‘Tell her she has a present from Phillipa, which she can see when she comes down at half term.’
‘Told her.’
‘Remind her—’
‘Read your book.’
After a suitable time had passed, he commented, ‘We can post them tomorrow, if you like. I want to check out the bookshop again, see if the owner is there.’
No reply, just some more pen sucking and scribbling.
He went back to his book, but even with the illumination of the camping lantern he couldn’t really read it.
Ben was fidgeting, trying to get comfortable. Finally, with a curse, he pushed Aleksey off. ‘Turn over.’
‘I’ve had more seductive invitations.’
‘You’ll be lucky. Turn over.’
Aleksey dutifully did as he was asked and Ben lay down as he’d been, with his head on the small of Aleksey’s back.
‘Better?’
‘Not much. You’re a crap pillow.’
‘Not even with my additional two pounds of fat?’
‘Okay, this is it. Electricityandfurniture. This bizarre weirdness has gone on long enough.’
Aleksey sighed and tried to concentrate on his book, but the prospect of furnishing the room intruded and he began to picture what it looked like in the interior photographs he’d seen. He wished they’d been in colour. He didn’t particularly want authentic Art Deco sofas. Style over comfort was all very well, but he didn’t need to impress anyone. He could have what he wanted. He recalled a few times he’d accompanied Phillipa to the various royal residences. Some had contained furniture so delicate and exquisite he’d been nervous to sit on it. Others had more resembled an officers’ mess after a particularly hard dinner night—or an old boys’ club, he supposed. Although the clubs he’d frequented in those days hadn’t had much furniture, he recalled.
He narrowed his eyes to the shadows, visualising the room and then realised his error. Every time he did this, he was seeing them: the previous owners come to life from photographs with their britches and pencil skirts, their brittle laughs and shooting sticks. He needed to put his family into this house, so did just that. They were noisy, eclectic, eccentric, but they were his. The room came to life around him on their familiar voices, and he finally accepted it was time. The old man in the corner nodded approvingly. He had tales to tell, and all stories need an audience.
‘You haven’t turned that first page yet.’ Ben couldn’t make his pen work upside down and was shaking it, annoyed. With a sigh he rolled off and lay alongside him, his head propped up on one hand. ‘It seems wrong to think about Harry in the shed tonight.’
‘I agree, but I can’t force him to take Kittiwake.’
‘Well, if we buy furniture for us, we can buy some cool things for him too.’
‘Of course.’
‘It’s kinda weird he’s come into our life, isn’t it. Why did he fly down with us? Why did he risk his life in the storm? Why did he agree to this job?—it’s a huge change for him.’
Aleksey mirrored Ben’s position. ‘You know I have no secrets from you now...’
Ben laughed softly. ‘I’ll give you benefit of the doubt that you might bebetweensecrets.’
‘Ah.’ He lowered his eyelashes onto his cheeks, a look he knew Ben was unable to resist. ‘Well. Do I not keep your life interesting?’
‘Let’s go home tomorrow.’ Ben flicked the postcards over Aleksey’s nose. ‘Aren’t these always best if they arrive after you get back?’
‘You are thinking about Sarah.’
‘You accused me of that once before, remember?’
Aleksey laughed and tipped onto his back, his head on folded arms. ‘I think you would have made a very nice young married couple. Very compatible.’
‘Better than you and Phillipa, for sure.’
