Page 22 of Oz
“Aw, that’s pretty.” I pause. “So, while we had dinner you’ve had your hand up a horse’s vagina.” He nods, biting his lip in an attempt not to smile, and I grin. “After the dinner we had, I have to say your evening looks like it might have been better.”
A burst of laughter comes from him and I smile as he sinks into the chair opposite me. I can’t help the warm feeling I’m getting in my chest at making him laugh.Why, oh why, does he have to be so nice and sleepy looking?
His voice breaks into my thoughts. “How bad was it?”
I shudder. “We had beef casserole.”
He grimaces. “God, I feel your pain. Last time I forced that down I was ten and I had to eat it because my father believed in serving up leftovers until they were eaten.” I stare at him and he nods. “I had it for breakfast, lunch and supper.”
“Oh my God. Did you eat it in the end?”
“Did I, fuck. I gave it to Cyclops, our old bulldog. It made him sick, though, so I spent a whole night nursing him and moppingup vomit.” He pauses. “Which was still better than eating that shit.”
I laugh. “Is that where the desire to be a vet came from?”
He stares at the wall, deep in thought. “No. I just think that animals are better than humans for the most part. They’re simple. You love them and they love you back, and no matter how you fuck up they still love you. That’s loyalty for you.” He seems to come to and gives me an embarrassed look.
I smile at him, touched but not saying anything. “So, that must mean the cook’s been with you for thirty years. How the fuck is that possible?”
“Mrs Granger is actually lovely. She just can’t cook. Although her baking is wonderful.” He sighs. “Her cakes are so gorgeous and wait until you try her scones.” He gives me an almost shy look. “She was always really good to Henry and me when we were little.”
“Ah, that explains the longevity of a cook that can’t actually cook.” I pause. “I was starting to think she was a Borrower or something. I’ve never seen her. Just these meals appearing on the table.” I think for a moment. “But a reverse Borrower because they’re so awful. I looked up the nearest McDonalds tonight.”
He grins. “St Austell. Mention my name and you’ll get a good table.”
“It’s not what you know, it’s who,” I say piously as he laughs.
I smile at him and chuckle as his stomach gives a massive rumble.
“Sorry,” he grins. “It’s all that talk about cake.”
I stand up. “Well, unlike Mrs Granger, Icancook. I’ll make you something.”
He looks startled, which he should be. I don’t usually cook for men, only my mum. “Oh no, you don’t have to.”
“What do you normally do?” I ask curiously. “I imagine vets keep very late hours.”
He nods. “If I’m not too tired I’ll grab a sandwich. If I’m knackered I just go to bed.” He shudders. “And look forward to breakfast.”
“Well, I’m going to make you something and I don’t want any arguments. They’re so tedious and it gets boring when I win them.”
He smiles with a devastating quirk of his lips, but then looks at his watch and frowns. “But it’s so late.”
“Pshaw. This isn’t late. In London I’d only just be going into the clubs. Besides, I’m used to cooking at this time.” He shoots a questioning look at me and I grin. “My mum’s a nurse. I used to cook for her when she came in off a late shift.”
“How old were you when you started doing that?”
I think hard. “I was about twelve when I picked up a cookery book. She used to be so bloody tired when she came in, literally dragging herself over the doorstep, and it was a way for me to help.”
He gives me a soft smile. “You’re close to your mum, aren’t you?”
I turn to grab a pan from the cupboard and nod. “It’s always been just the two of us so we’re Team Gallagher. She’s the best person in the world.”
“She sounds it,” he says softly.
“I’ll make you a breakfast frittata,” I decide. “It’s her favourite.”
He groans. “God, that sounds good.”
