Page 39 of So, I Met This Guy . . .

‘Dix-neuf.’

Nineteen. They’d won. Oh my God. They’d won!

The Hangover

No, not the movie with Bradley Cooper, a tiger and a baby. But the beast that was pinning Maggie to the bed and making her feel like death. Actually, maybe she was dead. Death by cocktail. Blearily she opened her eyes . . .

‘Great! You’re finally awake!’

WTF?

Chirpily sitting on the sofa, all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, was Flick. Looking like she’d only ever drunk sparkling water.

‘Ugggghhh,’ was all Maggie managed to say, spittle oozing onto the pillow.

She desperately wanted the room to stop spinning. Nausea gripped her by the throat, while there was throbbing coming from deep inside her brain. Actually, maybe death would be better than this.

‘You’re up,’ she managed to croak, pointing a finger towards a fully dressed Flick. She noticed she had the shakes.

‘I’ve been up for hours, since the crack of dawn. I’ve been out asking questions, doing some investigating.’

Maggie looked at her askance. Well, she would’ve done if she’d actually been able to focus properly. Because this, my friends, was the difference between being in your late forties and your mid-twenties, she thought to herself. It wasn’t about wrinkles or life experience. It was about being able to get completely shit-faced and wake up five hours later with absolutely no hangover.

‘OK, so I’ve made a plan of action.’

Flick was sitting up on the sofa, sipping a takeout coffee, notebook in hand, madly scribbling.

‘A plan of action?’

Groggily, she dragged a pillow and hoisted herself up against the headboard. It was a superhuman effort. Compounded by the fact she was still trying to focus.

‘I need coffee,’ she croaked, her voice hoarse, like a whisper.

And it wasn’t just her throat that was all scratchy, her whole body was too.

Out of the corner of her eye she spied a flash of sequins. Hang on, was she still wearing her dress? Ugh. She must have slept in it.

‘Did I black out? I have no memory of me getting home.’

‘You don’t remember singing in the street? Something about being as hungry as a wolf.’

‘I sang “Hungry Like the Wolf”?’ Maggie was mortified. ‘In the middle of Monte Carlo?’

‘Drew quite a crowd.’

‘Oh my God.’ She clutched her head, then thought better of it as it thudded in her hands. This was even worse than she feared.

‘I must have been drugged. Someone must have spiked my drink. You read about it all the time in the papers.’

‘Nah.’ Flick laughed and shook her head. ‘You were just drunk.’

‘Oh God . . .’ Maggie had to swallow hard to stop the bile rising in her throat.

‘You let your hair down. You needed it.’

‘What I need is a coffee.’

‘Here.’ Flick passed her one over. She’d got two from the takeout place. ‘Might not be very hot still, but caffeine is caffeine.’