Page 9 of Strawberry Moon
I offer her the stare of death as she moves past me and perches on the arm of the chair by my grandad.
“How lovely that you’ve brought my boss up to my bedroom,” I say through gritted teeth. “What’s next. Is he sharing my bath?”
“Ouch!”
I look over and find Harry nursing his hand where he’s spilt his drink. “Oh no. What happened?” I rush over and take his hand to examine it. The skin is red, and I pat it gently. I look up and disappear into his eyes. They’re so clear and beautiful.
“Nothing,” he says hoarsely, and I wonder if his hay fever is playing up. He looks at me and frowns. “Are you going like that?”
I gaze down at my outfit. “Yes,” I say, but it’s more of a question than an answer. “What’s wrong with it?”
“Oh nothing.” He looks me up and down again. “You just look a little muted, that’s all.”
I put my hands on my hips. “Good. That’s the idea.”
“This isdeliberate,then?” He glances at my grandad and mum. They shrug, and he looks back at me. “Why?” He holds up a hand. “I mean, you always look fantastic, Clem, and whatever you wear, you do it really well.”
“Ido?” I breathe. “You think I look fantastic?”
“Yes.” He clears his throat. “Of course.”
I point at him. “And this outfit looks okay?” The nod is a little slower in coming, but I grin. “Perfect. I want to look right for your family.”
“I beg your pardon?”
I gesture at my clothes. “I know it’s a bit boring, but I don’t want to embarrass you.” He’s shaking his head before I’ve even finished my sentence. “What?”
“I want you to take those clothes off right now.”
There’s a sharp intake of breath from my family, and I stare dreamily at him. “Youdo?”
He seems to realise what he just said, and red tinges his sharp cheekbones. “Erm. Yes. Hmm. Well, sort of.”
We all stare at him and I’m just indulging in a small daydream of him saying that when we’re alone.
Then he says, “I would like you to take that outfit off and replace it with something you’d normally wear.”
“What?” my mum and grandad say together like some sort of Greek chorus.
“What they said.” I point at them. “What’s wrong with this outfit? It screams meet the family to me.”
“It screams boring person meeting the family,” he says firmly. “And you are the least boring person I have ever met.”
Someone at the side of the room sucks in a breath but I ignore them to stare at him. “I’m not?” I ask a lot more hesitantly than I’d like.
His face softens. “No, you’re lovely—funny, kind, and lively, and your exterior usually matches that.” He looks around at the piles of brightly coloured clothing. “What about your normal jeans?”
“The tight ones?” my mum asks.
“Those are the ones.” He hesitates as if waiting for them to rise from the floor and march to his side.
“You can actually tell if I’ve been circumcised in those,” I say helpfully. “Is that something your family would be interested in?”
“Not traditionally, but who knows.”
My mum clears her throat and hands him the jeans.
He thrusts them into my arms. “Thank you, Nessa. And your T-shirt, Clem, with the sparkly heart on it. Where’s that?”
