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“Did you…Did you undress me?”
“If I hadn’t helped you out of your dress, you probably would have gone to bed wearing it and ruined it. I knew I’d find the t-shirt under your pillow.”
“Was I that bad?”
“I’m afraid so. You were all floppy and you just kept muttering on about how much you wanted to sleep, except you were slurring your words, so it sounded more like ‘schleep’. It was quite funny, actually.”
“It doesn’t feel very funny this morning, but at least it explains why I was still wearing that bloody uncomfortable thong when I woke up. Why did you leave my bra on? You know I don’t wear a bra to bed.”
Toby blushes. “Two reasons really. Although I’ve seen you naked lots of times, it still seemed too intimate a thing to do. Also, I’m not entirely sure how the clasp works.”
Despite the headache, I can’t help laughing.
“I suppose I should thank you for looking after me,” I admit.
“You’re welcome. Now, what are we going to do to help you to feel better? There’s only one guaranteed hangover cure I know.”
“If you mention hair of the dog I will throw up, probably on you.”
“No. You need fat, and you need carbs. Basically, only a full English breakfast is going to save you from this, the bigger the better.”
My stomach lurches horribly at the thought.
“I don’t think so,” I tell him.
“Trust me. You’ll feel like a new woman afterwards. Why don’t you throw on some clothes while I look up the nearest greasy spoon, and I’ll take you out for breakfast.”
Toby busies himself with his phone while I dry my hair. Once that’s done, I stand up, slip out of the towel and start getting dressed. I’ve been naked in front of Toby so many times now that I don’t really think about it, and he’s showing no interest, as usual. Once I’ve got knickers and a fresh bra on, I rummage in the wardrobe and end up with a pair of black leggings and a grey soft cotton hooded top. I put a pair of thick soled trainers on my feet, hoping that the cushioning will protect my delicate head from too much movement as I walk.
“Found one.” Toby gets out of bed and starts putting on his dress shirt and trousers, which were folded neatly next to the bed on his side.
“Don’t you want a shower or something?” I ask him.
“I’ll have one when I get home. I wouldn’t want to run the risk of leaving a pube or something in yours. I’d be ostracised for ever!”
“A pube in the shower would be forgivable as a first offence,” I call to him as I return my towel to the rail in the bathroom. “A pube on the soap, however, would be an entirely different matter.”
“I don’t even want to think about it,” he calls back.
“You’re OK. I don’t have soap in the shower anyway. It just goes all manky.”
As we step out of the apartment block into the cold, crisp December morning, I inhale deeply, hoping that the fresh air will help to clear my head. We make our way along the pavements, with Toby checking his phone periodically to make sure we’re going the right way. After ten minutes or so we reach the café. I steel myself for the smell of frying and my stomach lurches again as Toby pushes open the door and leads me inside.
It’s busy in here, and we’re directed to the last remaining free table. The first thing I notice is that there’s no stench of stale oil, like there was at Nora’s. Instead, the much more welcome aroma of freshly ground coffee fills the air, and I breathe it in appreciatively. We remove our coats and hang them on the backs of our chairs, and I notice one or two of the other customers glancing curiously at Toby, still wearing his dinner jacket in the morning. They probably think he’s doing the male equivalent of the walk of shame after a night of wild sex with me. Do men have a walk of shame, or is it more of a walk of pride? I’m struggling to care.
“What can I get you?” the server asks, with a strong Australian accent. He’s a hipster young man with a long beard, wearing a crisp white t-shirt, black jeans and an apron emblazoned with the name of the café.
“Can we have two full English breakfasts please with extra egg, hash brown and bacon, and a flat white and a latte to drink?” Toby asks.
“Great choice. Coming right up!” the server replies and disappears towards the kitchen.
“I didn’t even get a chance to look at the menu!” I complain. “I might have wanted something else.”
“Trust me, you don’t.”
The server returns with our coffees and I sip mine slowly, taking care not to overwhelm my grumbling stomach.
“It’s a bit of a step up from Nora’s, isn’t it?” Toby remarks.
