I grabbed him by his shirt, pulled him inside, slammed the front door shut behind us, and kissed him against it. Father’s voice echoed down the hallway.
“You’re on camera, Ludo!”
I rolled my eyes and extricated myself from Sunny. He looked startled. Until a week ago, my parents had never even met a boy I was interested in. Now, they must have thought I was some weird exhibitionist whose fetish was making out with boys in front of his family.
“Better security system in here than a Hatton Garden jewellers,” I said. I grabbed Sunny’s free hand and pulled him, his ciders, and his exquisite sexiness into the cupboard under the stairs, shutting the door behind us. I yanked the cord to switch on the light, ignoring the throb in my elbow.
“Sex dungeon?” he asked.
“We’re looking for citronella.”
“Is she the housekeeper?”
“She’s a candle. But first, you’re going to kiss me without my parents watching for once.”
Sunny saluted. “Can do, captain.” He put his drinks on a shelf, popped King George into the umbrella stand, and slid his arms around my waist. I let my body sink into his and inhaled the smell of him. Our eyes met, our lips touched, and I tasted the warmth of his mouth. Suddenly, he pulled away.
“You know what? I can’t do this,” he said.
My heart dropped.
“What’s the matter?”
Sunny leant behind me, grabbed hold of King George in the umbrella stand, and turned him around to face the wall.
“That’s better. Now, where were we?”
* * *
Twenty minutes later, I’d installed at least twenty citronella candles around the garden. Sunny, meanwhile, had replaced Jonty on firepit duty, and the flames were roaring in furious swirls and eddies, sending sparks high up into the sky above. Sunny stood, sipping at his cider, looking satisfied with his work.
“Good show! What’s the secret?” I asked.
“Honestly? Lighter fluid.”
“Did they teach you that in the Boy Scouts?”
Sunny laughed. “I was never a Boy Scout. Just a communist garden hoodie.” He threw his hood up to cover his head, and I laughed.
“You know the expression iscommon or garden, right?”
“Not according to my nanna,” Sunny said, pulling his hood back down and adjusting his hair. He’d definitely gelled it.
Welcoming noises erupted from my parents in the kitchen. I turned to check what the fuss was about. Uncle Ben had arrived. My heart leapt. I slid my hand into Sunny’s.
“Come on, there’s someone I want you to meet.”
In the kitchen, Uncle Ben was lapping up his moment in the spotlight, enjoying everyone making a fuss of him by protesting that everyone should stop making a fuss of him. If they did, he’d be deflated. He was standing with a stick in his right hand, which was new and confronting but better than a wheelchair. The wheelchair, he’d told me, had simply been an abundance of caution on the part of the doctors, but I rather had the impression he just liked being wheeled around by Theodore.
“Dear boy,” he said, his free arm spread wide. I slipped inside and hugged him, the sweet, earthy scent of tobacco filling my lungs, the familiar aroma enveloping me like a comfortable cloak. I felt his arm around my back, the squeeze noticeably not as strong as it used to be. My heart broke a little, and I held him too long. “Are you going to introduce me to your handsome prince?” he asked. He was still mumbling slightly.
“Of course,” I said, unravelling myself from Uncle Ben, hoping that if he saw the tears in my eyes, he assumed they were tears of happiness. Which, mostly, they were. “Uncle Ben, this is Sunny Miller. Sunny, this is Ben Diamond.”
Uncle Ben went in for the hug. Sunny didn’t hesitate; he dived right in.
“Now, let me look at you,” Uncle Ben said, pulling away but holding on to one of Sunny’s hands. Sunny stood back, allowing Uncle Ben to appraise him like he was visiting a stable to buy a thoroughbred. I thought I noticed Sunny stand taller and puff his chest out a little, but he was taking it all in his stride. “He’s even better looking than his picture in the paper, wouldn’t you say? A face like this should be on television. Beverley, shouldn’t a face like this be on the television? He’s like a young Robert Redford.”
I might have blushed, but Sunny went the colour of a radish.
