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either. In fact, all he felt was a good, honest, pang of hunger. He gave himself an inward cheer in celebration. However the night had ended, he seemed to have escaped unharmed. A good thing too: he wouldn’t want to face a day this important with a hangover.
    He was tempted to stay lying there but the audible undercurrent of human voices told him that, whatever the time, it was late enough for him to be up and about. He threw off the duvet, swung his feet onto the polished wooden floor and enjoyed the coolness of its surface.
    With a measure of trepidation, he padded over to the door between his room and the main living area. How had the night ended? He couldn’t remember. He and Bull had finished the hipflask then Bull had raided his parents’ house for more booze. Unt couldn’t remember where their conversation had led or when Bull had left. He could still be there now for all Unt knew. It wouldn’t be the first time. He dreaded whatever carnage awaited round the corner.
    But for the second time of his short morning he got a pleasant surprise when he got his first view of the damage and saw it wasn’t too bad. The living area was dominated by a sunken recess where two leather couches faced off against each other over a dark wooden table. What mess there was was contained within that space.
    Four unmatched glasses and a single pair of plates covered the table together with the remains of two green candles. These had burned down to stubs and spilt their wax onto the battered veneer. None of the glasses were fully empty: one was nearly full and the bottles that had filled them took up the rest of the table’s surface. A battered red blanket was thrown across Unt’s favourite couch and opposite was a black sweater that Unt recognised as Bulton’s.
    That was it. That was the entire consequence of an ill-advised night of heavy drinking. Unt’s luck was with him this morning and what a morning to have it. He prayed it was an omen of things to come.
    He looked to his left and took in the giant walnut clock that hung above the fire and swallowed up the chimney breast. At four foot across, it was huge. Once, it had been a table but a friend of Unt’s parents had, for some reason, taken it upon himself to give it a clock mechanism, hands and numbers and given it to them as a present. Unt couldn’t remember the occasion but he remembered it being installed the month that they died. Unt found it ugly and out of place but he wouldn’t take it down. For one thing, it was the only clock he owned and it was a remarkably true one at that.
    Right now it was showing as ten before nine. The ceremony was scheduled to start anywhere from eleven and people would be gathering half an hour before that. That gave him one hour forty five to have breakfast, dress and get there.
    He began by making himself a cup of coffee: black, like he only had for his first cup of the day. He drank it while sat among last night’s debris, together with lukewarm porridge that he ate sweetened with honey. After that, he went to work.
    His wash room was a small closet to the right of the chimney breast. Its high window ran along the length of the outer wall but the room was at the rear of the house and the light it gave in the morning was feeble. A drop-down shutter could seal the window to keep the heat in but with the year warming up, Unt had taken to leaving it habitually open.
    The zinc tub was still filled with yesterday’s bathwater, the basin beside it likewise. The houses in this quarter had the older plumbing system - drains but no running water: the neighbourhood was waiting for the improved system but the schedule for development had yet to roll in their favour. Unt hadn’t the time or inclination to go outside to the pump so he just made do with what he had.
    The water smelled all right but felt grey on his skin. He was still too young to have much to shave but there was enough hair to need getting rid of. The cold water made the razor glide