My hair hurt.
I didn’t even know that was possible. My head hurt too, but my hair, being attached to my head, made me feel like Medusa with a snake ache. Blinking made matters worse; it invited my eyelids to join in the torture party.
Gawd, if only we’d stuck to the beer. But Maggie and I had made the ill-conceived decision to polish off an open bottle of port scavenged from the back of a cupboard after we got home. It had an unsophisticated nose with a hint of currants and old sock, but we didn’t care – it had an alcohol content. Cole, quite understandably, had declined our invitation to join us. Probably thought he’d get far more sensible company back at the pub.
When I heard a fumbling from the direction of the kitchen, I briefly toyed with the idea of getting up to join Maggie, but then snapped myself out of it. I took the long- distance approach.
‘Cooooooffffffffffeeeeeeeeee,’ I called, as quietly as I could.
A moment later there was a tap at my bedroom door and an apparition appeared around the corner. ‘You rang?’
‘Need coffee, give it to me.’
‘Yes, but only if you promise to give me a head transplant. Whose bloody stupid idea was it to hit the port?’
‘Committee decision.’
‘For God’s sake, sack the committee.’ Maggie turned to head back to the kitchen, and then turned around for a parting shot. ‘I told you alcohol wouldn’t make you feel better.’
I poked my tongue out at her. Nobody liked a know-it-all.
Somehow, I managed to get myself into a vertical position and into the kitchen. Even under normal conditions neither of us was at our best in the mornings; today, we were barely functional. We made another committee decision to keep the curtains closed.
‘One thing about being suspended – at least I don’t have to go to work this morning.’
Maggie grimaced. ‘Life’s a bitch like that. Ugh, I need drugs.’ She fossicked around in the top cupboard and fished out a box of paracetamol. She popped two out of the strip, gingerly chugged them down with some water and offered the box my way, but I declined the invitation. For some absurd reason, I didn’t want to dull the pain.
‘What are you going to do with yourself today?’ she asked.
‘Believe it or not,’ I said, and cringed at the thought, ‘I might go for a run. Try to clear my head.’
‘If it doesn’t explode. I didn’t realise you had a thing for sadomasochism.’
‘You’d think I did. OK, maybe it will be a walk. I really need some fresh air and sunshine. OK, sunshine probably isn’t too good right now, either, but you know what I mean.’ I tried to stifle what turned into a yawn. ‘Meanwhile, I think I’ll go back to bed, just for a few minutes…’