He woke up with the most horrendous headache. For a short while Clive thought that was all that was wrong. He made his coffee, ate his breakfast, but it wasn’t until he went to wash his face that he saw in the mirror that something had been written in thick black marker on his forehead in a combination of kanji and hiragana. Now it all made sense he thought. The images flooded back to him from the previous night like polaroid snapshots being thrown into his head as if it were a hat – the hurried taxi cab ride through the inner streets of London, the rounds and rounds of sake, the looks on the Japanese executives faces when they saw him jumping naked into the pool, the reflection off his face when he saw them jumping naked into the pool.
He sat down on the edge of his bathtub and tapped away at his phone in order to translate the hidden message.
????? = Yoi ichinichi o = Have a nice day.
He was sure they had all had a great night. Though with a billion dollars at stake in the merger he was rather hoping to have read “It’s a deal.”