We were bored shitless that afternoon. Braulio had spent ages wrestling with a pistachio that wouldn't open, and the rest of us had offered plenty of advice without helping. Then we spotted a couple's open living-room window. Inside were wine, cheese and two glasses. Worth a closer look.
They had everything ready. She lit a candle. He took the corkscrew out of the drawer, put it beside the bottle and turned to kiss her. Right then. Perfect bloody timing.
“Now, while they're busy!”
The three of us carried the corkscrew off and ducked behind the curtain. We've had practice making things disappear, but that was a beauty. He reached back without looking and grabbed a fistful of nothing.
“Where's the corkscrew? I've literally just put it down.”
He rummaged through the drawer. She lifted the cheese. They checked beneath the cushions, and he even opened the fridge. We were biting our hats to keep from laughing. Mate, it's not behind the yoghurt. Still, have a proper look. We're having a lovely time.
First they tried a key. He jammed it into the cork at an angle, twisted his wrist and pulled a face that deserved its own audience. The cork didn't budge.
“That opens the front door, love. Try the buzzer.”
Next he fetched a shoe because he'd seen a video. She stopped him before he started thumping the wall. They were already going thirsty. No need to get a plasterer involved as well.
They tried pushing with a spoon handle. Nothing. Then they tried a thumb, in case the cork just needed a bit of affection. By now the candle was half gone and the cheese was sweating.
From date night to the toolbox
She came back from the cupboard with a screw and a pair of pliers. Sitting beside him, she wound the screw into the cork and gripped its head with the pliers. They moved the glasses aside. This was getting serious.
“Hold the bottle. This bastard's coming out.”
He held it. She pulled. Both of them gritted their teeth. We leaned out a little further. Suddenly the cork came free, his arm jerked backwards and the open bottle swung with it.
Wine sloshed across the entire sofa. The back, the seat, the cushions. The lot. His sleeve was soaked and she had a big red drop on her forehead. The glasses, meanwhile, were spotless.
They stared at the mess. Our little arses clenched. Pinching the corkscrew was one thing. Leaving their living room looking like that was quite another.
She wiped her forehead with a finger and looked at him.
“Do we let the sofa breathe, or take it to the dry cleaner?”
He laughed so hard he nearly dropped the remaining wine. They ended up on the floor with cloths in their hands, unable to wipe anything without cracking up again. Fair play, you glorious sods. They were making us laugh now.
We slipped the corkscrew back into the drawer while they cleaned up. Then they toasted with two half-full glasses and carried on eating the cheese, sitting on a blanket. The sofa was dripping, but they were having a fucking lovely evening.
We headed back to the woods, still sniggering. Braulio sat down, took out his pistachio and gave us a very serious look.
“Did anyone bring the pliers?”
