I swung round fairly snappily. The woman behind me was morphing visibly from shocked to angry, and it was only a matter of time before:

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I,” I’m sorry, but I seem to have woken in your housemate’s bed stark naked and bereft of memory – didn’t know she even had any housemates to shock with my naked arse.

“Who the fuck are you?”

“Erm,” Good question. I thought I knew, but that person wouldn’t ever land themselves in this situation, so maybe your guess is going to be better than mine?

“If you don’t start answering me soon there’s going to be trouble!”

“What, more than there is already?” Great, my tongue unglues itself and comes out with sarcasm. Nice one, mouth, going for some kind of record for pissing this woman off, right?

“Fuck off!”

“Just what I was about to do. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll just be on my way.”

She backed off as I headed towards her. I guess she just wasn’t up to accidentally brushing my skin. She glared; I gazed right back at her. If you’re naked in a stranger’s kitchen, the best way to go about it is just through sheer effrontery. Probably.

Someone new skittered to the doorway. Like the first girl she was barefoot, but dressed in the baggy-teeshirt-and-pyjama-trousers uniform; the washed-out green of the teeshirt complemented her dirty auburn hair. The first girl clutched her fur-edged silk-looking robe closer to her throat as I got closer. Hmm, I was right; she was naked underneath it. Probably got up for a drink of water; last thing she expected was a nude stranger looking into the fridge at the household’s collection of...

(Fucking hell!)

The red-head backed way up to the wall. She looked more frightened than the other. “What’s going on?” she hissed at the dark-skinned woman in silk. She shook her piled-up crown of glossy curls and drew back from me even further as I passed through the doorway.

“I don’t fucking know, do I look like I fucking know? Hey! You! Where d’you think you’re going?”

“I’m getting my clothes,” I returned, over my shoulder.

“I’m calling the police!”

“No!” stage-whispered the other girl.

“I wouldn’t recommend it,” I said, still heading for the room that held my clothes.

“Huh?!”

I turned. “Have you looked in your fridge lately...?”

*
“So, what was in the fridge?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“I don’t want to know?”

J nods, a suitably grave expression on her face.

“But...” and the solidity of the expression on J’s face is enough to stop even P from continuing.

*
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