Page 6 of The Little Shop of Curiosities Cursed Object 1, The Music Box

She gives a cute little snuffle before grasping the leg of my pyjamas in her teeth and tugging. I stand, and she pulls me in the direction of the door.

“Demeter, let go. I need to use the bathroom,” I tell her in the firmest voice I can muster this early in the morning. But really, I should know better. There’s only one person she listens to, and that’s Pop.

She yanks on me again to get me moving.

“Okay, okay,” I protest as the small but cute menace continues to drag me along like I’m a stick. “I’m coming, you can let go.”

She doesn’t. I roll my eyes and try not to trip over her. She leads me downstairs to the kitchen where I’m hit with the mouthwatering scent of bacon.

“There you are.” Pop looks up from the pan and smiles. Demeter finally lets go and makes a beeline for her favourite person in the world. “What a good girl. You found Harrison, yes you did. Who’s my clever girl?”

I watch as he picks up a piece of bacon from a stack piled high on one of the three plates lined up on the counter.

“That better not be my plate.” My eyes narrow as he fusses over the spoiled cockapoo. “Did you get her to fetch me? I’m not a bloody tennis ball,” I mutter, and Pop grins at me.

“Obviously not, but I know you too well. You would have been up there brooding. Am I right?”

I sigh and then stare at him dryly. “I need to pee.”

Turning sharply, I head out of the kitchen and almost collide with Dad, who swerves expertly and dances out of my way.

“Whoa, where’s the fire?”

“Demeter wouldn’t let me use the bathroom before she dragged me to the kitchen so she could be rewarded with bacon, and my bladder is really not appreciating her devotion to fried pork products right now.”

“Message received. I’ll just get out of your way.” He laughs and heads into the kitchen to give Pop a kiss good morning.

I stand there for a moment watching the quiet affection between them and feel a little wisp of…something. I’m not sure I can put a name to it. Part of me wishes I could have that, the deep love they share, the inside jokes, the humour and connection. But somehow I don’t think it’s in the cards for me.

Heading in the direction of the downstairs bathroom, I stop briefly to pet Circe, who’s still sprawled out in her bed. She opens one sleepy eye and gives a little noise of contentment before going back to sleep. There was a time when she’d have been up and winding around Pop’s legs begging for breakfast alongside Demeter, but now her fur is liberally shot with grey and her joints are painful. Being much older than Demeter, she’s a lot slower these days and sleeps a great deal too. It brings a pang to my heart to know there are fewer days ahead of her than behind.

Leaving her to sleep, I duck into the bathroom quickly and relieve my bladder, letting out a sigh of relief, then wash my hands. My stomach growls—not that I’m particularly hungry at this time of the morning usually, although I’ve always been an early riser. Clearly, I just share Demeter’s love of bacon.

Wandering back into the huge kitchen, I take my usual place at the heavy oak table, which is scratched and dented with age. Before I can utter a word, Pop slides a loaded plate in front of me and sets a mug of tea beside it.

“Thank you.” I manage a small smile and pick up my knife and fork.

“Uh-oh, I know that look.” His gaze flicks to Dad, who’s heading towards the table with his own plate. “Someone’s panicking.”

“I’m not panicking.” I scowl as Dad drops lightly into the seat opposite me.

“Oh, good,” he says conversationally as he plucks a triangle of toast from the toast rack in the middle of the table and begins to butter it, “because I am.”

I roll my eyes. “There really is no need, Dad.”

“Of course there is. Our baby is leaving home and moving hundreds of miles away.” He loads a spoonful of beans onto the corner of his toast and takes a bite.

“It’s barely two hundred miles and it’s London, not purgatory.”

“That’s a matter of opinion,” Pop murmurs.

“You seem to forget I’m thirty now,” I continue. “No thirty-year-old man should still be living at home with his parents.”

“He does have a point.” Pop joins us at the table with Demeter dancing around his legs, no doubt hoping for more bacon.

“Thank you.” I take a bite of sausage and hum in appreciation.

Dad opens his mouth again, but Pop reaches across and lands a hand over Dad’s. “Babe. He’ll be fine.”