Stafford Terrace

After it took Freddie five minutes to find where he put the house keys (they were in his back pocket), Monica slammed the front door shut, "Right, up you go!"

But even the staircase was an obstacle for Freddie as he tried to crawl up the bottom steps.

"Oh alright, hold on!" She hung the keys up by the doorframe.

He let go of the bannister, "I-I can't."

She put herself underneath his arm as his cats sat on the top step and spectated.

"One step at a time..." She hauled him up the stairs, him slithering on his belly to pull himself up.

"Come to meeee my prettieeeesss!" He tried to grab his beloved felines, who lost interest and wandered off.

"Get up, we need to get you ready for bed, okay?" She helped him onto his feet once the struggle was over and they reached the top step.

He grinned, "And what about you?"

"Well, I'm the one who has to do the hard part, amt I?" She walked him to their bedroom.

He stumbled in quickly and flopped onto the mattress face first as she switched the light on.

"Lift your left foot just slightly." She started undoing the laces of his trainers.

Getting his shirt off was difficult as he struggled to lift his arms when she coaxed him, and taking his trousers off was like moving mountains due to his lack of cooperation.

"Will you please sit up, Freddie?"

"Nu uh..." he spoke into the mattress.

"Well, will you let me to put you to bed at least?"

The man rolled onto his back in a trice, and lifted his legs with ease as she rolled the duvet back and pulled it over him.

She sat down and gently tucked it around him so that he wouldn't get cold in only his underwear and socks, "I'm going to fetch you the basin under the kitchen sink, alright?"

"Monica?" He squinted up at her, getting his hand tangled in his chains as she plumped the pillow behind him.

"Whatever it is, please be quick." She helped free his long fingers before laying him back down.

She adjusted the chain around his neck and laid it on his hairy chest, and he let out a happy grunt at the feeling of her hands on his skin.

"Can you-Can you please give me a goodnight kiss?" He reached up and started caressing her face, slipping his hand through her hair.

"What harm will it do if it's a quick one?" She looked at his lips...

His mouth didn't taste as bad after all the alcohol he consumed, but at the same time it made no difference to her.

As she closed her eyes and snaked her tongue with his further, she could feel his large hands friskily pull her skirt up to her waist. She felt herself slipping into a trap as his thumbs found their way under the elastic waistband of her knickers, pushing them down and exposing her bottom half-

"Well that's funny." She interrupted.

"What's funny?" He mumbled.

"How you are incredibly drunk and unable to walk upright in a straight line yet you're still able to skilfully remove my panties." She broke away from him, determined to show no warmth.

He looked back up, chuckling with a playful gleam in his eye.

"You need to go to sleep. You have to go to the studio in the morning." She fixed her knickers and skirt before climbing off.

He pouted, rubbing his hands up and down her bare arms, "You're my girlfriend. We're meant to be having a fuck. That what couples do at the end of the day."

"Yes, but not all couples. Especially if one half is in the state you're in." She tucked him in further.

"At least let me ask you this..." he growled and planted his face in her cleavage. "Has anybody ever told you before that you have such perfect tits-"

"Stop it!" She pushed him away, and he fell back onto the headboard.

That seemed to snap him out, just a little bit... or so she thought.

He looked back at her with such vulnerability as she only glared at him, backing towards the door.

"Don't... go..." he grabbed her arm blubbering. "I'm 'fraid of the monster."

She sighed, and in a gentle manner this time she asked him, "What monster?"

"The monster under my bed... it's small and fluffy... and makes an awful sound, like nneeeeeeeaaaawwwwwwww."

She shook her head, then matter-of-factly stated, "That'd be one of the cats."

"Wait, there's more than one?" His eyes widened in fear, his grip on her forearm tightening.

She rolled her eyes, "Oh my god... yes, Freddie. There's more than one. Now can you please let me go-"

He suddenly let out a throaty scream, and she clasped her ears shut as the cats darted out of the room.

"Jesus!" She pushed his arms down by his sides as he cackled manically.

"Just teasing you, dearie." He smiled mischievously.

"Yes, I know you are. Coke and alcohol don't give you hallucinations or paranoia. Now go to sleep." She tucked the blanket around him.

She turned around to leave when she heard him utter her name again, "Oh, Monica?"

She drew in a sharp breath, "This better be something important."

"Oh, it's supercala-supercalafragalisticexpiali...expalidociously important, Monica." He clasped his hands together on his stomach.

She turned back around to face him. Normally she'd get pleasant shivers down her spine when he said her name repetitively, but now that he was madly drunk it made it seem less pleasant.

"Alright, Freddie. What's so imp-"

"Supercalafrag-"

"Yes, yes, just please spit it out." She sat back down on the mattress and sat him back down.

