Jake Gyllenhaal was about to take off his loincloth in the Colosseum.
“Yeah, c’mon, Jakey, show us the goods,” I said.
Mm, it was so lovely and warm on this summer’s day in Rome. I should have come on this trip years ago.
Bang bang bang.
“Quick, Jakey, before the Visigoths attack the city,” I said, basking in the warmth on my skin.
Bang bang bang.
“Arden! OPEN UP! I know you’re in there!”
Hmm. Those Visigoths had strange accents, best to run back towards Jakey and that nice warm sun … Wait, why was the sun going away? Why? Why was it suddenly cold?
“Arrrooooo!” came the Visigoths.
Bang bang bang.
I opened an eye. There were no Visigoths. I was in my room. The sun – well, my source of heat, which was an emotionally traumatised Alsatian-cross, had departed his position spooning me and was now barking and clawing at the bedroom window. He was more interested in whoever was downstairs banging on my front door.
And Jake Gyllenhaal was nowhere to be seen. It was that last part that smarted the most.
“Alright, al-fucking-right!” I grumbled as I stood up and then almost fell back on the bed again. A huge rush to the head saw me stagger around the room for a few seconds. Yikes. Okay, been asleep for some time then.
It was daylight, still morning, if the sky was to be believed, so it couldn’t have been more than an hour orso since I went for my nap. God, I needed a piss so badly I thought I was gonna rupture something.
I staggered out the door and managed to make it to the stairs. The banging persisted. “I am fucking coming!” I yelled. Well, tried to, but my voice came out as a strangled choke.
“Ahem,” I said and tried to clear my throat. I peered outside the window and saw thankfully that the paps had gone. That was weird, they were there an hour ago.
I opened the door, and a belligerent Scotsman looked at me.
“Simon, hi, to what do I owe the pleasure?” I kept the door ajar, trying to block out the ball of melting hot yellow hate-fire in the sky that was trying to singe my retinas.
“Do you ever answer your fucking phone?” Simon barked and pushed past me to come into the house.
“Erm, usually, well, kind of. Sometimes. There are a lot of people I avoid if I’m being honest.”
“I’ve been ringing you and you’ve not answered.
“How? You were in the press conference.”
“A—” He stopped and looked at me with his head askew. “Arden, what day is it?”
“Tuesday,” I answered.
“It’s Wednesday.”
“Wait, no it’s not. I just got up. I went for a run, I watched the press conference, and then I had a nap. I— Are you sure?”
He held up his phone with the date on his lock screen. It clearly said Wednesday. It was also 7 a.m., so at least I hadn’t … Jesus, I hadn’t quite slept twenty-four hours. Just twenty or so.
Oh.
The pain in my bladder was getting worse. “Excuse me,” I said and ducked into the toilet under the stairs. “Can you hum or something?”
“What?” came his voice. Aggressive.
