Wife

With a huge effort, I wrench my eyes open and incline my head a few inches, wincing at the throbbing pain in my temples. The dimly lit room comes into focus, and I realize I'm lying on a cold metal bed in a hospital. Panic sets in as I take in the IV drip in my hand, attached to a bag of fluid, and the bunch of flowers on the nightstand. What the hell happened? Why am I here? My mind feels like a big, stupid, empty balloon as I desperately try to recall the events leading up to this moment. I need answers, but my eyes are heavy, and my head feels like it's filled with cotton. I squint around the room, searching for any clues, but my eyes refuse to cooperate. They demand eyedrops and aspirin, not information. I flop back onto the pillows, closing my eyes, hoping that a few moments of rest will clear my foggy mind. Come on, I urge myself, I have to remember. It can't be that hard. I can't have been that drunk... can I? My heart races as I grasp onto a single fragment of memory like a lifeline in the vast ocean of my mind. Banana cocktails. Yes, that's it. I remember sipping on those sweet concoctions with my friends from work. But why was I so miserable? Slowly, more memories start to surface, but they come in patches, like a puzzle being pieced together. Nachos with cheese. The crummy bar stools with the split vinyl. The dodgy club with the pink neon ceiling. I was out with the girls from work, drowning my sorrows after a disappointing day at the office. Bonuses. That's right, the annual bonuses were announced, and the familiar cold disappointment clenched my stomach. And then there was Loser Dave, the guy I had been seeing, who never bothered to show up, adding insult to injury. As the memories flood back, a mix of anger and sadness washes over me. But there's still a blank spot in my mind, a missing piece of the puzzle. What happened after the club? How did I end up in the hospital? I push myself to sit up, wincing at the pain in my head and the weakness in my limbs. I need to find answers, and I won't rest until I unravel the mystery of that missing piece.  But none of that explains why I'm in the hospital. I screw up my face tight, trying to focus as hard as I can. I remember dancing like a maniac to Kylie and singing “We Are Family” to the karaoke machine, all four of us, arm in arm. I can vaguely remember tottering out to get a cab. But beyond that... nothing. Total blanko. This is weird. I'll text Fi and ask her what happened. I reach toward the nightstand, then realize there's no phone there. Nor on the chair, or the chest of drawers. Where's my phone? Where's all my stuff gone? Oh God. Was I mugged? That has to be it. Some teenager in a hoodie clonked me over the head and I fell down in the street, and they must have called an ambulance and... An even more horrendous thought grips me. What underwear was I wearing? I can't help giving a small moan. This could be seriously bad. This could be the scaggy gray knickers and bra I only put on when the hamper is full. Or that faded lemon thong with the fraying edge and cartoon of Snoopy. It wouldn't have been anything posh. I mean, you wouldn't for Loser Dave... it'd be a waste. Wincing, I swivel my head from side to side, but I can't see any clothes or anything. The doctors must have incinerated them in the special Hospital Incinerator for Scaggy Underwear. And I still have no idea what I'm doing here. My throat's feeling really scratchy and I could die for a nice cool glass of orange juice. Now that I think of it, where are all the doctors and nurses? What if I were dying? “Hello?” I call out feebly. My voice sounds like someone dragging a grater over a wooden floor. I wait for a response, but there's silence. I'm sure no one can hear me through that thick door. Then it occurs to me to press a button on the little panel. I select the one that looks like a person, and a few moments later the door opens. It worked! A gray-?haired nurse in a dark blue uniform enters and smiles at me. “Hello, Cassidy!” she says.  “Feeling all right?” “Um, okay, thanks. Thirsty. And my head hurts.” “I'll fetch you a painkiller.” She brings me a plastic cup full of water and helps me up. “Drink this.” “Thanks,” I say after gulping the water. “So...I'm guessing I'm in hospital? Or, like, a really high-tech spa?” The nurse smiles. “Sorry. Hospital. You don't remember how you got here?“ ”No.