Page 55 of The One Plus One
He let out a breath. ‘Right.’ He glanced down at the bottle. ‘Then let’s…Oh, for crying out loud.’
‘What?’
‘I thought it was a screw top.’ He stared at it as if it was just one more thing designed to annoy him. ‘Great. I don’t suppose you have a bottle opener?’
‘No.’
‘You think they’ll exchange it?’
‘Did you take the receipt?’
He let out a deep sigh, which she interrupted. ‘No need,’ she said, taking it from him. She opened her door and climbed out. Norman’s head shot up.
‘You’re not going to smash it into my windscreen?’
‘Nope.’ She peeled off the foil. ‘Take off your shoe.’
‘What?’
‘Take off your shoe. It won’t work with flip-flops.’
‘Please don’t use it as a glass. My ex did that once with a stiletto and it was really, really hard pretending that champagne smelling of feet was an erotic experience.’
She held out her hand. He finally took his shoe off and handed it to her. As he looked on, Jess placed the base of the wine bottle inside it and, holding the two together carefully, she stood alongside the hotel and thumped them hard against the wall.
‘I suppose there’s no point me asking you what you’re doing.’
‘Just give me a minute,’ she said, through gritted teeth, and thumped again.
Mr Nicholls shook his head slowly.
She straightened up and glared at him. ‘You’re more than welcome to suck the cork out, if you’d rather.’
He held up his hand. ‘No, no. You go ahead. Broken glass in my socks is exactly how I hoped to end tonight.’
Jess checked the cork and thumped again. And there – a centimetre of it protruded from the neck of the bottle.Thump. Another centimetre. She held it carefully, gave it one more thump, and there it was: she pulled the rest of the cork gently from the neck and handed it to him.
He stared at it, and then at her. She handed him back his shoe.
‘Wow. You’re a useful woman to know.’
‘I can also put up shelves, replace rotting floorboards and make a fan belt out of a tied stocking.’
‘Really?’
‘Not the fan belt.’ She climbed into the car and accepted the plastic cup of wine. ‘I tried it once. It shredded before we’d got thirty yards down the road. Total waste of M&S opaques.’ She took a sip. ‘And the car stank of burnt tights for weeks.’
Behind them, Norman whimpered in his sleep.
‘Truce,’ Mr Nicholls said, and held up his cup.
‘Truce. You’re not going to drive afterwards, are you?’ she said, holding up her own.
‘I won’t if you won’t.’
‘Oh, very funny.’
And suddenly the evening became a little easier.
