Neil

Grace is sitting on the floor of her kitchen with her back against the counter and a glass of wine next to her. She's cut her hand and is dripping blood everywhere but she doesn't seem to have noticed. I crouch down next to her and speak softly so I don't startle her.

"Grace?"

"Huh?...Oh, hi." She's tipsy and is having trouble keeping me in focus. I notice the broken glass on the kitchen floor.

"What...?"

"Huh?"

She just about manages to follow my gaze - with a lot of difficulty. Her eyesight is not under her control at the moment.

"Oh, I dropped vase...or a bowl...or something." She explains vaguely and I can't help wondering just how much wine she's actually had. "I felt dizzy, so I sat down." She adds mildly as though the kitchen floor is a perfectly normal place to sit.

"I'm not surprised!...You know you're bleeding?" I comment.

"What?!" Grace scrambles to her feet. She is unsteady and sounds slightly hysterical. She immediately sways dangerously. Her balance is not good - another effect of all the drink she consumed. I catch her before she falls flat on her face and lead her over to the sofa.

"Where's my wine gone?" She exclaims suddenly, when I sit her down.

"I think you've had more than enough already! I'll make you a cup of tea and clear up that broken glass before you stand on it!" I tell her, taking a clean tissue from her coffee table and wrapping it around her hand - a make-shift bandage until I find her first-aid.

Grace giggles. "Yes, guv." Well, she sort of knows who I am then.

I'm not used to this side of her and I hope that she's not too embarrassed when she sobers up. I walk over to her kitchen, fill the kettle and then carefully pick up the broken glass, whilst the kettle boils in the background. There are two bottles of wine on the counter - one just started and the other is empty. Well, I guess that answers that question, then. Grace will almost certainly have a hangover tomorrow. I start opening cupboards to search for her mugs and chance upon the first-aid kit. I find two mugs on my fifth attempt. As I pour out the tea, two warm arms wrap around me from behind.

"Hi luscious honey-bunny!"

What?! Where the hell did she get that from?

I very nearly drop the kettle with surprise. 'Luscious honey bunny'?! The highly unexpected phrase repeats over and over in my mind. Grace is definitely going to be embarrassed about that! At least it confirms that she fancies me though - well, sort of!

"Mm. I wondered where you'd got to." She murmurs.

I glance back at the two-seater sofa where she was sitting. It more or less faces the kitchen area , so she would have been looking at me while she was sat there. I sigh and pat her arms fondly. "Come on, tea's ready." I lead her back to the sofa again with her tea – this time sitting her on the three-seater, which faces the opposite direction where the tele is, Then I make a second trip for my cup of tea and the first-aid box.

As I sit down next to her, Grace gives me a smile that doesn't really fit her face. It's a sort of vacant grin which looks as though it has been 'painted' on a sticker and stuck over her mouth. I gently unwrap her hand.

"Right, we need to wash this, Grace."

"Ok." She happily agrees. For now – it will probably sting quite a lot, but she hasn't worked that out yet.

I lead her back over to the sink, run the cold water tap and hold her bleeding hand under running water. She reacts just as I predicted – squealing and trying to pull away.

I put my arm around her to stop her. "Grace, Grace – I know it hurts but I have to clean it!"

"Ok" She mutters and stops struggling – though she still winces and jumps occasionally. I dry her hand with kitchen roll, then sit her back on the sofa, where I bandage her hand – as best I can anyway, then we drink our tea.

"This...is nice." Grace comments, waving her bandaged hand around the surrounding flat vaguely.

I'm not sure which part she thinks is nice. She had a difficult case, handed her resignation in – or attempted to – a little ' crease' I still need to work on ironing out, but it can wait until she's sobered up. Then she got drunk, broke something made of glass (I'm still not entirely sure what it used to be before she broke it!) and then she cut her hand on the broken glass, so exactly which part of that was nice? Mind you, I suppose everything seems 'nice', when you're tipsy – until the hangover!

"I'll put the tele on" I suggest.

"I love this one!" Grace suddenly coos as I flick through the channels, but I think she would have said that if it was 'Mr Blobby' at this point – she's past the point of reasonable awareness.

As it happens, it's James Bond 'Moonraker' and we watch it for a while, then I feel something heavy on my shoulder. I glance down.

"Night, night!" Grace mutters. I check my watch.

It's quarter to nine.