Lenny chuckled. “You would. I don’t think you’ve ever let anyone go hungry.”
“Very funny.” Though Lenny’s words reminded Nero of the custard tarts he’d stashed in the fridge. “I reckon Cass might’ve left one of those Fire Stick whatsits in the bedroom if you wanna go inside now?”
Lenny nodded slowly, but he didn’t move. “Nero?”
“Yeah?”
“Before we go in, can I tell you why I’m here?”
Nero dashed inside and grabbed the custard tarts from the fridge. Leaving Lenny, even for a moment, felt like the end of the world, but if Lenny’s drooping eyes meant he was anywhere near as tired as Nero, they both needed some sugar.
Back on the fire escape, Lenny hadn’t moved from where Nero had left him, his gaze still trained on the horizon. Nero handed him a custard tart. Lenny frowned. “What’s this?
“Custard tart. It’s good for your soul.”
“Not my pancreas though, I’ll bet, or my belly with all that scrummy pastry.”
“Maybe. I don’t know shit about stuff like that.”
“Tell me something interesting about custard tarts, then. You always know where your food comes from.”
Nero rolled his eyes. Was it his fault his nana had never let him eat a bite without lecturing him about the old country? “Custard tarts used to be made by nuns because winemakers gave them the egg yolks for free.”
“Why?”
“Because they used the whites to clarify their red wine and sherry.”
Lenny smirked around a mouthful of pastry. “You never disappoint.”
“Give it time.”
Lenny’s humour faded. Nero pointed at the wall. “Wanna sit?”
“Why not?” Lenny let Nero guide him to the wall, and they slid down, their backs against the warm concrete, legs stretched out. “Got any more of those tarts?”
Nero relinquished the bakery bag. Lenny snagged one. “Don’t let me eat them all. My poor guts can’t handle the wheat.”
“You stalling?”
Lenny shrugged. “A little, though I don’t know why. Cass has told you everything anyway, right?”
“Nope.”
“Really? You’re his best friend.”
“So? Don’t mean we tell each other shit.”
A faint smile threatened the downward turn of Lenny’s lips. “You’re such a bloke.”
“If you say so.”
“You say that a lot. It’s like you don’t have an opinion of yourself.”
Nero grunted. “This what you wanna do? Dissect my personality?”
Lenny sighed. “I guess not. Okay. So . . . what did Cass tell you about me if he didn’t tell you everything?”
“He told me you needed help.”
