Today’s post is the beginning of a light-hearted diary form novel I wrote featuring Muriel Button (70, married multiple times, never managed to hold down a job) and her nephew Colin. Muriel also appears in another novel about her niece Jane, who inherits a country house hotel from Muriel when reports of her death are greatly exaggerated. Murders and jolly japes galore follow.
Woke up with a dreadful headache, caused, no doubt, by consuming too many Floor Mops – a festive, but lethal combination of Malibu, cinnamon, brandy and pomegranate juice – at the Coopers’ Christmas party last night. A cocktail I hadn’t come across before and one that I’m unlikely to ever drink again. The last thing I remembered was piling into the back of Tom’s car, demanding we all went to a nightclub. Despite the fact that it was 3am and I haven’t been up that late since getting a stomach upset after eating clams at that dodgy restaurant in Sorrento. I’d told Bunty that I didn’t like the look of it, all grimy plastic lobsters and onions hanging up in the window, but it was past 6pm and she was desperate for her first glass of prosecco. My Spaghetti Vongole tasted a bit too fishy and I knew I’d be paying with more than just my credit card. The clams collected payment soon after I went to bed and little sleep was to be had as I spent the night running back and forth to the tiny ensuite. Bunty and I were sharing a twin room, so at least I was able to take some pleasure in the fact that Bunty didn’t get much sleep either.
Anyway, back to this morning and my thumping head. Which paled into total insignificance, as I gingerly turned over to discover a man. A STRANGE MAN. In my bed. Then it started coming back to me. Jeff’s brother, Harry, had been at the party and some pretty shameless flirting went on. Mainly on my part, I’m embarrassed to say. Harry was also getting a lift home with Tom and I seem to remember inviting him for a nightcap. Then possibly throwing myself at the poor man, who kept saying that he needed to call for a taxi as he had a meeting this morning, that he’d just finished a long-term relationship, that he just wanted to be friends. Yet, here he was. Fast asleep under my 1000 Thread Count White Company bedspread. Oh god. Did we…??
Coffee. I needed coffee. Carefully, I extricated myself from under the covers and went downstairs to make a cappuccino in the new Nespresso machine that Colin gave me as an early Christmas present. Such a thoughtful gift. I think this job at the security company could be the making of Colin. And, even though I had to transfer him the money to buy it, I did want a coffee machine so it was money well spent. As I frothed my milk as quietly as I could so as to not wake Harry, I heard the sound of the front door shutting. Peering out of the window, I witnessed Harry, shoes in hand, sheepishly tiptoeing down the garden path. Well, honestly. What a bloody cheek.
The rest of the day was spent nursing my wounds with plenty of tea and toast in front of The Vicar of Dibley Christmas Specials and Die Hard. Nothing like a young Bruce Willis in a vest to restore the spirits. That and a large Floor Mop of course.
To be continued…
BARBED WORDS 