And he did spit it out, all over her hands and her evening dress.

"FUCKING HELL, FRED!" She rolled him onto his side, and he continued puking onto his pillow.

She immediately whipped the duvet off of him as he coughed up more. He leapt up and stumbled to the en suite bathroom in time, and she came after him with the soiled pillowcase and threw it into the hamper.

"I'm getting you new covers and a jug of water." She grit her teeth, watching from the sink and scrubbing her hands clean as he was bent down at the toilet.

"Get me some sickness tablets as well." He groaned, then started retching up the rest.

"Well, that's the most helpful thing he has actually said all night." She thought as she rushed down the stairs.

He sighed and settled back onto the mattress, and soon she reappeared with a basin and a tray with a few hangover remedies.

"Keep this near you." She sat him up gently and put it on his lap.

"Alright, mum." He croaked.

"Very funny, mister," she poured him a glass, then brought it to his lips. "Now drink up, it'll help in the morning."

"This doesn't taste of anything." He pulled the glass away and eyed it critically as she pulled her cotton nightgown out from underneath her pillow.

"Of course it doesn't, it's water." She walked into the bathroom as she unzipped the side of her dress.

"Are you gonna take that off?" He called from the other room.

"Of course I am! It's got your vomit all over it." She pushed it down her body, careful that none of the sickly mess fell on the floor, and stepped out of it.

"Does that mean I get to see you naked?" He continued, the tone of his voice delirious.

"NO!" She forcefully threw it into the dirty pile along with his pillowcase after changing into her nightgown.

"Aww, you're no fun," he tossed the basin onto the floor. "I wanted to go out and have a good time and but you've ruined my night now."

That made her turn rigid, and her blood boiled a little.

"I ruined your night?! Me?!" She stepped back into the bedroom, pointing at herself accusingly. "I am not the one who kept shovelling vodka martinis and sex on the beach down my-"

"Mmm... sex on the beach." He mused lustfully, sprawled across the mattress.

"Listen to me!" She shrieked. "You're the one who ruined our night! You, not me! YOU!"

She'd had it at that point. She opened her mouth to scream more as he stared back stunned, but instead she stormed out of the bedroom and slammed the door shut. She'd already let out enough.

She realised she had forgotten to change the now dirty duvet when she was halfway down the stairs, and she didn't turn the light off which was going to make his bloodshot eyes even more sore, but she didn't care. Surely he'd be able to find the light switch, and he didn't deserve her help anymore after the way he'd behaved towards her.

"That'll teach him to treat me with respect next time" She thought, walking into the lounge and making herself comfortable on the sofa.

A few cats hopped up and climbed onto her moments after she was in a relaxed position. She patted their heads, "I know, daddy's not really himself at the moment, is he?"

They settled on either her chest or her stomach, and she sighed and slung her arms around their warm, furry bodies.

Amidst their loud, contented purrs she could hear what sounded like slight sobbing upstairs.

"Don't give him oxygen, Monica. Tough love, and tough love only..." she told herself. "He got himself into this mess, why should you show him any remorse?!"

After several minutes the sobbing stopped, and Monica managed to hold through, as well as feel herself slipping out of consciousness...

***

The next morning

Freddie felt his eyes stinging underneath his lids.

He winced as his eyes fluttered open, his hands above his head to block out the sunlight.

He hauled himself up as he started massaging the sore area outside of his throat, noticing a rancid smell surrounding him.

The back of his hand wiped his throbbing forehead as he noticed dried puke on his duvet, a basin containing more puke, and Monica's side of the bed empty.

"Oh fuck... what have I done?" He scrambled out, stumbling towards his bed robe.

The worst case scenarios filled his head as he slipped it on, and he dreaded to find out where she'd gone to.

He rushed down the stairs frantically, calling her name in desperation, "Monica?!"

He found her standing in the sunlit kitchen. Her hair brushed and dressed in her cotton nightgown, her figure blocking out the rays as she, ignoring him, poured a carton of Tropicana into a glass jug sitting on a table that was presentably arranged with a smorgasbord of breakfast food such as fruit, cereal boxes and freshly fried meat, much like a continental buffet in a hotel.

It was all part of her plan, showing him how hard she worked to please him each day.

"God, you're like a fucking angel..." he thought out loud.

She slammed the fridge door shut, ignoring that statement.

"Ouch" He thought, dragging himself to the breakfast table.

She stood at the counter and folded her arms, watching with scrutiny as he helplessly pulled out a chair and sat down. He lifted a triangular slice of buttered toast from the rack, then he folded it around a piece of bacon.

He stared into space, munching slowly as he felt her eyes burning on him.

