The pounding that brought me to uncomfortable consciousness was not the London Philharmonic taking up residence behind my eyes and playing the “Anvil Chorus,” as I first thought.
Christ, I needed a hair of the dog. I reached blindly for the bottle of whisky I’d left on the floor beside the sofa. At some point it must have tipped over and spilled out on the rug, for surely I could not have finished a couple of pints of scotch in one sitting.
Well, no matter if the bottle was empty because I’d drunk it or spilled it. Jeremy was not there to take me to task for it.
Jeremy was not there.
I groaned and swung my legs off the sofa where I’d fallen asleep, and sat with my head in my hands, breathing shallowly through the pain of the thought of another day without him.
It was only as the pound
