Short Stack - Lily Morton Page 0,105

second.” I sigh loudly and deliberately. “You’re so dramatic.”

He turns a face of thunder towards me. “I beg your pardon?”

“Dramatic,” I say slowly, spacing the syllables out. “You’re a total drama whore.” He glares, and I grin. “We’re together. The rest will sort itself out. And ignore Frankie. He was a wanker.”

He blinks. “And that’s it?”

“That’s it.” I go to switch on the engine, but he puts his hand on my arm.

“Thank you.” He smiles.

“For what?”

“For telling me the way it is. I love that you do that.”

“For the sake of honesty, I have to say you don’t. You went up the wall yesterday when I told you that you weren’t driving properly.”

He shakes his head. “You were wrong and that happens much more often than you’d like to think.”

I laugh and lean forward to kiss him. “They’re going to love you. Do you know how I know that?” He shakes his head, a dazed expression on his face. “Because I love you, and you’re wicked.” I smile at him. “Asa rang you and no one else for this job. They’ve been after you for a while. Just relax.” I pause, a sudden thought occurring to me. “Is it me coming with you that’s stressing you out? I know you invited me, but is it putting too much pressure on you because…”

He covers my mouth with his long fingers. “No,” he says fiercely. “You are never the problem. Ever. You’re always my solution.” He removes his hand, his breathing loud in the quiet of the car and his face resolute.

“Well, okay, then,” I say softly. “Let’s go together and have a good weekend, and if it’s shit, we’ll just fuck off.”

“Together?”

I squeeze his hand. “Always.”

I start the car again and pull out onto the road. Within a few minutes, the entrance we were told to look out for appears, and I pull onto a gravelled forecourt and park. We look up at the house. It’s a large Victorian house with huge bay windows that look down on the beach and the sea. A bike lies abandoned outside the front door along with a skateboard and a bright red football.

“Nice,” I say.

He nods thoughtfully.

I suppose people living in a house must seem a bit strange to him when he spent nearly twenty years living in hotels. Although he seems pretty adamant about buying a house in Cornwall for us. The thought of that makes me smile.

We get out of the car and make our way to the shiny, navy front door. With an air of resolution, he puts his finger on the doorbell.

We wait for a few moments, listening to the melodic chimes die away. With a puzzled look on his face, Gideon rings the bell again. He seems astonished that nobody is waiting on the doorstep for us.

Finally, we hear light, quick footsteps. The door slowly opens a crack, and a little boy’s face appears. “Hello,” he says cheerfully. “I’m Billy.”

Gideon looks down at him and then back at me with a slightly panicked expression.

I give him a quelling glance. “Hi,” I say to the little boy. “We’re here to see Mr Jacobs.”

“Oh,” he says in a disappointed voice. “That’s my daddy, but he’s busy at the moment. He’s out the back spraying Stanley Atkins with the hose.”

Gideon blinks. “Oh,” he says hesitantly. “That’s nice. Is Stanley someone that your daddy…” He pauses. “Someone that your daddy knows?”

I bite my lip.

“No,” the little boy says. “She’s my dog, but she rolled in horse poo, so Daddy’s giving her a shower.” He pauses. “And swearing a lot,” he adds.

Gideon sags with relief now that we’re not dealing with some sort of human prisoner situation, or whatever is running through his clever and theatrical mind. I make sure that he sees me rolling my eyes at him.

“Well, it’s good to be clean,” he says heartily and subsides a little when the little boy carries on staring at him. “So, can we come in?” he asks in rather a desperate tone.

“Or you could go and get Daddy,” I interject quickly. “Rather than let two complete strangers into your house.”

“I don’t think you can come in anyway,” he says. “Molly’s missing.”

Gideon narrows his eyes. “And is Molly a person or…”

“Gerbil,” Billy says succinctly. “She got out of her cage, and she’s on the run. Peggy’s gone to bed because she says the whole house is a nuthouse, and if she doesn’t get up, then we might not get cake today.”

“I don’t blame Peggy,” Gideon