Chapter Thirty-Two
Their first evening living together had been very civilised: pizza, a couple of beers and the Grand Prix on the telly. Elvis had eventually stopped rolling around the carpet and spent the evening asleep by the door like a giant furry draught excluder.
‘Right. I’m going to walk Elvis round the block for last wees, and then I’m off to bed,’ said Regan. ‘An actual bed.’ She was excited at the thought of it.
‘I can take him out, if you like?’
‘Are you sure?’ She didn’t want to turn out again if she didn’t have to.
‘Sure,’ said Charlie, getting to his feet. ‘I’ll shut him in the hallway.’
Regan realised Elvis didn’t have a dog bed, but it was too late to do anything about it now. He was used to sleeping in worse places than Charlie’s hallway. ‘Okay. Night then.’ She wasn’t sure what to do. If she was leaving the house, she would have kissed his cheek, but she was only going upstairs. She jigged on the spot awkwardly for a moment.
‘You okay?’ Charlie tilted his head questioningly.
‘Yes, I’m fine. I’m going to bed.’ She pointed at the door. Charlie raised an eyebrow as if she were suggesting something. ‘On my own. Alone. Just me in the bed. Which is fine. It wasn’t an offer. I should go now,’ she gabbled, whilst her cheeks heated up. She turned to leave, but Elvis was against the door and blocking her exit. After a great deal of effort and an agonising delay, she managed to push the dog over enough that she could open the door a few inches to squeeze out. How embarrassing.
She was in bed when she heard Charlie and Elvis come back. She waited to see if she’d need to go down and settle Elvis.
‘Now, listen, Elvis,’ said Charlie, his voice low and gentle. ‘This is your space. Sleep wherever you like. Doormat might be good. Regan has gone to bed and I’m going up too. Night, night, mate.’
‘Night, Reg,’ he called from the landing.
‘Night, Debbie,’ she called back, and she heard him chortle.
She closed her eyes and tried to stop grinning. This wasn’t perfect, but she was somewhere very comfortable with Charlie in the next bedroom. She closed her eyes. Within moments they pinged open again, because something was scratching at her bedroom door. If it was Charlie then her day was made. She hopped out of bed and opened it a fraction but the large hairy face that poked through dismissed her little fantasy.
‘No, Elvis,’ she whispered. ‘Downstairs.’ She held her palm in front of his eyes so he’d know she meant it. He licked it. ‘No.’ She tried to make him reverse onto the landing. There was a small scuffle when Elvis pushed back. A door clicked open.
‘Are you sneaking him in?’ asked Charlie, his voice reproachful.
‘No. I’m trying to sneak him back downstairs without the landlord seeing him.’
Charlie smiled. ‘I’ll take him down. Come on, Elvis. No creeping into girls’ bedrooms uninvited.’ He strode onto the landing wearing a Superman T-shirt and black boxer briefs, making it almost impossible for Regan not to stare. Her teenage self was about to spontaneously combust into a giggling mess.
She muttered a ‘Thanks’ and hurried back to bed, stifling her nervous laughter with her pillow.
She was beginning to fall asleep when the scratching at the door was repeated, this time accompanied by a whimper. She and Charlie opened their doors at the same time. She concentrated hard to maintain eye contact. ‘What do we do?’ she asked.
Charlie ruffled his hair, which lifted his T-shirt enough for her to get a glimpse of his slim midriff. ‘When I took him downstairs before, he just sat there looking at me. I don’t think he knows where to sleep,’ said Charlie, lowering his arm.
‘He’s not got a bed.’
‘Hang on. We can make him one.’ Charlie turned and gave Regan a nice view of his bum in the tight black briefs, and she sighed involuntarily. He looked over his shoulder. ‘Don’t, you’ll set me off.’ He yawned, and she faked one of her own. It was far better he thought she was yawning than sighing at the glorious sight of his tight little bum in stretchy underwear.
Charlie reappeared with a body warmer, complete with fur-trimmed hood. ‘He can try sleeping on this.’
Regan was grinning. ‘Is that yours?’
‘I’ve been meaning to give it to charity.’
‘What was it – your East 17 phase?’ she asked, with a splutter.
He headed downstairs and Regan and Elvis followed. ‘No. My mum brought it back from Canada.’
Regan took the furry body warmer off him, her face beaming with glee, and she laid it out on the doormat. ‘Elvis,’ she patted the body warmer, ‘bedtime.’ Elvis came and gave it a sniff, pawed it a bit and then curled up on it to repeatedgood boys from both Regan and Charlie. Once he seemed settled, they padded back upstairs and into their respective bedrooms.
When Elvis woke them up again shortly afterwards, Regan opened the door to him to see that this time he had brought the body warmer with him. Charlie peered around his door. ‘I think he’d like to return the body warmer. He says he looks ridiculous in it,’ said Regan, with a grin.
