I wandered into the kitchen and waved my hand uselessly at the cupboard with the painkillers in.
‘Morning, champ,’ said Pete. I turned to face him and my brains swilled in my head like unset jelly.
‘What are you... here... for?’ I managed.
‘Slept on the sofa, didn’t I?’ he said. ‘Thought I’d better make sure you got home okay, what with you picking that fight with the Mafia boss and everything.’
‘Wha?’ I mumbled.
‘And you stumbled upon a dossier of top-secret government files, and drunk-dialled your boss and quit your job, and acted on the long-standing sexual tension between you and Julie from accounts.’
‘In a good way?’ I asked, trying to guide a glass of water to my mouth. Pete shook his head. ‘Oh,’ I said. ‘I feel awful and I don’t remember anything.’
‘Yup,’ said Pete. ‘But on the upside, you initiated a few promising narrative strands which would otherwise have seemed completely unrealistic.’