Quite Ugly One Morning (Jack Parlabane #1)

by Christopher Brookmyre

The kids had both moved out now. He was at college in Bristol and she was somewhere between Bombay and Bangkok, with a backpack, a dose of the runs and some nose-ringed English poof of a boyfriend.

Upon seeing what was within he had simultaneously thrown up and wet himself, the upper and lower halves of his body depositing their damning comments on the situation either side of the aperture. ‘Postman must be built like the fuckin’ Tardis,’ McGregor muttered to himself, leaving vomity footprints on the floorboards as he trudged reluctantly down the hall. ‘How could a skinny wee smout like that hold so much liquid?’ He had a quick look at the lumpy puddle behind him. Onion, rice, the odd cardamom pod. Curry, doubtless preceded by a minimum six pints of heavy. Not quite so appetising second time around. He turned again to face into the flat, took a couple of short paces, then heard a splash and felt something splat against his calves.

Dear Lord, he thought, don’t make me kill him today when I won’t enjoy it.

She had appeared to be a black-belt prick teaser, a whiff of her perfume and a glimpse of lace-

bordered breast as she bent over a desk enough to send himself and many of his boardroom colleagues scurrying off to the toilets for some executive relief.

to consider going to a prostitute. For goodness’ sake, he had to do something, as he was masturbating so much that he was convinced his right arm was becoming noticeably wider than his left.