I reached into the steaming cubicle, checked the temperature of the powerful jet of water, then strode back through to the bedroom. She was still asleep on the bed, face up, where I’d placed her. Puke covered the front of her dress, dribbled down her chin. There were glossy patches of dried semen in her hair and flakes of it on her shoulders and thighs. I couldn’t leave her like that till morning; I had to clean her up, sober her up and get her home. For all I knew there was someone expecting her, but when she’d been sick, pissed herself then passed out in the taxi and there was no clue in her handbag as to where she lived, I had to bring her back to my place. There were lots of numbers in her phone, but nothing to tell me her relationship to the people they belonged to. ‘Can you come and pick Anna up - she’s pissed and covered in puke and spunk from a stag party gang-bang,’ is hardly something her boss, mother, husband, boyfriend, son or daughter would want to hear. Thankfully I lived in a ground floor flat; otherwise it would have been nigh on impossible to get her to the front door.

It took me a few minutes of shaking and shouting to wake her and several more to get her to her feet, but eventually she swayed unaided before me. I tentatively pulled the straps from her shoulders and worked the dress down over her tits, waist and hips till it slid to the floor. I couldn’t lift it over her head - the sick would have smeared everywhere. I heard a seam rip slightly as I pushed it down her body, but the dress was fucked anyway.

‘Mmm, Alex… I’m getting ahead of you… you’re still dressed,’ she slurred and stumbled towards me. I caught her, held her at arm’s length then led her to the bathroom. The glass door of the shower cubicle closed with a clunk behind her and she stood in the stream of water for a second before sliding down the glass into a heap on the floor. Fuck, that wasn’t what I’d expected: I thought she’d come around, start cleaning herself up so she could soon be on her way. Thinking clearly, for once, I washed her short, black, silky dress in the sink, rinsed it, wrung it out and hung it over the radiator. It must have taken five minutes to do that, but she was still motionless when I checked again and I had to come up with another plan.

‘Mrs Cheetham! Anna! Wake up! Please wake up, come on, Anna!’ but that was no use either. Eventually I stripped down to my underpants and joined her. At first I merely stood there, not knowing where to start then sprang decisively into action. Her glistening thong slipped off easily enough and I soaped it, scrubbed it, rinsed it off, wrung it out and popped it on the radiator next to her dress. The sponge soaped up easily and I gently drew it across her golden skin, wiped