Short Stack - Lily Morton Page 0,28

are occupied, I whip his deely boppers off. “There you are, you poor little fucker,” I whisper. “That’s better.” I bend closer. “Get out now,” I suggest. “Go, while you still can. I’ll cover for you.” He gives me an affectionate lick and curls up on my lap. “Okay then, Stockholm Syndrome has obviously set in.”

“What are you mumbling about?” Dylan asks, dragging a whiteboard into the room.

“Are you giving a presentation?” I ask, stretching my leg out and kicking Henry.

He wakes with a snort and a yelp and sits up. “Where am I?” he asks, looking around blearily.

“Blenheim Palace,” I return. “Don’t put your feet on the furniture.”

“I don’t think I am,” he says sleepily. “I think I’m in your home and you’re wearing pigtails and dressed as a superhero saint. What an extraordinarily lovely vision to wake up to.”

“I think he ought to wear it to work. It would make him much more approachable,” Dylan says.

“I don’t want to be more approachable,” I say patiently. “I keep telling you that. If you’re approachable, people talk to you.” I shudder. “They tell you their problems.”

“Ugh!” Dylan says mockingly. “How truly appalling.”

The front door bangs, and Ivo and Asa appear. Ivo is holding three carrier bags that are clanking ominously and wearing a white shirt which is unbuttoned to his waist and has a collar that’s slightly bigger than his head. His flares are so wide I can feel the draft as he walks past.

“You went out in that? You brave bastard,” I say admiringly.

He looks at me and grins. “But who is this very charming stranger? Dylan, please introduce me.” He looks at my raised middle finger and laughs. “We seem to be communicating with sign language. Ah, it’s the language of love.”

Asa grins. He’s wearing jeans and a T-shirt and looks tanned and very happy. Come to think of it, that description fits the way he looks all the time.

“Hang on,” I say indignantly. “Why is Asa dressed normally?”

“He couldn’t go out in costume,” Henry says crossly. “Asa is a star, Gabe.” He gives Asa a very sweet and slightly lecherous smile.

Ivo shakes his head. “Babe, wipe the drool. You look like a bulldog at the dinner table.”

Henry laughs and makes a production of wiping his face.

Jude comes over. “Asa is going to wear this,” he says, unveiling an outfit of a khaki shirt and brown trousers with a flourish.

“I think his shirt should be open and his hair should be down,” Dylan says judiciously.

Jude nods happily, and Asa just looks resigned.

“I know a good lawyer,” I tell him, grabbing a handful of pistachio nuts and starting to crack them. “You know, for when you launch the sexual harassment case.”

“I don’t mind,” Asa says thoughtfully. “Jude’s going to put his leather chaps on soon.”

“This is not that sort of party,” Dylan says in a scandalised tone. “Don’t bring your wild Hollywood ways to this house.”

I stare at Asa. “Why is he dressing as Crocodile Dundee?”

“He’s got Australia,” Dylan says as he sets out the bottles that Ivo hands him.

I squint at him. “The world map must have shifted since I was at school. Since when is Australia in fucking Europe?”

“Gabe, whole continents have shifted since you were at school,” Dylan says sweetly.

I laugh. “You’re such a wanker,” I say affectionately. He gives me a glowing smile that makes his green-gold eyes shine, and I feel the customary lurch where I apparently have a heart now.

“Australia is now in the contest,” Jude informs me. “I’m not exactly sure why it happened, but you just have to accept it.”

“Last person who said that to me was Dylan, and he was serving broccoli.” I pause. “Hang on. Jude and Asa are Australia. I’m not entirely sure what Henry and Ivo are?”

“We’re Benny and Björn from ABBA. We’re Sweden,” Henry says indignantly. “Can’t you tell?”

“No,” I say succinctly. I stare at Dylan. “So, why aren’t we doing England together?”

He shrugs. “Pah! England is never, in a million years, going to win and I fancied dressing up as Bono.”

Henry sits up at this point. “Psst,” he says. “It’s started.”

There’s a scurrying movement as Jude and Dylan pour everyone a tequila shot. On TV, very oddly dressed people flood the stage while some strange music starts to play.

“Last time I heard music like this, it was at a school disco,” I say to Henry. “Remember those, with all the girls lined up one side of the hall not looking at the boys?”

He laughs. “I