23
Jack felt fortunate that he was due to start work later than usual that morning. One bottle of wine had turned into two, and then three. He didn’t often get hangovers, but his body was certainly doing its best to help him regret the previous night’s excesses.
He squeezed his eyes hard shut and stretched the muscles in his face as he tried to get the blood flowing to his head, hoping that might go some way to relieving the pounding headache, then got up and sauntered across the landing towards the bathroom.
As he opened the door, the smell of vomit hit him like a tonne of bricks. It was enough to make him feel queasy at the best of times, but his delicate stomach almost lost control as the sharp, acrid smell lodged itself in his lungs.
Holding his breath, he leaned across and opened
