Amy wakes me up at about 1.30 am. I'm immediately alert, scared and upset for her, I can hear by her tone the degree of her distress. 

She tells me she thinks she is about to faint, which she promptly proceeds to do. She falls away from me and in between the narrow gap between sleeping Shosh's bed and the wardrobe. Extracting her is somewhat of a logistical effort. When I manage to organise her limbs in an upright position on Shosh's bed, the poor thing does not seem entirely aware that she has been collapsed on the floor for a good minute. Shosh also is completely oblivious to proceedings, sleeping like a baby, a talent for which she has no idea how grateful she should be this night. 

Amy is burning up and clammy, I tell her forehead feels fine. I open to door to our balcony to get her some air, forage for water, of which our only resource are a couple of steadily depleting bottles in the kitchen, administer pain pills for want of any other idea of what to do, and try and convince her that she isn't going to wake up dead, a process of persuasion which is as much to convince myself as Amy. I tuck her back in bed with water and ginger biscuits and lie awake. It's not long before Vickie bowls into our room, door flinging wide, on a mad dash to our en suite. Turns out she has filled up the other toilets and is too ill to be able to manage to flush after herself. I get up and try and talk/help her but she seems in a bit of a delirium. The room is a thoroughfare for the rest of the night. Doors slam  open again however often I hopefully close them again. All the lights are left on, there is absolutely no sound proofing between our bed room and en suite.  It's 5.22 am when I realise how I have spent the first few hours of my birthday.