Page 57 of Something Borrowed

“Afternoon, Edward,” I say, stepping forward so he can hug me.

As he does, bits of paper fall out of his pocket, covered in musical notes and doodles in his scratchy handwriting. I gather them up, and he gives me a smile of thanks, looking at the papers as if he’s never seen them before and then stuffing them back in his pocket. I repress a smile. He’s the most absentminded person I’ve ever known.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, giving Stan a hug and ruffling Vinnie’s hair.

“Erm. I actually live here,” Vinnie offers.

“It’s Sunday, Dad,” Stan says.

“Is it?” he asks blankly. “Well, where did that week go?”

“It’s a mystery to me,” I say, smiling at him.

Rowena appears. “Dinner is ready.”

Edward sniffs. “Well, how fortuitous. I appear to be on time for it for once.”

She rolls her eyes. “I’m sure it won’t happen again.”

We follow her down the corridor and into the dining room at the back of the house. It’s a warm welcoming room that looks out over the overgrown garden. The walls are covered with artwork, valuable paintings mingling with children’s drawings as if they’re on the same artistic level. It’s nice that a Sisley drawing is accorded the same status as one of Wolfie’s sketches of Hump. We all thought it was a mutant ostrich but Wolfie informed us otherwise.

Photos are in abundance too, and it’s lovely to see my face in so many. In every one, Stan and I have our arms around each other, and we’re laughing.

Lottie is already seated at the table with her husband, Alex. He’s a tall, appallingly energetic man who was a former championship rower and now works with the UK’s Olympic rowing teams. This might explain his preference for wearing shorts all year round, which raises a few eyebrows when two feet of snow are on the ground.

“Alright, Alex?” I say.

He grins at me. “Wow, that’s a drastic haircut, Raff.”

“At least my top hat will fit better now.”

“Yeah, that’s what I always say when I get my hair cut.”

I wink at him. “Where do you keep your hat, then? In the pocket of your short shorts?”

He snorts. “They’re notthatshort.”

“Daisy Duke would have had a fit of the vapours.”

“Pay no attention,” Lottie says to her husband. “Your legs are lovely, darling.”

Wolfie wanders into the room, Hump at his heels as well as Daisy and Maisy, the family’s old greyhounds. “Hello, Uncle Stan and Raff.”

“Hey, mate,” Stan says, sitting down at the table in his usual seat.

Lottie’s eyes narrow at her son. “Did you wash your hands?”

Wolfie slides his hands behind his back in an insouciant move I can only envy. “Did you know that some insects can walk on water? They’re called water striders.”

“Hmm. Do they wash their hands before dinner as well? Let’s see them.”

Wolfie reluctantly extends his hands, and Lottie rolls her eyes. “Is there any soil left in the garden, or is it all behind your nails now?”

Edward seizes his grandson and pulls him onto his lap. “Maybe you’ll have cherries growing in there soon. People willclimb through your window to pick them from under your fingernails.”

I stare at him. “Is that supposed to be whimsical? Because it sounds rather nightmarish.”

“Like that bedtime story that you told us about the violent bread fairy,” Stan says.

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