“ I shake my head. ”I'm a bit hazy, to be honest.“ ”That's because you had quite a bump on the head. Do you remember anything about your accident?“ Accident... accident... And suddenly, in a rush, it all comes back. Of course. Running for the taxi, the paving stones wet with rain, slipping on my stupid cheap boots... Jeez Louise. I must have really bashed my head. ”Yeah. I think so.“ I nod. ”Kind of. So...what's the time?“ ”It's eight o'clock at night.“ Eight o'clock? Wow. I've been out of it for a whole day? ”I'm Sally.“ She takes the cup from me. ”You were only transferred to this room a few hours ago. You know, we've already had several conversations.“ ”Really?“ I say, surprised. ”What did I say?“ ”You were a little slurred, but you kept asking if something was 'baggy.'“ She frowns, looking perplexed. ”Or 'scaggy'?“ Great. Not only do I wear scaggy underwear, I talk about it to strangers. ”Scaggy?“ I try to appear baffled. ”I've no idea what I meant.“ ”Well, you seem fully coherent now.“ Sally plumps up my pillow. ”Is there anything else I can get you?“ ”I'd love some orange juice, if there is any. And I can't see my phone anywhere, or my bag.“ ”All your valuables will have been put somewhere safe. I'll just check.” She heads out and I look around the silent room, still dazed. I feel like I've put together only a tiny corner of the jigsaw puzzle. I still don't know which hospital I'm in... how I got here... Has anyone told my family? And there's something else nagging at me like an undertow... I had been anxious to get home. Yes. That's right. I kept saying I needed to get home, because I had an early start the next day. Because Oh no. Oh f**k. My dad's funeral. It was the next day, eleven o'clock. Which means... Did I miss it? Instinctively I try to get out of bed but even sitting up makes my head lurch. At last, reluctantly, I lie back down. If I've missed it, I've missed it. Nothing I can do about it now. It's not like I really knew my dad well. He was never around that much; in fact, he felt more like an uncle. The kind of jokey, roguish uncle who brings you sweets at Christmas and smells of drink and cigarettes. Nor was it a massive shock him dying. He was having some big heart bypass operation, and everyone knew there was a 50-50 risk. But still, I should have been there today, along with Mum and Amy. I mean, Amy's only twelve and a timid little twelve at that. I suddenly have a vision of her sitting in the crematorium next to Mum, all grave under her Shetland pony fringe, clutching her raggedy old Blue Lion. She's not ready to see her dad's coffin, not without her big sister to hold her hand. As I lie there, imagining her trying to look brave and grown up, I suddenly feel a tear rolling down my face. It's the day of my dad's funeral, and here I am in hospital with a headache and probably a broken leg or something. And my boyfriend stood me up last night. And no one's come to visit me, I suddenly realize. Where's all my anxious friends and family, sitting around the bed and holding my hand? Well, I suppose Mum's been at the funeral with Amy. And Loser Dave can sod off. But Fi and the others... where are they? When I think how we all went to visit Natalie when she had her ingrown toenail removed. We all practically camped on the floor, and brought her Starbucks and magazines, and treated her to a pedicure when it was healed. Just for a toenail. Whereas I've been unconscious, with an IV drip and everything. But obviously no one cares. Great. Just bloody... brilliant. Another fat tear trickles down my face, just as the door opens and Sally comes in again. She's holding a tray and a plastic bag with Cassidy James written on it in thick marker. “Oh dear!” she says as she sees me wiping my eyes. “Is the pain very bad?” She hands me a tablet and a little cup of water. “This should help.” "Thanks very much.” I gulp down the pill. “But it's not that. It's my life.” I spread my arms hopelessly. “It's total rubbish, from start to finish.” “Of course it's not,” Sally says reassuringly. “Things might look bad.” “Believe me, they are bad.” “I'm sure.” “My so-called career is going nowhere, and my boyfriend stood me up last night, and I haven't got any money. And my sink keeps leaking rancid brown water into the flat below,” I add, remembering with a shudder. “I'll probably get sued by my neighbors. And my dad just died.” There's silence. Sally looks flummoxed.