Aftermath

The morning of November 2nd. 

It is bitterly cold in the house. Patrick’s feet dangle off the end of the bed, his toes wiggling in time to the Neighbours theme tune. He is barely conscious, exhausted from last night. 

Janette is watching the aforementioned show on her tablet on the floor, sharing her screen with Rosamond and Susie. Not that they are paying attention. They are kissing. They have been for most of the party. 

Quenton rolls off the bed, the thump muffled by the sleeping bag cocooning him. 

“Ow.” 

“Smooth.” 

“Ow.” 

“You alright?” 

“Yeah. Want a coffee?” 

“Any beer left?” 

“Ask Meridith.” 

“Meridith?” 

“Bathroom.” 

“Fair.” 

“I’ve got a can left. And because I am nice... You can watch me drink it.” 

“Fuck you very much.” 

“Love you too.” 

“... fridge ... under ... ... pesto.” Patrick mumbled. 

“Thanks.”

“Wha—?”

“No idea.” 

“He said the shelf under the pesto in the fridge.”

“You speak yawn?! You truly are the smart one of the group.” 

“I put them there, dick.” Janette chuckled, not looking away from the screen. 

“Ugh, but that means I have to go get them.” 

“Yup.” 

“Can you—?”

“Nope.” 

“Please?”

“The magic words?” 

“Please, Mistress, can I have a beer?” 

“Very well.” 

“Yay.” 

Janette got to her feet and stepped into her slippers. Yep, it was going to be one of those Sundays.