Page 95 of Famous Last

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Throughout Christmas Day, Spencer kept checking to see if Marshall needed saving from any of his family, but he seemed to wallow in the attention. As the men—except Garrett, who sat with his leg up, directing from the sofa—laid the table for lunch, Spencer noticed how Marshall had started to adopt his clever questioning. Layer by layer, he found out more about Garrett’s company and his future plans, while inquiring about his father’s lengthy experience in the force and what he thought about recent developments. Neither of them cottoned on, but his mother caught Spencer’s eye a couple of times and smiled.

As he stood back from the table, waiting for his mother to give her final approval, Spencer’s phone rang. They had already done a round of calls in the morning over breakfast, straight after opening presents, but this person—never an early riser—hadn’t answered.

Immediately, he put Bev on speaker.

“Merry Christmas, Squirrel. To you and the family. Oh, and Tiger, too,” she said, and the family all echoed her greeting. “Prince and his family are here with me. Sorry we missed your call earlier this morning, but we had a bit of a late one. Is Marshall there?”

“He is,” said Marshall.

“And are you behaving yourself?”

“So far.”

“And what did you buy my bestie?”

“I owed him a two-foot-tall soft toy Squirrel,” said Marshall. “And I moved heaven and earth to get one sent over in time. It’s back in London.”

Marshall had surprised him with the present before they had set off, rather than lugging the toy all the way to Bournemouth. Because the family had no idea who he was bringing, they had arranged plain, generic presents for Marshall of men’s toiletries and festive socks. The simple gesture had genuinely movedMarshall. Spencer had bought him a fitness watch—because they had both vowed to get fit in the new year—and a card with a voucher that had the words ‘good for one autobiography ghostwriter, should the recipient ever need one.’ The latter had been a joke, until Marshall looked up, shocked, and asked how Spencer knew a publisher had only just approached him.

“And he also bought me a new phone,” added Spencer. “Because just after the new year we’re moving into his Bermondsey pad, which has twenty-four-seven Wi-Fi connection.”

“You’re doing what?” asked his mother, frozen over a pot of something steaming.

“Uh—something I’ve yet to tell my parents,” said Spencer, causing Prince’s whole family to laugh out loud.

“What with starting the new job,” said Marshall, “and having to hand back his flat, and noting his not-so-healthy eating habits, I thought it might be for the best.”

Marshall spoke aloud but made sure he meant the words for Spencer’s mother, who smiled and nodded.

“Well,” said Bev, “I’m looking forward to an invite to the house-warming. In the meantime, I suppose you’ve heard about Blake?”

Spencer looked to Marshall, who shrugged.

“No. What’s happened now?”

“He tested positive for Covid. They admitted him to the Royal London two days ago. From what Kim tells me, his symptoms are mild. Apparently, he demanded to be released, said he wanted to discharge himself. But nobody argues with those NHS specialists.”

“Quite right, too,” said Spencer’s mum.

“He’ll be monitored for at least a fortnight. Muriel’s furious. Blake was supposed to manage the office over the Christmasholidays while she took a break. Now she’s been running around the office like a headless chicken with the recent resignations.”

“Who else has jumped ship?”

“Apart from you, me and Prince, you mean?”

“You’ve both resigned?” asked a shocked Spencer.

“The virtual events company are expanding and offered us jobs. Appears they were really impressed with how we managed our end of the Blackmore event, and asked if we’d consider coming on board. The future is virtual, Spence. Sweet deal, too, and we’re going to be working with a great bunch of dynamic people.”

“Muriel must be pulling her hair out.”

“Alice said when she heard about our resignations, she threatened to throw herself out of her office window.”

“I wouldn’t worry, Bev,” said Spencer, winking at Marshall. “As usual with Muriel, it’s an empty threat. Yes, Blackmore is on the eighteenth floor, but not only are the windows of her office made from reinforced glass, none of them open.”

This time the laughter came from both ends of the call.

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