Surprise!

Harry calls. He's coming into town. Work thing. Could he crash at mine tonight?

"Sure," I say.

This isn't unusual for Harry. He swings through the city every now and again, and we catch up. But today is different. Today's my birthday.

"You gonna be in?" he asks. I detect a slyness in his question.

He knows it's my birthday, of course. We've known each other for years. I also know he likes a laugh, likes a prank on his mates. So his nonchalant question and his failure to mention my birthday immediately make me think: surprise party.

"Yeah, I'll be back after work," I tell him, suppressing a smile.

Harry's flight lands late afternoon, so I slip out of work at lunchtime to tidy the spare room, put a jug of water by the bed, and some towels in the drier to freshen up. I was going to see my folks, but I push them back to the weekend. I text Harry:

Key's in the Keysafe, you know the code.

Yeah mate thx

The last hours of work drag, anticipating whatever Harry's got planned when I get home this evening.

A couple of workmates tell me "happy birthday" as they leave the office. Are they leaving early so they can get to mine before I do?

About 5pm, Harry texts me.

I'm in. Heard from Mike, so popping out for an hour. See you when you get home

He's laying the groundwork, I think. Misdirecting my expectations. That is so Harry...

I get off the bus on my street. The house is dark. Curtains drawn. Silent. I picture everyone inside waiting: Harry and Mike, and my workmates who have met Harry on a few occasions, and our uni mates who I know Harry kept in touch with. All primed to yank their party poppers and yell: "Surprise!"

I turn my key in the lock. I give them a moment to settle. I compose my expression (mild shock tempered with self-effacing gratitude). I push open the door and switch on the light.

No one is here.

There's four half-empty beer bottles on the coffee table. Harry's suitcase is open on the sofa with its contents spilled out. He didn't even get as far as the guest room which I prepared for him. I smell deodorant and cigarette smoke.

I check the other rooms with vain hope. The apartment is empty.

Then I call Harry. He doesn't pick up first time, but the second time he answers and there's the roar of a football crowd. I yank the phone from my ear.

"Hey mate! Just out with Mikey!" Harry yells.

I hear Mike yelling my name – 'Daaaavoooo!' – along with a few other voices I vaguely recognise from university.

"Where are you?"

"The pub. Watching England. I know you're not into that, so I didn't mention it."

I tell him it's fine. No worries. I'll see him later. I hang up.

I sit on the sofa, feeling a fool. I was arrogant to assume he was staying at mine to hang out with me. I didn't actually make firm plans with him, so really it's my fault. Plus I was pretty self-involved thinking my birthday should mean something to other people.

I pick up a beer bottle and without thinking I take a gulp. It's in my mouth before I realise the backwash is clogged with ash and cigarette butts.

I find myself gagging, searching for the nearest available container... Harry's suitcase.

I retch and suddenly puke is pluming over his belongings. His clothes are now plastered in vomit, flecked with ash and warm beer foam.

I sigh and wipe my lips. The day feels long. I just want to go to bed.

I fold Harry's stuff into his case, including the various bottles of dregs and ash. I zip it closed. I put the vomitous suitcase out on the front step, then remove the key from the Keysafe and go back inside, locking the door behind me.

Around 2am, I hear a noise outside. Some drunken swearing, unzipping, glass rattling, then Harry banging on my door. He shouts my name followed by some expletives which I don't even hear. Eventually he stops and I hear his suitcase trundling away.

My last thought before I fall back asleep is: "Surprise!

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My longer stories are available as eBooks, including the darkly hilarious horror story HEAD CASE and the outrageous feminist splatterpunk METAGOTH, featuring goth antiheroine Rosa Razor.

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