Page 9 of The Meaning Of You

And regarding the second-round issue. It’s not that I can’t manage a second round, because I often do, but I need a little more refresh time than I used to, and it’s usually more for the other person than myself. The first round generally ticks the box for me, plus I happen to appreciate sleep more than I used to.

Have I mentioned a good book?

I shook the packet of biscuits and Shirley groaned, giving the open door a quick glance before nabbing her third Tim Tam in under an hour. Not fooled for a second, I left my hand where it was and shook the packet a second time. “You know you want to.”

Shirley’s mouth quirked up, sending laughter lines spiderwebbing across her face, her bright hazel eyes shining. Crepey skin didn’t stand a chance against those sharp, model-worthy cheekbones, even if her thinning grey hair was a pale reminder of the thick auburn locks that had once bounced on her shoulders. Shirley Church had been a looker in her day and still was. With both my parents dead, she was the last of her generation left and held a special place in my heart.

“I hate you.” She shot me a caustic look before squirrelling two more chocolate biscuits into her bedside drawer. Then she took a large bite of the one still in her hand and fell back in her chair with a porn-worthy moan that made me smile.

“You’ll be the death of me.” She spoke around the mouthful of biscuit. Then she smirked. “Well, hopefully anyway. Maybe you could try a little harder. Lord knows they won’t monitor my sugar intake in heaven because that’d be hell right there.”

I almost choked on my biscuit, spraying half of it down the front of my shirt. “Jesus, Shirley.” I brushed the crumbs to the floor as she watched, smiling.

My mother’s younger sister had always been a riot. Cheeky down to theKiss Me Quickrainbow silicone wristband her wife had given her before she died and the ankle tattoo that readNo Regrets.She’d been at my side the day I came out to my parents, who’d barely batted an eye at yet another member of the family joining the LGBTQ+ brigade, quipping that we almost had enough for a volleyball team, which was... true.

Alongside Aunt Shirley and me, my father’s brother was gay, my cousin was bi, and my brother’s first-born had begun hertransition during her teens, a decision which had delighted all concerned. Lana was a twenty-two-year-old firecracker and took zero shit from anyone and was happier than I’d ever seen her. In many ways, she was my hero and I loved her to bits.

“How are Jonas and Charmaine?” Shirley enquired about my younger brother and his wife who lived in Sydney.

“They’re good,” I answered distractedly, wincing at the biscuit crumbs that littered the carpet between us. Still, considering how much Shirley paid to stay in Golden Oaks, they could run to a bit of extra cleaning, right?

I kept staring. Nope. The guilt was real. I scuffed the worst of it under the chair with my foot and felt a little better. When I looked up, Shirley wore an amused grin.

“Don’t ever change, Madigan.”

My cheeks blazed. “Shut up.”

Her grin widened. “Have I told you you’re my favourite nephew?”

“Every time you want something from me.”

She laughed. “Fair point. And right now, I want more than an okay about your brother’s family.”

I settled back in my seat. “They’re doing great. Jonas is talking about retiring by the time he’s my age, or at least stepping back from the daily management of the law firm, although I don’t see it. The man’s a workaholic. And Charmaine is busy as always, saving the whales or penguins, or campaigning about climate change. I can’t remember what this year’s focus is, but that’s Char for you. And Lana is gearing up for her uni finals in another month, regaling the family with angsty pronouncements of doom and gloom, even though we all know she’ll ace them all.”

Shirley snorted. “And the rest. That girl has success and determination written into her DNA. What about you? Don’t think I haven’t noticed you’ve been skirting the topic.”

I sighed. “I’m fine. It’s just been a tough day.”

She cocked a brow. “Is this that fancy family Bible you’ve been working on?”

I nodded. “The Bannock Estate’s eighteenth-century leather-bound Scottish Bible.”

“I thought you were almost done?” She invited me to explain.

“I am, at least my particular part is done. But the Bible has a complicated cover lock with a distinctly Scottish engraving embedded into the leather. No one I’ve contacted in New Zealand feels confident to touch it, and I don’t want to contract the work offshore because that would mean sending the finished book, and there’s a lot of risk in that. I’ve burned through every contact I know.”

“Mmm.” She watched me closely. “So, what are your options?”

My head fell back and I stared up at the ceiling. “Basically, just one that I’m happy with. To ask the family to cover the cost of bringing someone here from Australia to do the work in my studio. But it’s not a phone call I’m looking forward to. The manager of the estate almost went into shock when I first submitted my estimate to complete the work. And now I’m asking for more.”

“But the manager still signed off on it, right?”

I shrugged. “I’m one of the few who have worked on something even close to this.”

“Exactly,” she declared. “And that experience means you’re worth every penny. It’s taken you months already, hasn’t it?”

Another nod. “It was a mess, falling to bits, but they want it on permanent display for tour groups next year, not to mention preserving the family history, so it needed to be done right.” I couldn’t hide my glee. “It’s a cracker of a book, Shirley. I’ve never seen workmanship like it.”

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