"Alright, I can't bloody eat like this... put me out of my misery. What happened?" He threw the food back on the plate.

"Let's see..." she took a deep breath and began to list. "Well, you wouldn't stop drinking, you snuck into the bathroom to snort cocaine, you made a complete arse of yourself in front of people we were at he table with, you showed me off to a bunch of older bachelor men as if I was a slab of meat, you started singing the soundtrack of My Fair Lady and got us kicked out of a car, you urinated in Hyde Park on the walk back, you threw up all over me when I tried putting you to bed and then you said that I was the one who ruined your night."

She waited for him to say something, but he just looked at his plate, astounded and pondering hard as he tried to recollect.

She scoffed and stood back up, "There were times where I thought you completely forgot about me or my feelings. It was just all so... inconsiderate."

"I'm-I'm still getting used to being in a relationship." Was all he answered.

"Don't you remember that way before?" She paced back and forth.

"A little... but then again, I wasn't any wiser or in love the way I am now." He murmured.

She stopped, "If you're in love the way you are now, then why did you behave and end up the way you did last night?"

"Because I was too fucking scared early on in the night to ask you if we could leave!" He suddenly raised his voice.

The room turned silent. She backed away from him cautiously.

"Oh Monica, I-"

"No. I get it. You don't trust me enough to be honest with me."

"It's not that! I just..l-I just thought that you deserved a night out, and I didn't want to ruin that," he got up off his chair and slammed it back into the table. "You were working morning to afternoon in that cafe and I've been away at the studio all day long and... it must be a god awful routine here for you. I thought you wanted to get out of the house last night. Its the first time in a while."

"You made my night worse than it already was, and it was out of your own selfishness."

She swallowed, and slipped past him into the hall. He numbly listened as she picked up the telephone and started dialling...

"...Hello, Veronica?...it's just Monica here..."

"Oh fuck, she's leaving. God, why do they always leave?" He panicked in his head.

"Has John left for-oh good! Thank you! Before he goes out the door can you please tell him to pass on that Freddie won't be going in today? ...yes, long story short, we were at an event in the Savoy last night... yes yes, now he has a really bad hangover and his throat is raw... oh no, I'm fine, I didn't drink much at it.... alright! Thank you so so much! ...you take care too, bye!"

She paused, then quietly trudged back into the kitchen, arms folded.

He was prepared for her to pack up and leave. She may not have arranged anything, but that wasn't to say that it wouldn't happen.

"You should go back upstairs, clean yourself up in the shower and lie down. I'll bring you up fresh water and pain killers." She said flatly, patting his shoulder.

"Is-Is that... everything?"

"Can you think of any hangover remedies?"

He shook his head quickly.

She nodded, and quietly said, "I will see you up there, okay?"

Timidly, she went back to the table, and started putting the cutlery back in its drawer.

It never ceased to astound him that within a second this quiet, pleasant girl could have a sense of authority over him and make him feel ever so obedient and intimidated by her.

He turned around awkwardly, went upstairs, into their bedroom and the en suite bathroom to start brushing his teeth. He could still taste the stomach acid inside his mouth, stinging his throat.

The whole time he was anxious about hearing the front door open and slam shut down below right after she gave him the tray of remedies as promised. He didn't like not knowing what Monica was going to do, nor did he like the tension and silence.

He switched the shower on, and stripped himself down as the water warmed up.

Monica was in the back garden, putting the leftover toast on the bird table when she heard running water coming from the upstairs window.

"Thank goodness, he smelt absolutely awful" she placed bacon into the cats' bowls once she was back inside.

He stood still in the unit under the hot water, not doing anything. In his regretful state he didn't want to do anything. He wanted to wait and find out if she was going to leave.

He'd lost hope when he heard her enter their bedroom.

She walked onto the foggy, humid bathroom, to get her toothbrush no doubt.

Then, he felt the steam escape around him and turned around, only to find Monica had pulled the screen back and was standing in front of him.

She looked straight at him, expressionless, but not with any sense of threat.

He looked back silently, expecting her declaration.

But instead she picked the bottle of shower gel sitting in the caddy and squirted it onto her palm, "You still have a lot of it stuck in your chest hair."

He watched on baffled as she reached in just enough so that she wouldn't get wet, lathering soap onto his upper chest, careful not to slip her hand any lower and give him the wrong idea. Then, she gestured him to turn around before grabbing the yellow bottle of Johnsons.

"I don't deserve her..." he thought as he kept his head tilted back, her fingers massaging the lemon-scented baby product into his scalp of black, soaking curls.

She grabbed the shower head and softly began rinsing the suds out, and with his finger, he traced a sentence on the steamed up shower screen:

"WHY ARE YOU BEING NICE TO ME?"

