Page 20 of Dead Serious Case 5 Madame Vivienne

The surface beneath my cheek is soft and plump, slightly velvety, and it feels and smells familiar. In fact, I’m pretty sure it’s my sofa I’m lying on. Willing the throbbing in my head to stop, I tentatively open my eyes again and blink a couple of times until the blurriness passes.

As my vision clears, I begin to wonder if I’m actually still asleep and having a weird dream. That or I’m hallucinating, because I could swear I can see Danny sprawled across a huge, gaudy golden throne. He’s still wearing his suit from the funeral, but he’s lost the jacket and tie, and his shirt is unbuttoned toreveal his gorgeous hairy chest. His mouth is hanging slightly open as he snores, and his usually pristine blonde hair hangs forward across his forehead, fluttering with each soft breath. There’s also a rather tacky-looking crown hanging on the back of the throne.

This has to be a dream because that thing is bloody huge; there’s no way we lugged it up here last night. And the crown? I squint as I try to focus and realise I’m not imagining things—it looks like the one Prince Charles wore at his coronation.

Urgh. I’m just about to close my eyes again when I feel the sofa shift beneath me. There’s a loud sigh and a slim arm flops over my waist. I know I’m frowning because the shift in my facial muscles makes my head pulse harder. If Danny is over there passed out on the throne, who the hell is spooning me?

Bracing myself against the wave of nausea and inevitable throb of pain, I lift my aching head and look over my shoulder to find Chan sleeping peacefully behind me, his pink lipstick smudged up the side of his face and his eye makeup now resembling a panda.

This all feels a little too tangible to be a dream. Surely if this were real, I wouldn’t be suffering this badly though. As I stare at Chan a little too long, my already unsteady centre of balance shifts and I fall forward. Unfortunately, with two of us spooned up on the sofa, there’s nothing but the edge and the floor to break my fall.

I give an involuntary yelp as I drop, smooshing my face into the carpet, and I groan.

“Ouch,” I wheeze, my breath escaping my lungs slowly like a deflating balloon.

For a second, I lie there, unable to move. At least my glasses flew off when I fell and I didn’t break them.

“Tris?” A quiet voice whispers hoarsely.

I fumble for my glasses, which have landed just a few feet in front of me. With clumsy fingers, I grab them and shove them on my face. Lifting my head, I find Chan’s face peering blearily over the edge of the sofa at me.

“What?” He blinks, seemingly as confused and disoriented as me. He lifts his head and narrows his eyes. “Is that a fucking throne?”

“What the hell happened?” Chan moans, cradling his head.

“I have no idea,” I mutter.

Danny’s croaky voice comes from across the room. “Why am I sitting on a throne?”

Very tentatively, I push myself to my hands and knees, and fumble for the sofa. Chan’s hand grabs me and as he sits up with a moan, I flop down next to him.

“What the fuck happened last night?” I groan.

“I have no idea.” Chan frowns. “What time is it?”

“What time is it?” I repeat. “What day is it? Are we supposed to be at work?” I look over to Danny, who winces while rubbing his neck and appears to be as baffled as we are.

“I think it’s Saturday, isn’t it?” He looks up at the ceiling, “Is it Saturday?”

“Fuck,” I sigh.

“Where’s Aidan?” Chan says suddenly in alarm.

“I’m right here,” a calm, amused voice interrupts Chan’s panic spiral.

We turn and see Aidan and Nick appear in the doorway.

“Okay, that’s you two accounted for,” I mumble. “Now, where’s Sam?”

“Present,” a muffled voice says from behind the armchair.

A hand reaches up and grips the chairback, followed by a pair of pigtails and a tiara. Finally, Sam’s face emerges and I can’t help the snort that escapes. I’d say he was wearing full drag makeup but I’ve seen how awesome Chan is at drag. I don’t knowwho did Sam’s face but he looks more like one of the ugly sisters from a Cinderella pantomime. It doesn’t get much better when he shakily stands. Danny starts chuckling in the corner on his throne.

Sam’s still wearing his shirt and tie, the collar and knot of which are loosened the way he usually has them, but his dark trousers are rolled up to the knees and he has black socks and old-fashioned sock-suspenders with silver heeled sandals that look as if they belong onStrictly Come Dancing. Finally, to finish his delectable ensemble, there’s a pink tutu around his waist.

He also appears to be handcuffed to a traffic cone.

Sam stares down at himself in silence for several long moments before looking back at us and shrugging. “I got nothing. Not a clue.”