Page 34 of Short Stack 3

“Henry, youlie.”

I laugh and watch him climb into the van. He emerges with his drink and settles into the chair I set up next to me. He tangles his feet with mine, and we lapse into a comfortable silence. The sun is warm on our faces, and the air is full of the sound of birdsong. It’s actually rather pleasant, and I’m just relaxing when a shrill scream sounds.

I jerk, spilling my drink. “What thefuck?”

Ivo peers around the van. “It’s just some kids.”

“Oh, do they have them here too?”

“It seems like they’re fairly ubiquitous.” The child screams again, and he winces. “It’s either a child or a drunken banshee. The jury is still out.” He peers around the van again. “There are some ducks over there.”

“Does that child have to announce it like it’s the onset of Armageddon?” Then his words sink in, and I sit up. “Oh my god.Realducks?”

“No, rubber ones.” I raise my middle finger at him, and he laughs. “Yes, they’re real. What’s the problem?”

“They’re not heading this way, are they?”

“No, the kids have got some bread.”

“I hope they’ve got a bloody bakery.”

“They won’t hurt you.”

“Ivo, they have funny webbed feet, and they move in an odd way. Not to mention, if they decide to attack, they can walkandfly, so it’s a two-pronged attack.”

“You’ve been watchingThe Birdsagain, haven’t you?”

I shudder. “Once was enough, when we live in London with all the pigeons.”

“I’ll protect you, my love.”

“From the ducks or the pigeons?”

“The ducks. You’re on your own with the other.” He takes a sip of his drink. “You do make a good gin and tonic.”

“I make a lot of nice drinks. It’s the cooking side that I still can’t get my head around.”

“Nor me. Do you think we should try to learn again?”

“Aren’t we too old for that?”

“We’re in our thirties. Not approaching a hundred.” He jumps up. “Another one?”

I hand him my glass. “I thought you’d never ask.”

An hour later, we have a pleasant buzz on. The sun is low now with that special light of late summer making everything golden. Ivo stirs in his chair. “I wonder what we should do for food?” he says idly.

I eye him. “Didn’t we bring anything to cook?”

“Pah. What would be the point? We might just as well have brought ashes from the fire at home. It’s the same outcome.”

I point my glass at him. “Exactly. I love that we’re the same.”

He grins, and it’s his killer smile — the one only I see. It’s lazy and heated, making his eyes gleam. “I don’t think it’s quite as good as you’re implying. We’ll starve to death.”

I shake my head. “You didn’t bring any food because you presumed there would be something nearby. You’re as citified as me, Ivo, despite your current attempt to role-play country boy.”

“Henry, we grew up in the country.”

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