Judgement Call by Nick Oldham Page A

nightcap.’
    It was the screeching of the seagulls that woke Henry. He had a splitting headache and a left arm very much dead to the world as it was trapped under Jo’s neck. For a moment he thought he was pinned under a boulder and he might have to saw it off. He eased it free, sat up on the edge of the narrow bed, placing a foot on the empty bottle of Asti that had appeared like magic from Jo’s luggage last night (together with fresh strawberries, much to his amazement). A great deal of the wine had been lost or spilled whilst dribbling it from mouth to mouth, or when, as Henry recalled vividly, Jo had filled her mouth with it and then taken him in there too, almost making him leap to the ceiling as the amazing combination of her tongue and the wine bubbles sent a wave of painful ecstasy right through his core. He had howled with pleasure and nearly choked on a strawberry.
    He massaged the blood flow back into his arm, feeling the silent crackle of painful pins and needles as sensation returned to his fingertips.
    His balance wasn’t quite there when he stood up and he staggered slightly, having to keep upright with the help of the wall. He found a pair of underpants that had been discarded with delight by Jo quite early on in the proceedings, and put them on, having to do a balancing jig at the same time. He didn’t realize, or care, that they were on inside-out. All he wanted was to pee, drink some cold water and find some paracetamol tablets from somewhere.
    He took a moment to look at Jo, still sleeping undisturbed, unable to believe they had performed such acrobatic and energetic moves in such a small area without crashing off or hurting themselves.
    They had, he concluded, fucked each other’s brains out.
    Unable to shake his delicate head at the memory just in case it fell off, he walked heavy-footed out of the bedroom and over to the toilet across the corridor. Then he went to the separate bathroom where he had a lukewarm shower with his eyes permanently squinting because his head felt as if an axe was embedded in it.
    After using a hand towel to dry himself – remembering too late that he’d left his bath towel in the bedroom – he scuttled back to find Jo still sleeping.
    Just enough time, he thought, to slide in alongside her. Which he did, after kicking off his inside-out underpants. She murmured something dreamily and without seeming to awaken and without opening her eyes, she rolled on top of him and guided him deep inside her, then started to move languorously above him.
    Henry hurled himself out of bed like he’d been prodded by a red-hot poker. His sex- and booze-blurred mind had assumed it was still early, but a glance and a forced focus at his digital watch on the floor beside the bed told him how very wrong he was. ‘C’mon, c’mon, get moving,’ he said, scrambling around naked for his underwear. ‘We’re late, we’re late.’
    Jo had fallen back to sleep and she looked drowsily at him, hardly able to open her eyelids. ‘Wha …?’
    â€˜It’s nearly ten … crimes! We said we’d collect him at nine.’
    â€˜It’ll be all right. He’s not going anywhere, is he?’ She sighed, flopped back onto the bed and covered her head with a pillow.
    â€˜It won’t be right,’ Henry said, pulling a scrunched-up shirt out of his bag and thrusting his arms into it. He hated being late and he also hated not keeping his promises.
    â€˜We’ll tell ’em we got unavoidably delayed,’ Jo said from under the pillow.
    â€˜Doing what, exactly?’
    She pulled the pillow down and gave Henry a sultry grin. ‘You know what.’
    â€˜Yeah, I do.’ He took a pace over to the bed and ripped the sheets off her, stopping suddenly as he took in her nakedness. His lower jaw sagged and his mouth popped open at the vision.
    For a moment he was entranced – and she knew it.
    â€˜Shit