The peeling open of one glue and sleep encrusted eye revealed light so painfully blinding that I slammed it shut again immediately and let out a small groan, trying to get my bearings.
I was astonishingly uncomfortable, but why? I seemed to be clenched into foetal position, with something solid at my head and feet and my neck was bent in on itself at an unnatural angle.
I tried to move and succeeded in disgorging myself from the armchair I had passed out in, onto a carpet that stank of fag ash and spilled beer.
It was several moments before I could open my eyes fully and sit up. Jamie, in her white gown and angel wings was smeared over the couch, like pate, mouth open, legs open and snoring attractively. I could hear Luke in the kitchen, singing smugly and clattering about, probably happy and not in intense discomfort. Bastard.
The living room was a disaster.
I flailed around for a moment in an ocean of empty cans and congealing kebab remains that smelled horrifying before hauling myself to my feet. The huge mirror above the fireplace showed me to myself: one eye red veined and outlined in smudged silver glitter, the other weighted and palsied with drooping false eyelashes. The sequins of my 1920s dress were embedded in my flesh and crimson lipstick was smeared across my left cheek. The plastic face of my cheap watch had cracked. I was a mess, a horrible parody of last night’s flirting, fluttering flapper.
The door opened and Luke strode in beaming. He was carrying a pot of tea and three mugs. He smelled of toothpaste and sickening freshness. He smiled hopefully and I curled miserably back up in my armchair.
“Come on - it can’t be that bad?”
I scowled, snatching the mug from his hand and the edges of his smile sagged like the feathers in my headdress.
Jamie suddenly sat bolt upright with a gasp and vomited into a fortuitously placed kebab wrapper.
We spent the day huddled under duvets with the curtain shut watching reruns of Friends and eating Doritos.
“Shall we go to the park? It’s such a lovely day” gushed Luke “Come on, it’ll make you feel so much better.”
He gave it up eventually and flopped resignedly onto the sofa next to Jamie, who still smelled of sick. She curled up unhappily inside her robe and stared disconsolately at the TV.
“I’m never leaving this couch again. I will never drink anything again. I promise. No-one in the history of nights out has ever felt as revolting as I do now.”
“You’ll be alright” Luke told her and looked crestfallen when she only buried her head under the duvet.
The day slowly faded and the blessed softness of night crept over the room. Luke began to yawn.
“Another cuppa anyone?” he said “Or maybe it’s a bit late for caffeine? Time to be up the wooden hill to Bedfordshire soon...”
Jamie unfolded her legs and stood up. “Not really feeling tea, Luke, but I could definitely fancy a Jager Bomb. Who’s in?”