‘To old times!’

You clink your tumbler of vodka & T with Charlie’s beer bottle and he suggests a new toast.

‘To shorts!’

You laugh, and follow his gaze to your legs. Not bad, you think, though you don’t quite share his open admiration. As you look up and clink glasses with him again the room tilts, and you give your head a little shake to clear it.

‘I should have known you’d be a fan of shorts.’

‘You know what Sass? It’s not just any shorts. It’s you in shorts. Little white shorts especially.’

‘Thanks. Now stop licking your lips...’ you giggle.

Charlie is unembarrassed, and remains pretty focussed on the legs issue. ‘No, seriously babe. You look great, really great.’

You smile, and give him a long look which is intended to be cool and appraising. A kind of ‘you had your chance, you blew it’ look. However you’re a little too far gone to be able to express so much in what is basically a drunken stare. Who can blame Charlie for misinterpreting your intentions?

He moves towards you, puts his hands to your face and brushes your hair back, possibly not as gently as he meant to. The better to surrender to his kiss, you take a step back to lean against the wall...

...you have forgotten you were standing at an open window. It happens in a second but Charlie’s horrified eyes see it in slow motion, your body falling backwards, you grabbing at the windowsill to hold on, missing it and tumbling through to open window, to hit the pavement below and crumple into a heap.

The ambulance arrives in a wail of sirens and a screech of brakes. No-one has dared to move your body, frightened to do any damage. The paramedics carefully straighten you out, pack you into a foam straitjacket and lift you into the ambulance. They speed you towards the Royal Free but not fast enough, for it is a matter of minutes before your vital signs give out.

Not only did you meet a horrible end, but your death ruined a great party. And poor Charlie still has nightmares about kissing girls near windows.