Page 115 of Almost Ours

Our stupid swan.

“Ruby?” Josh’s voice is high-pitched. I look up and find Josh staring at the iPod in my hand with absolute horror. “Ruby, give me my iPod.”

“What’s Bernardo?”

“It’s a bird.”

“No.”

His eyes close. “It’s a playlist.”

“I can see that. Why is it called Bernardo?”

“You know why.”

“Because Bernardo is our swan?”

“Technically he isn’t ours.”

I drag my eyes back to the iPod, a shiver rolling through me. “You made a playlist named after our swan?”

Josh drags both hands down his face and leaves them there over his mouth. “Fucking hell.”

I’m alight with anticipation, all thoughts of Connect 4 and Christmas temporarily gone. “Josh—”

“No,” he holds a hand out, looking like death. “Give me a second.”

“I—”

“Ruby, I’m having an aneurysm.”

“You’re not having an aneurysm.”

“I can feel it going.”

“You’re fine.”

Josh drops his hands and points at his own face. “A stroke, then. Is my face drooping?”

“Josh—”

“Genuinely. Look. Is one side going?”

“Your face is fine.”

“Then it’s an aneurysm and I’d like an ambulance.”

“Josh.”

His shoulders collapse a little and he sits back on his heels, staring at the carpet with resignation. “Fine. Every time a song makes me think of you, I put it in there. That’s all.”

My smile disappears. “Every time a..?”

“Don’t make me say it again, for the love of God, woman.”

“I want you to.”

“No way.”