Johnny had too, and according to Google it had also won England’s ‘Most Motivated Town of 1992.’ Allegedly. Although what it was motivated for was anyone’s guess.
“Sixty-fucking-seven,” Taylor continued. “It’s practically a retirement village.”
Johnny huffed out a laugh. “Should we just take up knitting now, or wait until our blood pressure tablets kick in?”
They both laughed, the tension of the day beginning to melt away. Johnny tapped the little hula girl that was stuck to the dashboard, making her grass skirt flick about. “The elderly can be randy bastards, you know? Might put an end to your dry spell.”
Taylor grimaced. “Fuck no. Remember that guy in the care home that got his cock stuck in a Pringles tube? Filled it with denture cream and humped it until everything congealed and made a vacuum around his knob?”
Johnny grinned. “Shit, yeah. And the other old guy that got a tangerine stuck up his arse? Tried to get it out with an electric drill and had to be airlifted to hospital? Fuck,thatwas traumatising. The boss banned fruit in the office for a year.”
Taylor pressed two fingers to his forehead. “Thanks. I’d almost wiped that day from my memory.”
Taylor ran a hand down his face and crossed his arms. “What’re we gonna do, JP? We’re not made for wrangling old people. We’re trained firearms officers, for fuck’s sake.”
Johnny nodded. “I know, but just go with it. Ride the storm, see the punishment post through, then maybe we can reapply to get our guns back. Transfer to the city or something.”
“You think they’ll let us?”
“Why not? Get your head on straight, nose to the grindstone—both of us—support the local community, all that bollocks. Then, yeah. Why wouldn’t they?”
Contemplative silence hung between them as the car drifted around the final bend and the pack house came into view. It sat at the top of a hill at the end of an incredibly muddy driveway that was so long it could almost be mistaken for a country lane of its own.
Sprawling blackberry bushes lined both sides, drooping with heavy clusters of dark fruit. Perhaps he and Taylor could take thekids out later, send them on a pillaging quest to give Maman a break.
The pack house was every inch the picturesque English country farm until the hedgerow fell away and the front lawn came into view.
“Whoa! Is that Chop?” Taylor said, winding down the window to stick his head out.
There came a loud squeal followed by a high-pitched “Yee-haw!” as a massive brown and white pig came tearing down the grass towards the car.
“Yep,” Johnny replied, snorting out a laugh. “And that’s Clem riding him.” He slammed on the brakes as the pig-child combo came thundering towards them. “Aaand, here come the other two riding Ham and Frank.”
Short for Hamsolo and Frankenswine II.
“Yeah! Get ’em, Marty!” Taylor called, hanging out of the window whilst waving and cheering for Johnny’s youngest and smallest sibling, Martin. The nine-year-old’s face lit up when he saw Taylor, and he stuck out his tongue as he urged Frank on with a few slaps to his chubby bottom.
All three came racing down the bank, barely managing to jump over a series of sticks the kids had laid out as jumps before bombing towards the car. Taylor threw an arm out and all three of them slapped his hand as they came flying past.
Pigs really could shift it when the prize was three massive watermelons waiting for them at the end of the garden.
Johnny pulled the car up to the house, cheeks aching as he and Taylor got out. The other alpha punched the air, his fangs popping out in a toothy grin. The tip of the left fang was broken off, the colour slightly duller than the rest. Johnny’s own smile faltered as his eyes got stuck on it, on the memory of Taylor as a twelve-year-old crying his eyes out and begging him not to tell Maman.
He recovered when Taylor turned towards him with the same childish grin, because being in the presence of that smile was like basking in the sun.
The kids led the pigs back up the garden, improvised bridles made from twine and sticks all but falling apart as they fed them bananas with the skins still on.
“Damn, girl, you were flyin’,” Taylor said, flicking Clementine’s braided ponytail as she skipped past.
She nodded, pushing her thick-lensed glasses up her nose. “I know. Maman put Chop on a diet. He’s much lighter on his feet… or maybe his trotters, but I reckon by tweaking his macros and protein intake we can improve our PB even more.”
“You cheated!” Johnny’s second sister, Gabriella, said, puffy space buns bobbing as she huffed and handed Johnny Ham’s reins.
The pig looked up at him with an expectant expression.
“I did not!” Clem snapped back, shoving Chop’s reins into his other hand before stomping after her sister and disappearing inside the house.
They were both alphas, eleven and twelve with just over a year between them, which made the sibling rivalry a fucking nightmare.
