‘Time to go home,’ Mason says and he helps me down off my stool as I don’t seem to have legs that work any more.
He drags me outside and, when the fresh air hits me, I collapse into a heap. Mason heaves me onto his shoulder and flags down a cab, then bundles me in. This is a nice feeling of oblivion. I have no sensation anywhere. I feel as if I’m floatingfloatingfloating.
I wake up as the cab stops outside my flat. I’m vaguely aware of Mason paying the driver but all I want is sleep, lovely sleep.
‘Where’s your key, Brown?’ Mason roots in my handbag. It’s in there somewhere, I’m sure. Eventually he says, ‘Ha!’ and then he starts to haul me up the stairs. ‘Bloody hell, woman. You’re like a sack of coal. Can’t you move at all?’
I’d like to respond, but it all seems too much trouble.
‘I think I may have overdone the drink element,’ Mason is muttering to no one in particular. He opens the door and then manhandles me into the granny annexe. ‘Straight to bed?’
I nod. ‘I want sex with you,’ I tell him.
‘You don’t,’ he says. ‘You want sex with anyone. That’s not the same.’
Even in my drunken state, I think he’s probably right.
So he picks me up and carries me through to the bedroom, kicking the door open. He dumps me on the bed and I land with an ‘oouff’.
He turns round and jumps when he sees my cardboard cut-out. ‘Jeez, Brown. That thing nearly gave me a heart attack.’
That makes me giggle.
‘I’m not even going to ask why you have a cardboard cut-out of a middle-aged man in your bedroom.’
‘Issssss Gary Barlow,’ I slur.
‘That still doesn’t explain it.’
I hold out my arms to Mason and he cuddles me. It feels nice to be in his arms, someone’s arms and I really would very much like sex. ‘Come to bed.’ I try to look alluring.
‘That’s terrifying,’ he says with a shake of his head. He prises me away from him and gets my duvet and tucks it around me. My eyes suddenly feel very heavy.
Mason sits beside me and strokes my hair tenderly. ‘Comfy?’
‘Thank you,’ I manage
‘Do you think you’re going to puke up?’
I shake my head and that does make me feel sick.
‘I’ll be right in the living room if you need me. Just shout.’
‘Don’t go,’ I say.
‘I’ll be here if you need me.’ He kisses my forehead. ‘Sleep tight, Ruby Brown.’
‘Night, Mason,’ I murmur back. And I think I’m asleep before he leaves the room.
Chapter Eighty-Five
I wake up because the brilliant ray of sunshine coming through the window is hurting my eyes. I must have gone to bed without drawing the curtains and then I remember why. My eyes feel like rugby balls in my head and when I try to sit upright, my head seems to be melded to my pillow. I check that I have all of my limbs as I can’t actually feel any of them.
As quick as my head can manage, I turn to see if I am alone in the bed and am relieved to find that I am. I’m sure Mason came back with me. He must have left after he put me to bed. Thank goodness. Sinking back onto my pillow, I let out a heartfelt sigh. That was quite some session. And it’s all coming back to me now. I have no idea how much rum that teapot held, or the vase, but it was a fair bit. I’m rather proud of myself that I didn’t see my banana split or my Nutella pancakes again. Hardcore.
I’m due at work later, so I need to get my act together. Dragging myself out of bed, I lean on the walls of the shower for a bit while the water does its best to revive me, pull on some undies and, when I fail to find my dressing gown, wander out into the lounge.
I recoil when I see Mason standing at my cooker as I’ve only got my undies on, but then he’s dressed only in black underpants and my pink kimono. He doesn’t even have that belted. ‘Close your mouth, Brown,’ he says. ‘You’re gaping at me.’
‘I didn’t realise you were still here. I should go and get dressed.’
‘Put this on.’ He takes off my dressing gown and tosses it to me. As it’s a while since our last intimate encounter, I’d forgotten quite how fit his body is beneath his clothes. ‘I’m here to make you breakfast. Hair of the dog and all that. It’s what knights in shining armour do.’
‘Pah,’ I say.
‘Sit down,’ he instructs. ‘How do you like your eggs? Scrambled or fried?’
‘No eggs,’ I manage.
‘Bacon butty?’
Weirdly, that sounds like a very good idea. So I sit at my tiny kitchen table and try to resist the urge to lay my head down on it and go back to sleep.
When Mason has fussed a bit more, he puts a toasted bacon butty down in front of me. I don’t point out that it’s something of a miracle that I have the necessary ingredients. Bread usually being the trickiest of them all.
He sits opposite me and, in the cramped space, his toes rest on mine.
‘Thanks,’ I say. ‘Much appreciated.’
‘I feel we may have overdone it a bit,’ he says looking suitably repentant. ‘Apologies.’
‘No, it was fun. Thanks. It was just what I needed.’ I tentatively bite into the butty to test if I’m going to be able to keep it down. So far so good. ‘Thanks for not … well … taking advantage of me. I was in a bit of a state.’
‘You were most definitely hammered,’ Mason agrees. ‘And, strangely, I prefer my sexual partners conscious.’
I laugh at that.
‘Whereas you, Ms Brown, seem to prefer your night-time companions made out of cardboard.’ He raises an eyebrow.
‘I like Take That. What can I say?’
‘I always knew that your taste was dubious.’
‘Blame Charlie,’ I tell him. ‘She’s brainwashed me.’
‘She’s a big fan?’
‘The biggest. They’re playing in Paris soon. We thought about going. If we can get the cash together.’
Mason looks thoughtful, but says nothing.
‘This is very good.’ I wave what’s left of my bacon butty at him.
‘I have many skills. I wish you’d let me show you them.’
I snarf at him.
‘Don’t laugh. I’m serious. I could make very good boyfriend material.’ He licks butter from his fingers and tries to look nonchalant as he adds, ‘Why don’t you give us a go? What have you got to lose?’
‘I’m not in the right place for a relationship,’ I tell him. ‘My head is completely fucked. I’m even thinking about moving abroad. Starting somewhere completely new.’
‘Don’t do that,’ he says. ‘I’d miss you.’
‘Yeah, well no one else would.’ Though my mum might have something to say about it, actually. I finish my bacon butty and, thankfully, it seems to help my hangover. When I check the time on my phone, I can’t believe how late it is. Most of the morning has gone. ‘I’ll have to get going soon. I have a date with the Butcher’s Arms.’
‘Never gets old, does it?’ Then his fingers find mine and, for a second, we hold hands over the table.
‘I had a nice time, Mason,’ I admit. ‘Thank you.’
‘My pleasure. We must get utterly rat-arsed together again sometime. You’re very funny when you’re drunk, Brown.’
‘Yeah. Hilarious.’
He lets go of my hand, even though he looks reluctant to. ‘Mind if I take a shower?’