The Hangover by Lesley Whyte

Last New Year's, we threw a party at the house. Music, friends, wine, food, tequila. It was great. A great night. A perfect night, maybe. We spent the whole week between Christmas and New Year preparing for it, I wasn't prepared to leave anything to chance. Hank probably would have preferred to just throw something together on the 30th - race around the crowded supermarket grabbing anything we could lay our hands on, but that's stupid. That's no way to plan a party. If you want something to be perfect, you have to put the work in. You have to put in time and thought and effort.

Hank doesn't like to put time or thought or effort into anything.

So the party was perfect. Of course, the next morning was less so. A pounding headache, a queasy feeling that wasn't confined just to the stomach, and then the mess. Oh, it makes me sick even now to think of the mess we had to clean up on January 1st.

Of course, Hank didn't mind.

This year was a little different.

No party. We stayed in. There was still a lot of preparation, naturally, though I didn't realise how much mess I'd have to clean up this morning. I look at it and frankly, it's funny. I can't seem to stop giggling. It started as a twinge in my stomach, something I thought might be guilt or regret, but now it all just seems so funny.

I step carefully over the messiest area in the kitchen, not wanting to get anything on my bare feet, and pick the phone up out of its cradle.

"999. What's your emergency?"

"I need the police, please."

"What's your emergency?"

"You need to come and arrest me."

There's an exhalation of breath on the other end of the line, the woman's irritated. She's probably dealt with hundreds of similar calls from drunken idiots in the last twelve hours. I'm not drunk, I'm about as sober as I could possibly be. Hank drank enough last night for the two of us. Enough to not notice I wasn't drinking anything.

I wait for her to speak.

"Really? What've you done?"

"Oh, I killed my husband."

Silence.

I can't say I blame her. I mean, what on earth do you say to something like that?