prospect.
And even less so, given who the couple in question are.
I bend down to study the bottom of the door and see if there is a gap big enough for me to just slide the phone under and run. But you wouldn’t fit a credit card under it. There is no way around this. I’m going to have to knock and get it over with.
Closing my eyes, I give a number of short, sharp thuds before standing back, my heart jumping with the sort of anxiety only dentists usually have the ability to provoke.
But nobody comes to the door–and the snoring continues at a volume that would rival a volcanic eruption. Takinganother deep breath, I try again, this time hammering with more conviction, before standing back and waiting.
But after another minute of vainly hoping that the snoring will stop and someone will come to the door, I realise a more direct approach is in order.
‘Valentina! Jack!’ I shout, pounding on the door with my fist.
The snores come to an abrupt halt and are replaced by a series of grunts. Someone is stirring.
‘Jack!’ I say through the door, feeling like a complete idiot but at least wanting to warn him what to expect when we come face to face. ‘Er, I’ve got your phone here. I’ve just come to drop it off.’
The ensuing commotion inside Room 16 involves so many crashes, bangs and other bizarre noises that anyone could be forgiven for thinking it was occupied by a hippopotamus with Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder.
As the door swings open, I steel myself to get this over with as quickly as possible.
‘Jack—’ I begin.
But it isn’t Jack who’s opened the door at all.
‘ What? Oooh. What time is it?’
Valentina looks as if she has spent the night in the darker recesses of hell. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say her hair had been backcombed by a chimpanzee. Her eye make-up is smeared down both of her cheeks and would make Marilyn Manson appear a fan of the natural look by comparison. But worse than that is her skin. It’s not even grey. It’s off grey .
‘Valentina,’ I say. ‘I wonder if you could give this to Jack for me? He left it at the Inn at Whitewell last night.’
‘ What? ’ she says. ‘Oooh. Come in.’
‘Oh God, no–no, really,’ I say, unwilling to come face to face with a post-coital Jack rolling around Valentina’s bed. ‘Can’t you just give it to him for me?’
But as she grabs me by the arm and hoists me into the room, I have very little choice in the matter. Inside is a scene of utter devastation. There are so many clothes, shoes and bags draped over the furniture that it looks as if a bomb has gone off in Dolce & Gabbana.
The bedclothes are tangled up in a ball at the bottom of the bed, the bedside lamp has fallen over, and a G-string so tiny you could mistake it for dental floss is hanging on the bathroom door.
As for Jack, he’s nowhere to be seen.
Chapter 23
‘Ohhh,’ groans Valentina, throwing herself down on the edge of the bed. ‘Something doesn’t feel right. I mean, I’m never at my best in the morning, but something really doesn’t feel right today.’
‘Are you okay?’ I ask, genuinely never having seen such dramatic effects of a hangover before.
‘It’s my mouth,’ she whimpers. ‘There’s something wrong with my mouth. Oh my God, it’s…it’s… furry . And it tastes like…like I’ve been licking a pavement. Ohhh no, it’s not just my mouth, it’s my head as well. My head is throbbing .’
‘Well, you won’t be the only one who feels as if their lives has been pickled this morning,’ I point out.
Valentina tries to prise her right eye open, but it’s cemented together with a gruesome combination of sleep and four layers of mascara.
‘Are you suggesting I’m hungover?’ she says indignantly.
I pause for a second.
‘Valentina,’ I begin, ‘you single-handedly drank more than the average rugby team yesterday, you look like you’ve spent the night sleeping rough, and it’s taken me precisely
And even less so, given who the couple in question are.
I bend down to study the bottom of the door and see if there is a gap big enough for me to just slide the phone under and run. But you wouldn’t fit a credit card under it. There is no way around this. I’m going to have to knock and get it over with.
Closing my eyes, I give a number of short, sharp thuds before standing back, my heart jumping with the sort of anxiety only dentists usually have the ability to provoke.
But nobody comes to the door–and the snoring continues at a volume that would rival a volcanic eruption. Takinganother deep breath, I try again, this time hammering with more conviction, before standing back and waiting.
But after another minute of vainly hoping that the snoring will stop and someone will come to the door, I realise a more direct approach is in order.
‘Valentina! Jack!’ I shout, pounding on the door with my fist.
The snores come to an abrupt halt and are replaced by a series of grunts. Someone is stirring.
‘Jack!’ I say through the door, feeling like a complete idiot but at least wanting to warn him what to expect when we come face to face. ‘Er, I’ve got your phone here. I’ve just come to drop it off.’
The ensuing commotion inside Room 16 involves so many crashes, bangs and other bizarre noises that anyone could be forgiven for thinking it was occupied by a hippopotamus with Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder.
As the door swings open, I steel myself to get this over with as quickly as possible.
‘Jack—’ I begin.
But it isn’t Jack who’s opened the door at all.
‘ What? Oooh. What time is it?’
Valentina looks as if she has spent the night in the darker recesses of hell. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say her hair had been backcombed by a chimpanzee. Her eye make-up is smeared down both of her cheeks and would make Marilyn Manson appear a fan of the natural look by comparison. But worse than that is her skin. It’s not even grey. It’s off grey .
‘Valentina,’ I say. ‘I wonder if you could give this to Jack for me? He left it at the Inn at Whitewell last night.’
‘ What? ’ she says. ‘Oooh. Come in.’
‘Oh God, no–no, really,’ I say, unwilling to come face to face with a post-coital Jack rolling around Valentina’s bed. ‘Can’t you just give it to him for me?’
But as she grabs me by the arm and hoists me into the room, I have very little choice in the matter. Inside is a scene of utter devastation. There are so many clothes, shoes and bags draped over the furniture that it looks as if a bomb has gone off in Dolce & Gabbana.
The bedclothes are tangled up in a ball at the bottom of the bed, the bedside lamp has fallen over, and a G-string so tiny you could mistake it for dental floss is hanging on the bathroom door.
As for Jack, he’s nowhere to be seen.
Chapter 23
‘Ohhh,’ groans Valentina, throwing herself down on the edge of the bed. ‘Something doesn’t feel right. I mean, I’m never at my best in the morning, but something really doesn’t feel right today.’
‘Are you okay?’ I ask, genuinely never having seen such dramatic effects of a hangover before.
‘It’s my mouth,’ she whimpers. ‘There’s something wrong with my mouth. Oh my God, it’s…it’s… furry . And it tastes like…like I’ve been licking a pavement. Ohhh no, it’s not just my mouth, it’s my head as well. My head is throbbing .’
‘Well, you won’t be the only one who feels as if their lives has been pickled this morning,’ I point out.
Valentina tries to prise her right eye open, but it’s cemented together with a gruesome combination of sleep and four layers of mascara.
‘Are you suggesting I’m hungover?’ she says indignantly.
I pause for a second.
‘Valentina,’ I begin, ‘you single-handedly drank more than the average rugby team yesterday, you look like you’ve spent the night sleeping rough, and it’s taken me precisely
Similar Books
