Page 54 of It's Beginning To Look A Lot Like Christmas
I was trying to look sympathetic but I was mainly trying to muffle an intense set of hiccups that had just started.
‘Here, try having some more water.’
I took another sip, but as I swallowed the latest hiccup morphed into an enormous belch. Worse still, my diaphragm was insisting on pushing something up to the surface. Oh God, I was going to be… scratch that, I wasactuallybeing… sick, though thankfully my reflexes had been quick enough to make it to the wastepaper bin next to the sofa.
‘Oh, God, Mally… umm, here let me—’
His sentence was interrupted by the sound of another violent heave.
‘Oh… my God. I’m so… so sorry.’ I repeated the word ‘sorry’ in between spluttering into the bin. After each spit I felt progressively less drunk, and progressively more mortified. ‘This is so embarrassing.’
‘Uh, don’t worry, don’t worry. Are you okay? Let me grab you a… tea towel or something.’
‘Yeah, I think I just need to…’
I stood up but lost my balance. Tom caught me.
‘Umm, I think you should probably just lie down and sleep this off. Shall I help you upstairs?’
I nodded as I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, gagging once more as the rancid smell from my mouth reached my nostrils.
I knew two things for sure as I ascended the stairs with Tom’s help: this element of my trip was definitelynotgoing into my article. And this was thesinglemost embarrassing moment of my life – about a million times more so than when I’d been presented with my PE effort award.
At least this time I wouldn’t have to give a speech.
Chapter 15
?Outsider saves the day
Oh God.
The vibration of my phone had woken me up. Rude. I unsealed my right eye followed by my left and blinked the room into unusually sharp focus, which confirmed my fear that my contact lenses were still in place. A sure sign of a big night – with a poorly judged end. I took a peek under the duvet and noted that I was still wearing yesterday’s clothes, too. Just brilliant.
I propped myself up on the world’s most inadequate pillows and took a lengthy gulp of water from the pint glass on the bedside table.
I placed it back down and examined it through my sleep-smeared lenses. I never would’ve put an open container of liquid there, even in a drunken state. Who had done that? And placed that washing-up bowl on the floor? And… and laid one of the sandpaper-rough towels from the bathroom on top of the bed sheet, which was now scrunched up in a sweaty ball beneath me?
Oh God. Oh shit. Oh fuck.
The events of the previous evening coated the entire surface of my brain in a single instant.
I slithered back down under the covers and groaned. I’d been sick, hadn’t I? And Tom Brinton had witnessedAll Of It.
I reached my hand out from the depths of the duvet and scrabbled about for my phone, only narrowly avoiding spilling that glass of water. I brought it under the covers with me to see what it was that had woken me up at this totally uncivilised hour of… ten forty-seven. Huh.
It was a message from Becky.
Becky:
How’s the hangover?! Still on for later? I think we agreed on 5 p.m.?P.S. Got your number from the booking system – hope that’s OK!
Later? What was she…? Oh. Oh no. I’d agreed to cover a shift at the pub, hadn’t I? I wasn’t even sure how I’d get out of bed today, let alone make my career debut in hospitality.
I replied:
Mally:
Bad. Sure. See you then x
