Oliver gave me a slight smile. “I notice you’ve put your own name first.”
“Well, whenyouname the team you can call it Team Blackwood-O’Donnell-Johnson.”
“I was thinking of Blackwood-Johnson-O’Donnell.”
This was like when everybody had kept putting me in thekillspot. Best strategy was to change the subject. “So how are we going to get Jaz’s laptop back?”
“I’ve sent them an email reminding them of her rights. I’ll givethem a day or so to respond and then…”
“Then?” I asked.
Oliver had a slightly wicked gleam in his eye. “Well, I suppose I’ll need to start asking around. See if anybody knows a good lawyer.”
God, it was embarrassing how hot it was when Oliver got allI will use my barrister superpowers to stand up for the rights of the people I care for. If Jaz hadn’t been home, I’d have pushed him against the fridge and done things that might have invalidated the warranty. As it was, I was forced to restrict myself to a soupy smile, a kiss on the cheek, and the kind of mushy, heart-warmed feeling I didn’t like to acknowledge having.
Of course, chances were Jaz wouldn’t give a fuck if Oliver got the laptop back or not. And, even if she did, she wouldn’t admit it. But that wasn’t the point. This was the Oliver I knew and the Oliver I loved, and I was so glad and, honestly, so fucking relieved—that he was trying to be that Oliver for Jaz as well as for me. Even if she couldn’t, or wouldn’t, see it.
For the first time in a while—perhaps even since that time he’d tried to raise a formal complaint about the handcuffs—I felt like we were on the same page. Like we really did have a chance of being Team O’Donnell-Blackwood-Johnson or Johnson-Blackwood-O’Donnell or whatever.
Like we were a family.
Chapter 25
Once Oliver decided to make something happen, you could be really sure that thing would happen. Which was great in the bedroom and also great when it came to getting laptop-related justice for our foster daughter.
In practice, though, retrieving the computer that Bellefield had bought for itself with Jaz’s money became a bit of a mission. It turned out Jaz had moved around a whole lot, and so her last school had been in Kent. Which meant that one of us had to make an annoying late-in-the-day drive into the arse end of nowhere. And since Oliver was the more confident driver and had been the one sending theI think you’ll findemails and casually dropping that he was a legal professional, it made more sense for him to be the one who went up nowhere’s arse and for me to be the one who stayed home giving primary care.
Last year, when we’d first started discussing the whole fostering thing, I’d been fucking terrified at the thought of being primary anything. But while I wouldn’t go so far as to say I was nailing it, or even Blu Tacking it, I was kind of getting used to it. At least as it applied to a relatively self-sufficient teenager who hadn’t needed much in the way of nappy changing or spoon-feeding. Who, if I’m being honest, hadn’t needed much in the way of me being around her at all if she could possibly help it on account of me being old and crap.Of course, so far my primary caregiving had also involved Oliver doing all the cooking because subjecting Jaz to my attempts at food would probably constitute child abuse. But with him somewhere the wrong side of Maidstone, that wasn’t an option. Which meant either we starved, I braved the kitchen, or I gave up and got pizza.
Jaz had just disappeared into the study with a couple of slices of American Hot when Oliver rang.
“Hi,” I said, very chill and with it. “Just doing the washing up after making dinner.”
Normally a pointed silence didn’t work over the phone, but Oliver and I had been together so long that wemadeit work.
“Just doing the washing up after ordering dinner,” I corrected.
Oliver continued to be pointedly silent.
“Just putting the bits of paper towel I was eating my pizza off into the bin after completely failing to provide food in a responsible way.”
“I hope you and Jasmine are having a wonderful time,” Oliver said at last, more amused than sarcastic but still a bit sarcastic.
Much as I loved Oliver, since he was both vegan and a proper grown-up, Ihadkind of missed eating pizza off a disposable crockery substitute in a room not designed for eating in. “We are,” I said, “or at least I am. She’s got history homework.”
“And you’re—”
“Yes, I’m sure she’s doing it. I mean, not right now—she’s eating pizza. But I went and checked before the pizza got here, and she’s writing a thing about the history of British democracy.”
“And you’ve—”
Oliver’s concern for Jaz’s education was touching. His concern that I wouldn’t share that concern was unflattering. Warranted but unflattering. “Yes, I’ve checked if she needs help. I said ‘Do you need a hand?’ and she said, ‘What do you know about the Magna Carta and the emergence of Parliament?’ and I said ‘Nothing’ and she sort of stared at me like I was a total dickhead.”
For a moment Oliver was silent again. Then he said, “Which one?”
“Which dick or which head?”
“Which Magna Carta?”
