The old ladytsks, her powdered brow furrowing in annoyance. It quickly clears as she turns back to me. ‘If I’d known the boy had a speech impediment, I would’ve advised Ivy no’ to employ him.’ I breathe out, relief, I think, when she mentions Ivy. I’m in the right place, at least. Her place. If I’d tried to imagine a space designed by Ivy, this would be it. It’s stylish, without being pretentious, and full of warmth. It’s... authentic.Authentic? What the fuck. I’ve been living in L.A. too long.
The old lady harrumphs in the direction of saidboy, though judging by his sizeable beard, I’d say he’s anything but. But I’m not here to discuss him. And strangely, somewhere in this exchange, she must’ve held out her hand, and I must’ve taken it. Because why else would she be still holding it and patting it as she speaks?
‘Still, it’s good to help those less able, isn’t it, deary?’
I nod along with her sentiments; meanwhile, the guy holding the scissors, and if I’m not mistaken, a large chunk of the kid’s hair, is still trying to say what I’ve no time to hear. And the teenager? I’m gonna say the pot she’s been smokin’ is good because she’s just swept a pile of nothing through a door at the back of the room.Ignored by my demographic. My people would have a fit.
‘That’s... that’s... ’
Doubly annoyed, she turns her head again. ‘Ocht, get it out; I’ve got a business to run. Can you no’ see?’ She turns, smiling conspiratorially. ‘My goodness, it’s like managing care in the community.’
‘I-I-don’tbelieveit!’ he says his words falling in a rush. ‘I can see DylanDeliciousDuffy!’ His hands fall to the back of the chair, his shoulders in a sudden slump, as if it’s a relief to have the words finally out.
For once, I’m unconcerned. He might have outed me, but the kid in the chair hardly falls into my demographic and is more interested in his game. I’m pretty sure I can manage one man and one old lady. A few words. Maybe an autograph and a photograph or two? Unconcerned and in a hurry, I open my mouth to speak, beaten to it by the old dear.
‘Dylan Duffy?’ She says my name in that melodic way that Ivy has, and a beat later, her grip tightens on my hand. ‘Oh!’ She releases it just as quick, clapping both palms to her mouth, though not before she exclaims, ‘I’ve seen your boabie!’
‘I’m sorry?’ I bend a little closer, not truly sure what I’ve heard. I have the accent, sure, but it’s Scots-lite. I’ve been out of Scotland so long, I’m out of touch. ‘You’ve seen my what?’ I’m unfamiliar with the word, though I thought I’d heard plenty of slang and colloquial turns of phrase. Even the more risqué and sometimes hilarious stuff. All the kinds of things I’d persuade Ivy to repeat.
Boabie? Is that some kind of scone?
Granny doesn’t respond beyond a girlish titter. Unable to hold my gaze for more than a second or two now, she flicks her eyes to mine before darting her gaze quickly away.
‘You never have!’ the beard announces, flouncing across the room to hook his arm through hers. He sounds scandalised. Or maybe more salacious—it’s kinda hard to tell, and I don’t have the bandwidth right now. The nuances of a language are proving hard to read. His expression, though, that I read.Drool city.
‘Bo—’ I begin to ask again before shaking my head and the enquiry away. ‘Ivy,’ I repeat again. ‘Is she here?’
‘She is not, dear,’ the old lady answers. How come her cheeks are so pink?
‘Any idea where I can find her, darlin’?’
It’s not often I dig out my sexy drawl for anyone over the age of forty. Seems old chicks dig it, too, because it seems to have the desired effect. Desire being the operative word.There’s life in this old dear yet.Her eyes are all a flutter as she presses her hands to her chest.
‘Weel...’. She draws the word out until it resembles anything butwellas she narrows her gaze. Maybe I’m not quite as irresistible as I’d thought.
‘Go on—she’ll no’ be annoyed,’ Beard-boy exclaims, turning ally. Excitable, drooling ally. ‘At least, I wouldn’t. You can come for me suddenly, any day of the week. And I mean that... literally.’ Is he winking at me or fluttering his lids?
Either way, I’m being hit on...
I’ll take it if it’ll help.
‘Sure. I’ll make a note of that.’ I shoot him the same smile I used on the granny, though to a greater effect.Fuck, don’t swoon, man.
‘Aye, you do. If you’re ever headin’ the gay way, gimme a shout.’
‘Get away with you!’ the old lady chastises, smacking his arm.
‘I was just sayin’,’ I think he responds. ‘Sometimes it’s hard to tell.’ His eyes flick over me again. At least, I understand the look. The words, not so much, as his mouth turns up in one corner and he shrugs. ‘Shame.’
‘I’ll thank you to mind your neb,’ the old biddy responds, tapping her nose.
‘Ivy,’ I repeat, hoping to redirect their attention from what looks like the beginnings of a squabble. ‘I’ve come an awful long way to see her. All the way from LA.’
‘Go on,’ Beard-boy cajoles, but her expression just pinches further.
Fuck.It’s not a good sign as she straightens, pulling her arm from him and the edges of her cardigan closer across her thin chest.
‘If you’re here to upset her—’
