I’ve never done this before. Is there a rule about how long you’re supposed to date before moving in together? I mean, how do I know when it's the right time? I’ve never had a serious boyfriend before Danny, just a string of disastrous dates. Is this going too fast? Would he even want to live with me? I guess it’s a conversation we really should have sooner rather than later, but there’s this little part of me that’s worried he’ll think I’m getting too clingy. After all, this is my first proper relationship, what do I know?
From the moment I met him, all my good intentions about not getting too close to anyone flew straight out the window. Danny snuck under every single defence I had and just held tight. I guess I thought any serious boyfriend wouldn’t understand my responsibilities to Dad, but Danny is so patient and understanding with him and with me. I can’t help but wonder what I did to deserve him.
Should I ask him to move in with me?
Well, not in with me, at least not here. We’d have to look for something else obviously, a new place that would be ours from the start. The more I think about it, the more appealing it is. The thought of going hand in hand, viewing flats, arguing over parking, heading down to Ikea to pick out new furniture, spending every evening and morning together. The whole cosy fantasy gives me a lovely warm feeling in my belly. I’d never really given much thought to domesticity before, but now I’m imagining it, I want it so bad it's making me ache. There’s just one problem.
Dusty.
It’s hard enough trying to communicate with her now when Danny’s around. If we lived together it’d be nearly impossible. We won’t even think about all the times I inadvertently end up with lost spirits wandering up and attaching themselves to me. So far, Danny’s just thought I was talking to myself whenever he caught my side of the conversations. He thinks it’s cute and quirky. But if he sees me doing it all the time, how long until he just plain thinks I’m nuts?
A dumpy fur ball launches himself up onto the bed and lands next to me, startling me out of my thoughts.
I huff a startled laugh. “Christ, Jacob Marley, give me a little warning, will you?”
He lifts his tail in the air and sashays across the bed, then treads onto my balls before walking up my body and to my chest, where he sits and squints at me in judgement.
I can almost hear his thoughts.Where’s my Prince Danny?
“I miss him too.” I sigh loudly, feeling just as pathetic and needy.
This is ridiculous. I just saw him last night after we got back from Bingo Bonanza, but he got unexpectedly called back into work last night and wouldn’t be done until late so decided to head home to his place.
I wish I could say this was all tied to that weird encounter at the community hall and not how I feel every morning he isn’t here, but I would be kidding myself or Jacob.
Jacob Marley lets out a loud, indignant mewl and begins to knead my upper chest and neck with his paws.
I pout in sympathy. “I agree, this all sucks.” He continues to knead his paws against me and I wince. I appreciate the solidarity and all, but it’s reminding me that I really need to get his claws trimmed. “What do you think, Jacob Marley? Should we ask him to move in with us?”
As if understanding every word, he suddenly softens and rubs his head against my cheeks and under my jaw, purring loudly. I take this as agreement and lift my hand to stroke his head, feeling the delicate bones of his skull under my palm.
“We’re a right old pair, aren’t we?” I sigh.
He lifts his head, climbing further up my body and pressing his head right between my eyes as he stares at me unsettlingly, then lets out a loud meow, and I swear to god it sounds just like the word hungry.
“That’s not very subtle.” I roll my eyes and blow out a breath. “Fine.” Scooping him into my arms, I climb awkwardly out of bed and head out of the bedroom, but as I reach the living room I’m brought up short. A familiar figure is perched on the edge of the sofa with her ever-present handbag balanced on her knees, the tatty handle gripped tightly in her bony hands.
“Delores?” I frown as I glance around. “Where’s Dusty?”
The little old lady looks over and smiles widely at me before getting to her feet and scurrying over to me, then pressing up against my side and startling Jacob Marley. He gives a shrill yowl and leaps out of my arms, then streaks through the flat and back toward the bedroom.
“Beau?” Delores says hopefully, and I’m almost certain it sounds more like a question than her mistaking me for someone else. After all, no matter how loose her marbles are, there’s no way you can mistake a skinny bespectacled mortician for a gorgeous strapping American G.I.
“Delores.” I stare down at her and try to look stern. “I thought we talked about personal boundaries.”
She doesn’t seem to hear me as she stays plastered to my side. Giving up, I let out another sigh and turn toward the kitchen, the tiny ghost following in my wake.
“Dusty?” I call out loudly, but there’s no other sound in the flat at all. Dusty is very clearly not here.
I shouldn’t be surprised—I mean, it’s not like she’s with me all the time. She comes and goes as she pleases, a habit that I’m pretty sure she perfected in life, not just in death. There’s no making Dusty do anything she doesn’t want to. But I thought she’d stick around after what we saw yesterday. Maybe she’s as freaked out about it as I am.
I grab myself a bowl of cereal and a cup of tea and settle on the sofa with Delores right next to me. As I flip through the channels, she makes a sound of delight as I land on the shopping channel.
“QVC?” I wrinkle my nose, turning to look at her. “Really?”
When she doesn’t answer, I shrug and set down the TV remote on the coffee table. Her eyes are already glued to the screen, watching some guy in cycling shorts who is wearing so much fake tan he looks like he’s been rolled in Dorito seasoning. He seems to be trying to sell something that looks suspiciously like a 1980s ThighMaster to anyone who’s dumb enough to be awake at this hour.
“There’s no way he got those thighs with that thing,” I remark to Delores as I prop my feet on the coffee table and scoop a spoonful of cornflakes into my mouth. “It looks like it was made out of paperclips and a rubber band.” I chew thoughtfully before muttering, “Oh would you look at that? For only three instalments of twenty-nine ninety-five, plus postage, you get the Pec Buster 3000 free.”