"Ugh! For god's sake, why does he have to be so cute?" She thought, resisting the urge to smile.

She put the shower head back in its overhead holder. On her side of the glass screen, she responded:

"I'M NOT."

He sighed, then traced again:

"THEN WHY ARE YOU HELPING ME?"

"BECAUSE I LOVE YOU, SILLY XX"

That response, along with her nurturing actions, made his heart melt with guilt.

"BUT I WAS SUCH AN ARSE"

...to which she simply underlined the 'I love you' in her last reply to emphasise her point:

"I LOVE YOU"

He felt his hand waver away from his side and towards hers, grazing her fingers. He slid his into her palm, curling them around her hand. To which he clutched his hand in reply, her thumb tenderly stroking up and down his knuckle.

"Are we on good terms again?" He cautiously asked, stepping out from under the head slightly.

She didn't reply, except turn to face him and let him pull her close.

He closed his eyes, brushing his lips against her head as he held her. He hated those moments when she wasn't herself because she'd been hurt.

He hated the fact that this time he was the one who did it.

"Freddie, as long as we have a nice time together, and we are comfortable wherever we are, that's all I ask," she finally spoke, murmuring into his wet shoulder. "Even if we had a lazy night in on the sofa smothered in cats and take-out boxes that would still make me happy."

He broke away, then felt himself slip down onto the shower base to sit down.

"I don't understand... every time I try not to make a fuss it only makes things more difficult for others." He slouched against the tile wall.

She could see the remorse in his eyes for the first time that morning, the child that had by now realised the consequences of his actions.

"Just don't feel like you should try to avoid insulting me in any way... being honest with me is much easier." She continued, kneeling down to his level.

"...I-I'll be out in a moment." He momentarily pushed himself back up onto his feet.

"Alright... I forgot to grab your headache tablets." She stood back, and went to the towel rack to find him one for his hair.

"There's no hurry, dear." He smoothed his wet hair back under the running water.

"Still, I don't want you to suffer too long." She tossed the towel to the foot of the shower.

"Leave it be, this is my penance." He responded, switching the water off.

"When did you become such a saint?!" She joked as she left the en suite.

***

Once she was dressed in a pair of jeans and one of Freddie's old sweatshirts, Monica began preparing a small tray from what was left of the breakfast table she'd set up as he towel-dried his hair in the bedroom; he was too hungover to withstand the prolonged noise and heat of a hairdryer.

"Knock knock" she barged in gently through the bedroom door, her arms full.

"Oh, you saved me something!" He looked up from his spot on the mattress, towel draped around his shoulders.

"I had to throw away your toast and bacon, sorry." She set the tray on the bedside table.

Then suddenly the telephone started ringing.

"Don't answer that, dear. That's probably John [Reid] complaining about wasting the time of our contract." He stopped her hand picking it up.

"Wouldn't Deaky have told him?" Monica pulled the curtains open to let in more light.

"Probably, but the boss really wants this new bloody record finished." He huffed, lowering himself down.

"The last thing you want to hear right now is a raging Scotsman, am I right?" She pulled his new, clean duvet over him.

He opened his arms, "I have you for that."

"I'm not Scottish!" She laughed, settling down against his chest.

"I know, but close enough." He kissed her head.

They stayed and waited until the ringing subsided a moment later.

"...You smell so much better now." She took a deep breath.

He scoffed and reached down to grab her bottom.

"Hey!" She jumped. "You wouldn't be smelling better if it weren't for me!"

"I wouldn't be a lot of things if it weren't for you." His arms that were draped around her had tightened their grip.

"Like what?" She rested her hand on his chest.

"...Happy." His fingers grazed her shoulder tenderly.

She smiled and knelt above him as she felt her heart flush, kissing him gently.

"Oh, you've cleaned your teeth!" She giggled, pleasantly surprised.

"What in the world did I drink last night? It tasted bloody awful when I woke up." his voice was a little gravelly.

"I would tell you, only I lost count and track." Her fingers traced along his chin, his Cupid's bow...

He started kissing her fingers, "Must've been a really boring event."

"It really was..." she trailed off as she felt him take one in between his soft lips, his stubbly cheeks hollowed and long dark eyelashes fluttering closed.

Instinctively she started rubbing her knee and thigh against his body, and she could feel his tongue on her fingertip getting warmer.

He sat up and pulled her onto his lap, kissing her wrist and nuzzling her neck, "Next time we go out to one, can we get straight home?"

She held onto him, "Alright, we will make an Irish exit this time, alright?"

"We will pretend we were never there." He grinned, rubbing her thighs.

She kissed him back, "And we will pretend that last night never happened."