"Good morning," Matty chirped, as she joined Bill on their veranda.
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"Not so loud," Bill moaned, as he hung slightly over the rail.
"If you throw up, you clean it up."
Bill turned slowly and slid down the veranda railing to the bench.
"I love you, but please, just kill me."
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Matty sat by his side and kissed his cheek.
"Naw. Not yet. You are still of some use to me."
Bill turned to Matty, peering through half open, bloodshot eyes.
"How can you be so cheerful."
Matty sipped her coffee.
"Because I'm not hung over."
"You drank as much as me."
Matty shook her head.
"Nope I was drinking shandies most of the night."
"Shandies?"
"Beer and ginger ale. Half and half. And I didn't get involved in a childish game of shooters with you and the other morons."
Bill nodded, slightly.
"Wike and Billy."
Matty laughed.
"Yea. And Lance and Kenny and Ryan and Carl. Vodka and oyster shooters. I am surprised you haven't been throwing up all morning."
"Nothing left. Threw up all night.
Slept on the bathroom floor. Tiles were so cool."
YOU ARE READING
Tuckamore Bay
General FictionMatty Dove had 18 months to try and find a buyer for her late grandmother's lighthouse. A buyer who, she hoped, would not only buy the lighthouse, but love the village so much that they would invest time and money into saving the community. In 18 mo...
