Short Stack - Lily Morton Page 0,27
wearing wigs, but by now I know the wisdom of not arguing with Dylan when he’s got that look. I glance in the mirror again. “Dylan, really? Are you angry with me in some form or another?”
“No, why?”
“Because why else would you do this to me?”
“For fun,” he says and nods his head emphatically. There’s a somewhat messianic gleam in his eyes which usually only occurs at festivities like Christmas and birthdays.
“Oh, okay. Fun. Is this the Mitchell brand of fun where there’s a vague threat of violence if I don’t enjoy myself?”
He steps closer, and I inhale the scent of his shampoo. “It’s not a vague threat,” he whispers and sticks a piece of cardboard in my hand.
“What is this?”
“Eurovision Bingo,” Jude says earnestly. “I hope I win. There’s a bottle of Advocaat for a prize.”
“You were a supermodel. Didn’t you save enough money to buy your own?”
“Pfft,” he says dismissively. “It’s not the same as winning one.”
“Or drinking it. Have you actually tasted Advocaat? There’s a reason why it’s always a prize in a raffle.”
“Don’t listen to him, Jude,” Dylan says briskly, pushing me down into a chair and straddling my lap. “It’s easier if you don’t take any notice of the words.”
“I knew you never listened to me,” I say, my hands coming up to cup his hips. “It was blatantly obvious with the amount of errors I had to live with at work.”
“You’re so funny,” he says sweetly. “I wonder how much funnier you’ll get before I won’t sleep with you tonight.” I shut my mouth with an audible snap, and he laughs before kissing me gently. “That’s what I thought, lover.”
“Please don’t call me that.” I cringe. “It makes you sound quite seedy and not in a good way.” I look to my right as he climbs off my lap. “Is Henry dead?”
Dylan looks at the prone figure of my oldest friend, who is lying full length on the sofa, snoring with his mouth slightly open. He’s dressed in a sparkly blue jumpsuit with knee-high white platform boots. A slightly bouffant dark wig covers his red hair, and someone has made a half-hearted attempt at drawing a moustache and beard on him. I look at Dylan and Jude. Probably both of them. They’re like Morecambe and Wise when they’re in a certain mood.
“He’s not dead,” Dylan says judiciously. “He’s either drunk or very tired. I still haven’t made my mind up.”
“One of Ivo’s friends was in London yesterday, so Henry’s probably still drunk. Where is the Frenchman? Shouldn’t he be cheering along his country?”
“He went down the shop with Asa for some more booze,” Jude says, opening a packet of crisps and shoving a mouthful in. “Once they’ve coped with Asa having to sign a thousand autographs they’ll probably be back just in time to go home. We regularly schedule an extra hour on everything we do now. Last week I took Billy swimming, and he actually waited for people to come up and talk to him outside the car. I think he somehow thinks he has his own fan club.”
“Where is Billy?” I ask.
“Dylan’s sister and her boys are in London for the weekend. He’s having a sleepover at their hotel with them.”
“Your sister’s here? Why didn’t I know this? Dylan, you really have to start communicating better.”
Dylan pauses in unwrapping a platter of cakes with flags iced on them. “Well, of course, that’s the problem. I do struggle with communication. You’re a genius. Thank you so much for pointing that out.”
“You’re a bit of a wallflower, sweetheart,” I say, grinning at him. “But don’t worry, baby. We can work on that together.”
“I’m not sure whether that was meant to sound threatening, but it did.”
“Hey ho. Why do we need more booze anyway?” I say, looking at the table. “There’s enough bottles there to run a bar.”
“That’s a bar for boring people,” Dylan says absentmindedly as he sets out a load of shot glasses.
“Oh, those boring people who have functioning livers. God damn them.”
He looks at me with laughter brimming in his eyes. “Fuck off and put your wig on properly.”
I shake my head. “Has never been said to me before.” I get up and go over to the mirror and pull the ginger wig further over my hair. Then I sigh resignedly before taking off my jacket and settling the tabard and cape so they lie neatly.
The dog comes over to me as I sit back down and, seeing that Dylan and Jude