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Reese groaned and risked opening one eye.
“Ah, John, nice to see you’re feeling better.” Finch seemed overly cheerful given something had clearly gone wrong with their last number.
He shut his eye again. His head hurt, his whole body hurt and his chest hurt worst of all. He wondered how many ribs he’d cracked.
“Can’t breathe,” he muttered.
“It’s all right, Bear. You can get off him now.”
The dog hopped onto the floor as Reese grumbled “Why?”
“You wouldn’t lie still and I wanted to sleep. And you seemed upset when I suggested I go into the spare room. So Bear was the only answer.”
Reese finally opened both eyes. “Who did this?”
Reese though Finch was looking at him strangely.
“How much do you remember about last night?” Finch asked him.
“Head hurts.”
“I did warn you. Sit up and drink the water. I’ll fetch you some painkillers.”
“No.”
“What?”
“Not moving.”
Reese shut his eyes again so he could ignore Finch’s glare. The next thing he was aware of was Bear pushing himself underneath his back, forcing him to sit up.
He thought of saying “Injured”, but there were too many syllables, so he settled for “Hurt.”
“No you’re not. You’re hung over and it’s entirely self-inflicted. I did warn you.”
The events of the previous evening slowly forced their way into Reese’s befuddled brain. They had been invited by one of Finch’s distant relatives to partake in the ancient English custom of singing to the apple trees in their orchard. It was called ‘Wassail’ and it either got rid of evil spirits or promoted good growth and crops, or possible a combination of the two. Reese hadn’t been too sure at the time and was currently in no fit state to work it out. It also involved drinking cider, quite a lot of cider. Finch had said it was deceptive, but he had liked the taste – it wasn’t sweet – and it had seemed harmless enough. He vaguely remembered he’d had a bit of trouble on the walk back and there was something about him telling them he was going to have a little nap in the ditch. He thought there was probably more, but decided not to trouble his aching brain with recalling it.
He had hoped that Bear, once he had forced him to sit up would follow Finch, enabling Reese to lie down again. No such luck. The dog seemed determined to make him suffer. A task it appeared he wasn’t alone with. Reese listened to Finch’s cheerful voice as he returned with the painkillers.
“You can tell a man who boozes
By the company he chooses
And the pig got up and slowly walked away”