Million Love Songs(91)

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?’

‘Of course not.’

So I tidy up in the kitchen trying not to move too quickly – in case I dislodge the bacon layer on top of my banana split – and listen to the shower running through the thin walls. I think of Mason in there, naked, water streaming down his body and wonder, very briefly, whether I should join him. He’s right. I could do a lot worse than him. When he’s being nice, I like him. What’s the point in pining for Joe? Seeing him with Gina yesterday should have put paid to that. I busy myself washing our plates.