I gave a bleary laugh. “Yes. Very situation. Much crap. Wow.”
“But whatever happens, we’ll get through it together.”
Through my increasing fatigue, I mustered a feeble “Yay” and prepared to pass out. Except something was nagging at me. A left-the-oven-on sort of feeling. Or, at least, what I assumed would be a left-the-oven-on sort of feeling if I used the oven with anything approaching regularity.
“I did switch the oven off, didn’t I?” I asked.
“From the state of the roasted vegetables”—Oliver’s breath gusted across my cheek—“I’m not sure you turned it on.”
“No, no, there was smoke and everything.”
“Ah, so they were smoked vegetables.”
“Yes,” I mumbled. “It was a subtle Mediterranean flavour you didn’t appreciate.”
“Either way, everything was fine when I went to turn the lights off.”
“Okay, good.” The nagging feeling continued. “And was the front door shut?”
“Lucien, what’s going on?”
“I don’t know. Something’s…different.”
“This might be a bit of a wild guess,” said Oliver. “But is what’s different that you’re not on the floor in the study?”
Only partially with it as I was, that did make sense. “That’ll be it.” The thoughts stumbled through my brain like drunk students trying to get home at three in the morning. Then another thought stumbled straight through my brain, down my brain stem, and out my mouth. “We’re really doing this, aren’t we?”
Oliver ran his fingertips gently across my back. “Yes, yes we are.”
“All of it. Like the dog and, like…everything.”
“Yes.”
That’s nice, said my increasingly addled brain.That’s extremely nice.“Is Spud all right?”
Oliver kissed the back of my neck. “He’s fast asleep.”
“Oh,” I said.
“As should you be.”
And then, before I really knew what was happening, I was.
Part TwoAutumn/Winter
Chapter 10
“So Alex,” I said, from my face meat into his face meat on account of the fact that, for the first time in quite a long while, we were in the same room. “What’s a pirate’s favourite cheese?”
Alex perked up, much like Spud did when he was offered a treat. “Ah. I know this one. You’d think it’d bearrr, but his first love has always been the sea.”
Even by the standards of Alex Twaddle, this made no sense. “What? Are you having a stroke?”
“Don’t think so. Face seems okay.” He smiled. Then raised both arms. “Arms check out. Am I slurring?”
“No, I was using ‘Are you having a stroke?’ idiomatically to mean ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’”
“Oh.” He lowered his arms. “Then I’m not having a stroke. Or rather, I suppose I am having a stroke in the figurative sense. Sorry, I think I’ve rather lost track of the metaphor.”
