Page 62 of For Real

“Now you mention it, I think we did. What was his name again?”

“Lawson? Laughlin?”

I sighed. Knowing I deserved this didn’t make it any less exasperating. “Do you just want me to leave?”

Grace grinned. “Don’t be silly, Lawson, sit down. And have a little pancake with your syrup.”

Angel, who was wearing a silk dressing gown that probably—though I wouldn’t have bet on it, knowing Sam’s tastes or lack thereof—belonged to Grace, moved across to make space for me on the sofa.

“I’m sorry,” I said again, as I sat down and balanced my plate on my knee. “I’ve been busy.”

Sam gave me a far too sharp look. “Busy getting laid, from the looks of you.”

Don’t blush, Dalziel. “That’s pure supposition.”

“Laurie, I can tell. You get this”—he framed me with his hands—“glow. This very lovely glow, like a fine stallion ridden hard. And occasionally put up wet.”

“I don’t glow,” I snapped.

Grace stifled a sound that might have been a laugh but which became a cough when I glared at her. “He’s just messing with you because we know.”

Even though I’d come here expressly for the purpose of telling them about Toby, I flinched. I suddenly didn’t really feel like eating pancakes, so I put my plate on the coffee table. “You…know?”

“Yeah”—she nodded eagerly—“Dominic said he was going to ask you out.”

“Wait. What? Who the fuck is Dominic?”

They all stared at me.

“The guy you’ve been sleeping with on and off for the last few years?” said Grace, in her primary-school-teacher voice. “The guy who’s had a crush on you for ages?”

I shook my head bemusedly. It could honestly have been any number of people.

“He…he plays the alto sax?” offered Angel.

“That’s Dominic?” A fresh thought struck me. “Dominic the Dom? My God. That just sounds like an incredibly ill-conceived children’s series.”

Grace gave a whoop of laughter. “Dominic the Dom and Subby the Sub.”

Angel and Sam immediately picked up the theme: Dominic and Subby Go to the Sex Shop, Dominic and Subby at the Play Party, Dominic and Subby’s First Orgy, Dominic and Subby and the Butt Plug of Doom.

But when the amusement faded, Grace was frowning. “Hang on, hang on. Laurie, if you’re not with Dom, who the hell are you with?”

“What makes you think I’m with anyone?” I asked, squirming and stalling unconvincingly.

Sam gave me a look. “Because you’re happy, dude. Like, it’s buried deep. But I know you. I can tell.”

Oh God. He was right. In spite of everything—in spite of knowing how wrong it was (or should be)—Toby made me happy. Utterly, helplessly happy.

“So come on,” pressed Grace, “who are you fucking? Do we know him?”

I put my head in my hands and blurted out the truth.

“Who?”

I tried again, with volume this time. “The Foetus.”

There was a long, awful silence. I didn’t dare look up.

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