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Leila and Tobias return with their drinks, so Rocco and I head off to get ours.
‘You two are really bad at this,’ Leila muses as we pass her.
‘Thanks,’ Rocco replies. ‘And we’re only going to get worse.’
11
I can’t quite decide what hurts more, my aching neck or my throbbing head, and the only thing drier than my eyes is the inside of my mouth.
The only thing that makes accidentally falling asleep on the sofa even worse is doing so after you’ve had too much to drink – and waking up with one hell of a hangover.
I don’t drink much these days, so my hangovers are few and far between. Perhaps I’m just not used to them any more and that’s why I feel so rotten. The alternative is that I’m obviously not wearing them as well as I’m getting older, but I’m not ready to accept that idea yet.
It takes everything I’ve got to pull my eyes open, but it’s a good start. I’m just lucky no one has come downstairs and woken me up yet. I can’t think of anything more mortifying (actually, I’m sure I can, I did crash a couple’s first date a matter of days ago) than my mum or dad finding me asleep on the sofa. I’m a grown woman and this is my house… but I’d still rather slink off to my room than be caught here in last night’s clothes.
I feel quite warm. I realise this is because I’ve been sleeping in a dressing gown around the same time my eyes adjust to the light and I discover that I have absolutely no idea where I am. I don’t know this sofa, or this room, or where the hell I am. It’s not that I’d put it past my mum and Jess to surprise remodel my house, it’s just that I don’t think I’d had enough to drink, and having first-hand knowledge of how long these things take, it seems unlikely they did it in a night.
I sit up quickly, leaning back on my elbows as the blood rushes to my head. Okay, where am I? It’s a contemporary room decked out in tasteful, earthy colours. I’m lying on a sofa next to a coffee table that faces a large wall-mounted TV. Behind me there’s a large window. Perhaps looking outside will tip me off to where I am?
I sit up properly, now that all the blood in my body has redistributed from my head, and swing my legs around. When I’m facing the coffee table, I notice a glass of water with a note that reads ‘drink me’. Next to it, there’s a packet of paracetamol with a note that reads ‘eat me’. I notice the small print on the second note, telling me not to ‘eat’ more than two and I can’t help but take a brief break from being freaked out to laugh. I feel calmer for seeing the branding on the note paper. Both pieces say ‘The Edgerton Hotel’ at the bottom. Did I check into a hotel? I must have. I’ve never stayed at the Edgerton Hotel before, given that it’s in my hometown, but I know it’s seriously expensive, otherwise I wouldn’t be checking out until 2023.
I sip the water. Curiouser and curiouser.
The room has two doors. It’s obvious which one leads out into the hallway – although it would be a very ‘me’ thing to do, to accidentally walk out there in my dressing gown, and probably lock myself out there. The other must go to the bedroom, and ultimately the bathroom. I imagine that’s where my clothes are (I only have my underwear on beneath this dressing gown) because there isn’t a thing out of place in here.
I open the door and head inside. I must be hungover because I can’t believe I didn’t consider for a second that there might be someone else in this hotel room with me, until I walked in on him just now.
‘Oh, God,’ I blurt.
Rocco was asleep, and probably wouldn’t have woken up, if I hadn’t said anything. You can always count on me to make things worse.
Rocco jumps out of bed and onto his feet. He isn’t wearing anything but a pair of boxer shorts. Oh, for goodness’ sake, why does he have to have a body like that? I think they call it ‘skinny fit’ – imagine being skinny and fit. I’m neither.
I avert my eyes.
‘Sorry – for at least a hundred things, I’m sure,’ I say as I stare at the floor.
As soon as I hear Rocco laughing, I dare to look at him.
‘How’s the head?’ he asks me.
‘Somehow full and empty,’ I reply. ‘Why are we in a hotel?’
‘I’m staying here,’ he replies.
My mind suddenly clears of everything apart from one question.
‘Don’t you live round here?’ I ask.
‘My last gig was in Dublin,’ he tells me. ‘But my family are from round here.’
‘So, you’re only here for Christmas then?’ I can’t help but ask. I try to sound like I don’t care but I think I do. Just a bit.
‘Yes, well, until I line up my next job,’ he explains. ‘The world is my oyster until then. But not until after Christmas, obviously. You know what families are like, with their festive demands.’
Boy, do I.
‘So, last night…’
