I’m brushing the comment aside. ‘It probably suits me better than Joe or his brothers.’
Charlie frowns. ‘It’s a perfect match for your hair.’ As it would be for Joe’s too. And Laura’s. I’d have felt too uncomfortable borrowing it on the first day, but now I’ve got to know her better again I’m certain she wouldn’t mind at all.
I’m used to crushing the ginger jibes then moving swiftly on. ‘Yeah thanks, two shades of marmalade. More importantly, why the hell is the guy with the monster sized bed sleeping on a vintage sofa in the flat next door?’ We had to get round to this sometime. Not that he’s bragged about bed size, but somehow humungous goes with the territory.
He pulls in a breath and has the decency to look guilty for approximately point one of a second. ‘Sorry to sound like a lightweight, but I didn’t want to stick around to watch my Mies van der Rohe icons get tested to destruction.’
If he was talking French, I might understand better. ‘Yourwhat?’
‘The musical chairs were limited editions. They’re authentic thirties originals.’
‘Fuck.’ It’s a morning for dry mouths, and it’s a lot more than a hangover. ‘So they cost shitloads?’ I know I’m coming across like Nell here, but sometimes it’s best to know.
Charlie’s eyebrows lift. ‘A few grand each.’ I try not to notice that as he pulls the covers up his chest is bare.
My squeal is a mix of horror and disbelief. ‘Jeez. And St Aidan singles were jumping all over them and you didn’t stop them?’ And damn that I’m rattled enough to let that out.
He shrugs. ‘I didn’t want to spoil the party.’
This gets more and more awful. ‘I’msosorry. As far as I know they all survived.’ It just goes to show, if you pay enough you get looksandstrength. And I’m thanking my lucky stars he missed my singles slip. If I wasn’t on such thin ice, I’d give a dig to point out how much mayhem he was responsible for last night. Picking up what he once mentioned about Seaspray Cottage being a train, yesterday’s would have been the bar and disco coaches, with rugby teams on board.
He sighs. ‘There’s no point being precious. They were bought to be used.’
That’s one way of looking at it. ‘Well, you must be ready for that coffee.’ After coming so close to trashing his priceless furniture the least I can offer him is breakfast. Although it turns out a kimono isn’t that suitable even if you’re only crisping croissants. Baggy sleeves might be fine for Geisha-ing around in Japan, but in St Aidan they’re picking up every pastry flake. I’ve already had near misses trailing them in the sink and Pancake’s potted shrimps.
By the time Charlie follows me through to the kitchen, he’s reunited with his jeans. My mouth’s watering so much I’m swallowing back the saliva as I try not to watch him doing up his shirt buttons. Then it hits me. Sod dining chairs, I need to find out about Dakota. So far he’s conveniently concealed a huge chunk of shagging time behind a smoke screen of designer furnishing. Not that it’s any of my business.
I put some plates and mugs on a tray and aim for my best airy tone. ‘Musical chairs was before you hooked up. How come you ended up here afterwards?’
His face wrinkles in query. ‘Hooked up?’
I hope I’ve got the right expression. ‘With Dakota. That is what you call it when two people meet then bonk each other’s brains out?’ Even as I say it, I realise it’s probably a lot more than just that.
For some reason, there’s a smile lilting around his lips. ‘Once I finally got away, I thought it was best to lie low, and here seemed like the easiest place.’
I’m confused. ‘But why hide?’
‘In case Dakota came back to mine … on the lookout for more of those hook things you mentioned. She’s quite a handful.’ He puts the cafetière on the tray then picks it up and gives me a hard stare. ‘Let’s eat where it’s comfy. Are you okay to bring the croissants?’
As I follow him through and perv on everything from his ankles up to his butt cheeks in the soft denim, I’m trying to work out if this is good news or not. Like so many things with Charlie it’s hard to work it out, but I can’t keep banging on about it. I put the plate down on the table in front of the sofa and help myself to a pain au chocolat. Then I drop into my favourite velvet chair and get totally tangled up with the robe. ‘I can completely see how the Chinese could hide their dogs in their kimonos. This one is massive, although for breakfast it’s less practical.’ I make a grab for the silk neckline that keeps sliding open.
Charlie laughs as he hands me my mug. ‘Don’t say that too loudly, Diesel’s already eyeing it up for size to see if he can fit in. Careful, don’t knock your coffee over.’
‘Good point, thanks.’ A spill is the last thing I want. I move the drink and I’m trying to bunch the arm fabric round my wrist when my fingers come across a stiffness in the silk folds. ‘There’s something here in the droopy bit of the sleeve.’
Charlie laughs. ‘So youhavegot a Pekingese in there after all? Even more secrets, then.’ He catches my eye, and doesn’t let go.
With cheeks this hot clashing with my orange wrap I can’t not retaliate. ‘This one isn’t adrunkensecret though.’
He’s staring at me with a mix of smoulder and intransigence. ‘I was sober.’
‘Yeah and I’m a Chinaman.’ If he carries on blinking at me like that my stomach will wilt to nothing, so I turn back to my arm. ‘It’s definitely not a dog in here, it’s more like a card.’ I’m struggling but I can’t find how to get to it.
Charlie gets up. ‘Straighten your elbow so the sleeve hangs down, I’ll see if I can find my way in.’ He’s pretty deft. Two seconds later he’s holding up a folded piece of paper between his fingers. ‘There you go, it looks like a letter.’
There’s an unnerving tingle where our fingers graze as I take it from him, but I’m puzzling because the round regular hand writing is familiar. Birthday cards, shopping lists, my mum’s long list of pitfalls to watch out for with the flat. It’s as if whoever wrote this went to the same school as her. Then I open it up and see the names at the end and the beginning. ‘It’s from someone called Jill.’ My heart gives a little kick at the coincidence. ‘To someone called …’ As I scan back up the page my heart starts hammering.
Charlie’s looking over my shoulder. ‘Rob, isn’t that your dad’s name?’
