‘Let’s not talk about rubbing off,’ Ivy says, folding her arms across her chest. ‘That’s a Pandora’s masturbation box no one needs to hear.’
‘Now, careful,’ Mac cautions gravely. ‘Remember your promise.’
Ivy crooks a little finger. ‘My teeny-tiny pinkie-promise, you mean?’ Her voice is saccharine sweet, but as Mac narrows his gaze, I decide to step in.
‘Fun times, you guys. I don’t know, you go away for a few years and... nope, nothing changes.’
‘Ah, you know we love each other really,’ Mac says, laughing.
‘Yep. True that. I’ll worship the ground that will eventually cover him.’
‘That’s plain mean,’ I chastise.
‘Poison Ivy’s only ever a hard-head where I’m concerned. She’s sweetness and light to everyone else.’
‘‘Cos you deserve it,’ she scoffs. ‘And call me poison again, bawbag, and I’ll kick you in yours.’
‘Leave my balls out of it, would you?’ he asks, his hands held up in faux surrender.
Ivy harrumphs. ‘The only one acquainted with your meat is Fin here, tofu todger.’
Mac’s laugh deepens but he’s kind enough to change the subject, even as I begin to splutteringly deny. It’s supposed to be a secret! He pulls us both closer, sliding an arm across each of our shoulders.
‘And how’s your ma?’ Gazing down at me, he gives my shoulder a kind squeeze. My mom and sex. The two words are almost synonymous, not that I take offence. I can’t make apologies where she’d offer none.
‘Married. Like loves young dream,’ I say with a sigh. ‘Maybe add a few years.’ My mom is currently enjoying her husband. Yep, that’s right. Enjoying. Like a daughter needs to hear that. I have two immediate reactions: The first is it makes my stomach turn. And the second makes me wish she had female friends. Stuart—the hubby—is five years her junior and as randy as all hell. According to her, there’s no such thing as TMI. She’s currently living in a small retirement village in the Algarve and these are all valid reasons as to why I’m not staying with her.
Thank God for friends.
‘And what about this husband of yours?’ Mac’s smile lingers. ‘Are you visiting alone, or do I get to meet him this time?’
‘He—’ I take a deep breath, minutely shaking my head. ‘He died.’
I can’t look at him as I know what I’ll see, and there isn’t really anything he can say that I want to hear. Just the inevitably awkward apologies. The oh dears and I’m so sorry’s. The curiosity written on his face.
I’m grateful when Ivy pipes up, filling any void.
‘So, what are you doing up here? Skiving?’
‘I’m gonna be opening a new gym in town.’
It’s obvious from his appearance he must spend a lot of time in one of these. It’s then I recall Ivy saying that Mac owns a chain of gyms; twenty-four hour places.
‘And I’ve been called up to the big house,’ he adds, his pronunciation rendering the word hoose.
‘I heard that it had been bought,’ I add quickly. ‘Isn’t it going to be a hotel?’
I’m not sure why I ask, given that I’ve already applied for a job at the place.
‘Yeah, it’s got the view for it, overlooking the ocean and all. I just got a call about fitting it with gym equip—’ Mac’s sentence trails off as the door to the back of the salon opens, the click of Natasha’s stiletto’s loud against the tiled floor. ‘—ment.’ The end of his word comes out in almost a squeak.
‘Equipment?’ Nat’s voice is a strange mixture of sultry and breathlessness as she pauses beside us in her tiny outfit and high, high heels. And a bucket? It’s a strange fashion accessory, for sure.
As she bends from the waist to put the bucket on the floor, her eyes do a sweep of Mac from his head down and back again. Only on her second sweep, her gaze doesn’t quite meet his toes as she pauses half way down.
‘I love a good bit of equipment.’
And, yes, she addresses this to his crotch. For good measure, as she straightens, she pushes her barely covered chest out a little further. Nat obviously doesn’t believe in subtlety.
