Page 44 of Short Stack 3

“Hmm. I thinkChi an Mor.”

He hums thoughtfully. “And where will we be sleeping, Henry?”

I slump. He knows me too well. “Probably in the house with a bathroom all to ourselves and a huge bed we can make some noise in.”

His eyes kindle. “I like the way you think. So basically, we will use the van to travel and then stay in a house so we can fuck loudly.”

“You do twist my words, Ivo.”

“Yes, I’m sure I do.”

“But the kids would love it in the van.”

He snorts. “You would leave two young children unattended in a van not owned by you?”

“Yes,” I say hesitantly. “Why? Is that bad?”

“Let’s just say it’s probably good that we’re only responsible for a terrier.”

“I think he’s more responsible than us.”

He nods. “Plus, those two children are being reared by Oz. Have you seen him driving the minivan that Silas bought?”

I shudder. “The memory still makes me jerk awake at night. It was like Lewis Hamilton in an ice cream truck.” I reach out and cup his chin, loving how he leans into me. “But I would go anywhere with you, darling.”

He winks. “How about the Savoy for afternoon tea?”

“Nowyou’re talking.” I climb into the van and smile at him as he does the same. “Home, James. And don’t spare the horses.”

“Is that another one of your funny English phrases?”

“Ivo, you’ve lived here for over thirty years now.”

We set off bickering lightly and laughing. Just the way we like it.

Oz and Silas

Oz

Three Dozen Red Roses and a Werewolf

A Valentine’s Day short story that was written for my Facebook readers’ group. This is set after the events of Oz and just before the epilogue of that book. Silas’s jealousy over Oz’s admirer is mentioned in the epilogue.

Silas

It’s twilight when I draw up in front of the house. The sky is a mass of lilac shot through with a deep navy blue, and the first few stars are starting to come out. I jump down from the Land Rover and pause, inhaling the scent of the sea on the air.Home.

Chewwy jumps down next to me and noses my hand.

“I know, mate,” I say, scratching his ear. “It’s good to be home.”

He looks up at me reproachfully, and I shrug. “I know you don’t like the groomers, but you know who does? That small Irishman we live with.” I point a finger at him. “Just do as you’re told.”

He huffs and trots up the steps, nosing his way through the front door that someone has helpfully left ajar.

I’ve been away on a course for the last few days. It’s been nice staying in a hotel and catching up with colleagues, but the days away from Oz couldn’t have come at a worse time. As if the world is synchronising with my thoughts, there’s a massive crash inside the house and a few cries of anguish. Then a voice rises, shouting, “Who thefucklet that dog on the set? What tosspot wanker let an animal onto a working set?”

Almost immediately, Chewwy shoots out of the house, offering me a wounded glance as if I’m responsible for the current situation. He hightails it around the house, no doubt heading for my boyfriend, who actuallyisresponsible for it.

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