text: Opening her eyes rather disorientated as to why she was lying on the floor, Laura groaned and slowly grabbing the side of the bedframe banging her arm in the process, she dragged herself up onto her knees. With her head resting on the mattress she stayed there for a good ten minutes before moving. Eventually, with a mighty heave, she managed to get to her feet and flop down onto her bed. ‘Bloody hell that bloody well hurt,’ she yelled, rubbing her arm where she’d banged it. Reaching out and pulling back the window blinds, she quickly shielded her eyes from the light and whipped them closed again. Getting to her feet, stumbling unsteadily, she swayed just a little wondering just how much she’d had to drink last night. Looking at the clock she sobered for a split second realising she was an hour late for work already. ‘Oh shit’ Moving with a bit more haste, losing her balance in the process she fell into the bathroom; her head and toe colliding with the door. ‘Fuck, bollocks, stupid door get out of the way, Now leaning against the wall, relieved she had something to rest on, she let out a long sigh and rubbing her throbbing toe she slid down the wall, landing in a crumpled heap at the bottom and gripping the door frame she hoisted herself to her feet; just as she did so she made the mistake of taking in a sideways glance in the mirror. ‘Dear God, what the actual fuck,’ Mascara smeared eyes and ashen face stared back at her and peering closer at the mirror, her nose practically resting on it to steady herself she whispered ‘what the hell “is” that? Laura being a smart girl, as a rule, always very precise with her appearance normally, couldn’t quite come to terms with the vision before her, she took an unsteady step back and looked again to see what appeared to be marshmallow and candy twists wrapped in strands of her wild black unbrushed hair. Leaning against the wall unable to even think straight let alone speak, she turned on the shower and stood under it for a good fifteen minutes thinking just how much she hated her job, wondering what on earth she had got up to last night at Mike’s leaving do and how she was going to manage to struggle into work this morning. Mike was a colleague she admired and was really upset that he was finally moving on with his life whilst she ‘Laura Wilson’ was stuck in a mindless rut as an admin assistant to the worst boss in the whole world. Laura worked for an art distributor in admin which sounded good but in fact, was not very glamorous, but it paid bills. She’d always wanted to get onto something more interesting, she had a million clever ideas swirling in her head, but she’d never managed to get her break. Instead, Laura worked under Giles who was a rude arrogant little man, not very tall but nonetheless quite good looking. He shaved his head (because he was balding) but it didn’t detract from his appearance at all and he knew it. He frequently stole her ideas, one’s that in her naivety, she had put to him in the hope that one day he would hail her an inspiration and she’d be given the promotion she always hoped for. Sadly, she was always too impulsive making snap decisions in revealing her ideas to him before thinking it through. Well, she was an inspiration to him alright, as most of what he put forward to the board was grown from her proposals. ‘Oh, I don’t care’ she said waving her hand dismissively, still obviously tipsy. But the fact is she did care, especially when she realised she had melted marshmallow in a sticky mess tangled in her dripping wet mane. She flopped in a heap onto the toilet seat feeling like she was on a fairground waltzer she couldn’t get off. ‘Why me?’ she was now whining pathetically feeling sorry for herself. An hour later she had managed to sort out her marshmallow thatch; still feeling very unwell she slowly shuffled into the kitchen to put the kettle on, even the noise of that made her wince. Phoning in sick is never a great thing to have to do yourself. Putting on that feigned too ill to get me through the working day voice, except in this instance that voice wasn’t feigned it was pathetically true and highly embarrassing since they would all know why she wasn’t making an appearance. With her hands around a steaming hot mug of much-needed coffee she began to mull over, and to her remorse, remember the events of the previous night with awful humiliation. They’d had one of those donkey things that you beat with a stick to break open; what’s that called she thought, as if it mattered, pancetta or something, or is that bacon bits? Tittering at her own stupidity, clearly still a little drunk from the night before. ‘A pinata that’s it!’ she shouted. ‘Anyway, whatever it’s called it’s tacky.’ Sweets had tumbled down onto her head, which she now recalled with great shame rubbing them into her hair in a provocative fashion, whilst performing something resembling a burlesque dance; at least that was what it was supposed to be, she probably looked more like what her grandmother would describe as a ‘streetwalker’. Oh God, who the hell did she think she was Dita Von Teese. Oh, bloody hell the shame of it all she thought, and in front of her goddamn awful boss too. Trying to forget the events of the night before she made her way back upstairs to get dressed, grabbing a shirt from the bottom of the wash basket, sniffing it to make sure it didn’t smell too bad and pulled on a pair of equally creased joggers. She really couldn’t be bothered. Switching on her laptop to work from home she was met with several emails containing photo evidence of the previous night’s shenanigans, immediately deleting them; she didn’t want reminding, thanks very much. Getting up and heading into her lounge, she stopped dead at the doorway, a pair of legs were dangling over the arm of the sofa, bare legs at that, hairy and very definitely male. ‘Who in the name of God...’ she peered in closer and to her horror realised it was Giles her boss. ‘What the fuck,’ she said rather more loudly than she meant to. Oh shit, she couldn’t remember a thing about it, did he come home with me she thought, well he must have mustn’t he how else would be lying on my sofa. ‘Bloody hell,’ she said lowering her voice ‘did he think my Vita von Teese was a “come on” ha, as if.’ Quickly retreating into the kitchen, she picked up the mop and holding it at arms length she poked his arm with it to try and wake him but got no response. She poked him again, still no response. Putting the mop down she crept closer and leaned over him, his eyes were half-open but not really focusing. ‘Oh fuck is he dead,’ she whispered ‘Oh my God I’ve got a dead body in my flat, shit, what the hell.’ She was now in a blind tipsy panic. Running back into the kitchen she picked up her phone and rang the only person she knew wouldn’t think she’d gone completely mad. ‘Shell? You’ve got to come around here, right now, as in now, right now.’ ‘Whoa slow down what’s up, what’s happened?’ ‘My boss is dead on my sofa that’s what’s happened.’ ‘Shut up, what are you talking about, are you pissed?’ ‘No, I’m not pissed I’m being serious he’s had a heart attack or something he’s not moving.’ ‘Oh bloody hell alright, are you sure he’s not just asleep?’ ‘I’ve poked him with the mop he’s dead, he didn’t move and his eyes are half-open it’s horrible Shell.’ ‘You’ve what? Jesus Christ give me a minute.’ Shell was her sensible neighbour who lived two doors away, she worked from home as an IT consultant, always in the house glued to her computer. They’d become firm friends soon after Laura had moved in, Laura being ditsy of the two. Suddenly having marshmallows in her hair and feeling a little hungover was no longer of any consequence. Laura crept back into her lounge, although lord only knows why she was ‘creeping’ she thought, he wasn’t exactly going hear her was he. ‘I always hated your guts Giles,’ she said, ‘but I wouldn’t wish you dead, I mean you are... were, a bastard to everyone, especially me, but why the hell did you choose to have a bloody heart attack on my sofa.’ Laura of course, didn’t know he’d had a heart attack, she was being impulsive again making assumptions whilst she panicked, running around shaking and feeling sick. She had to ring the police and an ambulance but what was she going to tell them? Oh God, I can’t possibly do it she thought, I’ll be locked up and spend Christmas in prison. The sudden ding dong of the bell brought her back to reality, she ran to the door opening it just a little to peek through the gap. ‘What the hell are you doing, open the bloody door you stupid mare, it’s me, Shell.’ ‘Oh god alright, don’t raise your voice my head hurts, I don’t know what I’m doing do I, I’m having a break down that’s what I’m doing.’ ‘Behave yourself and calm down, so where is this dead body you say is on your sofa?’ ‘Is that a serious question, It’s on the bloody sofa, where else do you expect it to be, how are we going to get rid of it?’ ‘Get rid of it, and you ask me if I’m being serious? You need to call the emergency services, it’s not like you’ve killed him yourself for goodness sake. Oh God Laura you didn’t kill him, did you? I mean you hated the bastard you kept saying how you wished he was... Oh, I can’t say it,’ Shell cupped her hand over her mouth. ‘Of course I haven’t fucking killed the bastard, what do you take me for, I don’t even know how he got here.’ Shell gave Laura a sideways glance and cocking her head to one side as if to indicate that she wanted a word in private, she made for the lounge to take a look for herself, dragging a reluctant Laura with her. Peering around the door with Laura hiding behind her, Shell suddenly stood up poker straight. ‘Which room did you say this Giles person was in?’ ‘Oh hilarious, this is no time to be joking it’s not funny Shell, he’s in there on the sofa.’ ‘I wasn’t joking Laura, there’s nobody in here, no dead body, no living person, nobody.’ ‘What? There’s got to be, I mean he was there, right there on the sofa,’ shoving Shell out of the way to look for herself, ‘I’m going mad I’m now hallucinating, I need to sit down.’ Laura was now feeling very unwell, not only from the excesses of the night before but now this fiasco of the missing body. But he must be there, she thought, he was right there, I know he was. ‘Laura,’ Shell was being very composed and practical now, ‘you look dreadful, I think you’ve dreamt all this, you’ve always disliked the man and in your semi-pissed state you’ve merely imagined it, you must have, you can see for yourself there is no one dead or alive in your lounge.’ ‘I didn’t imagine it, this is the worst kind of hell’ running her hands through her wet hair she declared ‘I’m never drinking again,’ waving her arms in the air looking skywards for solace ‘never again, do you hear me God, never.’ ‘Was that your toilet flushing’? Shell said tilting her head to one side to listen. ‘What do we have to do to get a coffee around here?’ Both Shell and Laura spun around at the voice that had just spoken to be confronted by Giles, looking a little rough but very much alive. They both stared wide-eyed at the man standing there in the lounge doorway. ‘Hi’ said Shell reaching out a hand to greet him ‘I’m Shell, Laura’s neighbour’ we were just...| ‘Yeah I heard, you were just discussing how to get rid of a dead body, so is the kettle on?’ ‘But,’ Laura stopped she couldn’t think of anything else to say. She maintained the stare and repeated the word ‘but.’ ‘But what Laura,’ he said, ‘you hate my guts? and no, I didn’t think you were “coming on to me” Oh and I’m not dead either,’ he said tapping his body in several places to emphasise the fact whilst smirking. ‘I brought you home in a taxi last night you were a mess, I slept on your couch, as you observed when you poked me with the mop handle’. ‘Well...’ she began, as if she was about to give a lengthy explanation but nervously twiddled her hair instead, unsure of what to say next. A short while later following an awkward conversation he was gone, leaving an embarrassed Laura and an amused Shell behind him. ‘He’s a bit gorgeous,’ Shell said as she closed the front door, ‘is he single’? ‘Oh, shut up Shell,’ said Laura as she slumped onto the kitchen stool, thinking that nothing in the world could prepare you for some things, but there’s one guarantee; they will not turn out as expected. Word Count - 2299