The tune to that godawful Chumbawamba song rattled through her brain, invading her dreams and making her wonder about Danny boy and his trumpet and what was this? Horrified, Miranda opened her eyes blearily to the thought that she'd wet the bed. She peered in a general direction, mumbled grumpily as she located a definite water stain on her bedding and was just about to roll out of bed and deal with it when a muttering came from beneath her feet. She froze, wondering if Danny boy had followed her home. Or was that in the song? Elton John was also in her dream although that was an obvious one. Max had monopolised the microphone and had been belting out tunes with a diamante decorated thong wrapped around his head like a swimming cap. Search her memory as she might, she couldn't remember whose fanny had been wearing it previously. She was sure she'd seen it before. She vowed never to do drunken karaoke again. She said that last time. Every time.
She recognised that light snore. It was the snore of a lager drinker, the one that Max kept dragging up to karaoke to bellow out Elton John and George Michael's don't let the sun go down on me which seemed to now be their official duet. They'd tried to make Cher and Bono's I got you babe, a thing, but it bombed. They ended up quarrelling about who would be Cher. Max had had the audacity to borrow someone's toupee for it and had ended up chucking it in a glass of beer. They'd stopped trying to make it happen after that. Nobody won that round.
Roberto was where he normally was. Curled up on the foot of her bed like a faithful hound. Sometimes he twitched and growled in his sleep. Still, it was an improvement from the face down half starfish on the floor. The first time they'd done this, Max was too tall for the bed so by habit, he flopped down on the floor and there he stayed. He favoured a sofa cushion for his pillow. He was now muttering in his sleep. Something about a whisky drink and a cider drink, lager and mumble mumble Danny boy. That fucking song again. And now she knew where that stain came from. Roberto's hip flask lay drained within arm's reach.
She jumped as Roberto joined in the chorus quietly, eyes closed and feet in fluffy socks twitching. She closed her eyes and tried to ignore them. This always happened the night after. She wasn't going to repeat the cycle of…for fucks sake. She was awake now wasn't she? She'd have to do what she always did. Get up and make the coffee for them all. She groaned in resignation.
Just another night out on the lash then.