Nick Oldham - Instinct

‘Henry — you awake?’ It was Donaldson.

Henry slumped back on to the bed. ‘Am now.’

‘Where the hell are you? There’s no reply at your house.’

‘Away… posh hotel in the Cotswolds.’

‘Got access to a TV?’

‘Got a friggin’ bubble bath thing in the bathroom,’ he said, unable to remember the word ‘jacuzzi’.

‘Switch it on — find a news channel.’

The line went dead. Henry sat up and found the TV remote, pointed, pressed and the 42 inch TV affixed to the wall opposite the king size bed flickered to life. He found a news channel, then sat bolt upright, with a ‘Jeez’ on his lips. The American President Barack Obama was standing at a podium. He switched up the volume slightly, the figure in the bed next to him stirring and sitting up groggily. ‘Sorry, love,’ Henry said.

‘What is it?’

‘Look at this,’ Henry said.

Alison Marsh sat up and draped an arm across Henry’s shoulder and focused on the TV at the announcement that American Special Forces had tracked down and killed Osama Bin Laden, leader of al-Qaeda. Henry watched, stunned by the news. Alison was less impressed.

‘Does this happen a lot?’ she asked after the cameras cut away from the president and back to the studio. ‘People ringing you up at strange times?’

‘Unfortunately, yes.’ He slid his arm around her naked body and pulled her to him.

‘Know what I want?’ she said dreamily. ‘I want to be wined and dined. I want to be loved in public. I want us to say, “Hey, here we are — a real couple”, then take the flack and move on. I also want you to change that ringtone!’

Henry pulled her to him, one eye still a little tiny bit on the TV, and said, ‘Somehow, I think the world as I know it has just changed.’

She grabbed the remote control out of his hand, switched off the TV, threw it aside and forced him down on to the bed, then climbed on top of him.