He pulls a face. ‘You know me so well. Maybe that was what Eeyore needed to cheer him up – orgasmic chocolate cake or mouthfuls of thistles, I know which I’d choose, don’t you?’
However we got onto this, I need to move us off, and fast. ‘Jo says Eeyore had major depressive disorder, he needed behavioural therapy, not cocoa.’ This is one of the rare times I’m grateful for having a sister who’s a psychologist. And moving this on: ‘Where are Walter’s donkeys anyway? I’d happily tickle donkey ears all day.’
Ross is blinking, struggling to keep up. ‘He hasn’t got any at the moment, but I’m sure he’d ask around if you’d like one – or several.’
Now we’re on better ground I let a grin go. ‘There’s enough here to be going on with. So shall we get on?’
As for me, it’s going to take a lot more than a quick chocolate fix to cure my problems too. But Ross, as I used to perceive him, was untouchable and off limits. Whereas the vulnerable new version of Ross is twisting my heart so hard there’s an ache in my chest. And that definitely isn’t good for anyone.
23
At Clemmie’s flat
90 per cent cocoa and dropping standards
Sunday
By the time I’ve come home from Walter’s and taken Diesel out it’s early Sunday evening before I get back to work in Clemmie’s kitchen again. Ross’s brownie squares are on the cooling rack, and I’m just putting another batch of meringues in the oven as the flat door opens.
‘I’m back.’ It’s horribly domestic, but Ross calling out is only because of the expectation of cake; he never does it usually.
I clear my throat and make my reply loud enough for him to know where I am. ‘And your brownies arehere.’ They’re definitely ready rather than waiting, because waiting implies so much more. ‘Would you like them in one container or two? To eat in or take out?’
‘That depends.’ He grins, heads straight to the green dresser, takes one and sinks his teeth into it. His voice is thick with chocolate as he speaks again. ‘Will you make me these whenever I ask or have these ones got to last me a lifetime?’
I’m trying not to smile. ‘Imaybe persuaded to bake to order. It depends how many eggs you throw over me.’
‘Right answer.’ He’s already waving his next brownie at me on the way to his mouth. ‘Thanks for these, they’re delicious, I’ll have half for here for later and half to take with me in the morning, please.’
As he reaches out for a third I can’t help laughing. ‘The rate you’re eating that’ll be twoemptyboxes, then.’
Whatever they say about chocolate boosting endorphins, it certainly works for Ross. He’s definitely at his happiest biting into cocoa and while that might be great for him, it’s less good for me. His dark irises blurring with pleasure, as he eventually slows down enough to half close his eyes and savour a mouthful, make my chest constrict so much that the next thing I know, the beater I’m taking out of the mixer is spinning across the floor and has come to a halt against Ross’s battered Timberland boot.
In one fluid movement he stoops, picks it up and presses it back into my hand. ‘What are you like, Bertie? I washed the floor this morning too.’ Before there’s time to ask when the hell he fitted that in he’s down again, wiping up the splodges of egg white with kitchen roll. He looks up at me. ‘Before I forget, I met Sophie and the gang by the harbour. They’ve sent me something to run past you.’
I drag my eyes away from the taut denim on the inside of his bent knees, and force myself to concentrate. ‘What’s that?’ After the view I’ve just had, he needs to start from the beginning again.
He stands up, pops the last of the brownie into his mouth and then kills me all over again as he wriggles to pull his phone out of the front pocket of his jeans and over his belt. ‘Millie’s made a little clip of the egg-on-the-head thing. Come and see, it’s hilarious.’
As he heads towards me I dive for cover behind a fuchsia-pink chair, then once the table’s between us I lean across the top, craning to see the screen. After watching it three times, my neck is cramping but at least I’ve kept a safe distance.
‘Great.’ It’s everything it says on the tin. As a sixth child I’m well trained to laugh at myself, so I smile, and cross my fingers that’ll be the end of it.
‘And?’ Ross’s gaze is fixed on me. ‘Millie’s put a lot of work into this, so keep going.’
My heart drops so far so fast I feel it hit the floor. ‘Please tell me she’s not expecting me to upload it?’
Ross gives a grimace. ‘I think she’s hoping you will. Why wouldn’t you? It’s hysterical.’
I take a deep breath and work out how to explain. I don’t want to sound up myself, but, truly, this is roll-on-the-floor laughing while falling off the sofa too. My usual slick yet bright signature moves couldn’t be any further away from it. ‘This simply doesn’t fit the target audience I usually aim for.’
He lets out a snort. ‘So, maybe you should be broadening your appeal?’
I try again. ‘When I’ve spentevery secondof the last few years making sureevery singlethingI upload makes me and everything I do look perfect, why would I wreck that? That’s not just approximately perfect, by the way. It’s completely, utterly, dazzlingly, couldn’t be any better, flawless.’
‘Oka-a-y.’ His sniff says it isn’t at all. ‘But you put Walter’s stuff up?’
I pull myself up to my full height and tug my pinny straight. If we’re going to argue about this, I need to look serious enough to fight my corner. ‘Due to circumstances and the overriding considerations of compassion, I’ve been prepared to compromise the polish slightly with the Cressy at Kittiwake Court clips – butthisis something else.’
