27
The next morning, it’s almost as if it never happened.
I’m woken by the sound of Jess rummaging through the cutlery drawer. She pulls out two spoons and drops each one into a china mug. It’s then that I register the sound of the kettle boiling.
She looks over at me, sees that I’ve woken up, but doesn’t say a word. Instead, she takes a carton of milk out of the fridge and pours a small amount into each mug.
I rub my eyes, vague memories of last night starting to come back to me, and I notice a selection of newspapers on the table in front of me.
‘Where did they come from?’ I ask, going to run my fingers through my hair and instead being met by the rasp of stubble.
‘The shop,’ she replies. ‘Sugar?’
I don’t usually take it, but I think today I’m going to need the extra glucose.
‘Ye
