Charlie
They say hangovers get worse as you get older. People in their forties talk about this, and you laugh. Of course, that won’t happen to me, you think.
But then you find out it is 100 times worse than all the forty-year-olds were moaning about.
Why did they have to dress it down?
I wake up and can’t feel my feet. It’s like someone is sitting on them at the bottom of the bed. I look down and try to wiggle them, then realise I’m still wearing my shoes from the night before, and they are hanging off the bed.
I move them and feel a million pins and needles stabbing me as they wake up.
My brain has dissolved, and a stone has been put in its place that is too big for my head.
Thank god I booked today as a holiday, or I would have to call in sick, and everyone would know it was hangover-related.
I shut my eyes tight, but the banging inside my head continued. I open them. It’s still there.
My brain cells are screaming, gasping for water, but I am too weak to lift my body to go and get a glass.
Drunk memories flood my brain like a bad horror film.
They aren’t in the right order, and I can’t quite put all the scenes together.
The hotel. Hot Doctor. Kebab. Danny Walker. The nightclub. The sick and run.
Did I really puke all over someone’s bathroom then do a runner?
Is it vandalism? Can Mark call the police on me?
I’m in the paranoia stage of the hangover. I have nausea, reformation, and hunger stages still to progress through.
I lift my head to look in the mirror. There is dried dribble at the corner of my mouth. Mascara is still on one eye but not the other. I look like a depressed clown.
The flat is quiet; I’ve got no one to act as my priest for confessions. Suze isn’t working today, so where is she? I go to message her and see loads of messages and missed calls. That is not what I need to see in the paranoia stage.
Two missed calls from Danny Walker, one at 11pm then another closer to midnight. Two messages from him.
Where are you?
Stop fucking around. You better be at home.
There’s one from Tristan too.
Charlie, are you ok? Danny said he saw you drunk last night with a strange guy!?
That bastard ratted me out. That’s all I need, Tristan breathing down my neck about personal security.
I’m fine, Tristan, it was just a date, stop worrying!
I’m not replying to Danny. My whereabouts are not his concern. He can find out through Tristan if he’s that bothered.
There’s an alarming gargle from my stomach. Uh oh.
My intestines twist in painful knots like someone is squeezing water from a dishcloth. I leap out of bed and make it to the toilet with seconds to spare.
***
Six hours later, Suze, Stevie, and I are vegetating in the local cafe, reliving my moments of shame. Stevie has bunked off work early.
We’ve just finished a taxidermy class. I wasn’t joking when I told the Swedish guy I was going to do it. Suze signed us up months ago as part of our ‘try everything once’ flat charter.
In hindsight, I wouldn’t have gone on a massive bender last night if I realised that stuffing a small mouse is actually a very labour intensive four-hour process.
Whilst I’m not particularly squeamish, scooping out the eyeballs of a mouse can take its toll if you’ve spent the morning emptying your stomach.
“It’s bad, don’t get me wrong, it’s bad,” Suze says, slurping her double Snickers milkshake.
“He may have shagged you anyway if you had stuck around,” Stevie adds as he chews with his mouth open. “It takes a lot to put us off, more than a bit of pee, shit, vomit, snot….”
I wrinkle my nose. “Oh, great. That’s something. I don’t think I was really in the mood after my little explosion.”
“I just wouldn’t kiss you.” He shrugs. “But everything else is fine.”
“Typical!” Suze snorts. “Typical bloke. They don’t care if they don’t kiss you. They don’t even care what your face is like. In fact, you could be headless for all they care, providing you have an available vagina.”
“And yours is always available, isn’t it, Suze?” he teases, and she fires a napkin at him.
“What happened at work today, then, Stevie?” I ask, casually changing the subject.
He rolls his eyes. “You mean what’s happening with Danny Walker. No point trying to be subtle.” “Well?” I ask.
“You may not be the only one regretting last night. He looked pretty haggard this morning.”
“Most of the leadership team are walking around like zombies today.” He says whilst shovelling beans into his mouth. “I heard Mike being sick in the toilet this morning.”
“I’m going to be sick again if you keep eating with your mouth open.” I snap.
“If you want me to be your spy,” He continues with his mouth open. “You’ll be nice to me.”
“I don’t need a spy.” I sigh, pushing food around my plate. “The guy is haunting me. He’s at work. He’s on my dates. In my fucking dreams. And now tomorrow night, he’s at my brother’s house.
Again.”
“Just stay away from his dick,” Suze warns. “What with your mother being in the house.” That’s easier said than done.
Stevie chews on his lips like he’s debating to tell me something.
“Spit it out.” I grimace.
“Apparently, he got a lot of female attention last night. The rest of the team were jealous. Some half famous Brazilian model was cuddling up to him, and he may have taken her home.” I retreat back three stages in my hangover, and resist the urge to vomit again.
One minute, I’m excited that this might actually be the start of something new, mainly when those startling eyes are staring into me like I’m the most important woman on the planet.
The next minute, I hear that he’s tomcatting his way all over town.
That’s it over. No more fumbles, no more fantasies, and certainly no future. I move on.