Page 101 of While I’m Still Here

Both things fit.

Chapter 17

THE MAN WHO KNOWS

Marcus Bennett

Ihave never given much thought to women's pyjamas.

Until today, I would have considered this a positive character trait.

I now know there are button-front pyjamas, zip-front pyjamas, oversized pyjamas, pyjamas with internal support, pyjamas marketed specifically to women recovering from breast surgery, and, inexplicably, pyjamas with feathers around the cuffs that Bea has been staring at long enough that I’m starting to worry she intends to buy them.

“No.”

She looks at me. “I haven't said that I’m getting them.”

“You're thinking about them. They are not suitable surgery pyjamas, Bea.”

“They're glamorous.”

“They're a fire hazard,” I sigh.

“Everything is a fire hazard if you apply yourself, Marcus. At least I’d look fabulous as I burned alive.”

“They'll irritate your skin.”

Her fingers reluctantly release the pale-pink sleeve. “I hate shopping with someone sensible.”

“You asked me to come.”

“Yes, because you've done this before. I didn't realise that would make you dictator of nightwear.”

I take the hanger from her and put it back on the rail. She immediately reaches for it again. I move it higher. Bea stares at me, and I see the disdain in her eyes. I am considerably taller than she is. There are occasional advantages. “You absolute cunt,” she swears at me.

“You need something soft.”

“They are soft.”

“Without feathers.”

“Oppressor. Dictator of pyjamas. Killjoy.”

“Preferably button-front or loose enough that you don't need to lift your arms much,” I say, ignoring her cute as fuck temper tantrum.

“I know.”

“Then stop looking at feathers.”

“They're taking my breasts, Marcus. Let me have feathers.”

I put the pyjamas into the basket. Bea's mouth falls open. “What?” she asks.

“Take them.”

Her face transforms so quickly that I nearly laugh. She’s like a kid at Christmas. “Really?”

“You'll regret them.”