Page 89 of The Good Neighbour
The emptiness in his stomach was crippling. Thankfully it was a Saturday so he didn’t have any plans. Except for his summons to Mrs Wimpole’s. Despite his best attempts, she had refused to elaborate on what she had in store. She had always had a taste for the dramatic. No matter what the stakes were.
He must have drifted off when he was awoken by a loud rapping on his door. His first thought was it could be Hugh. He glanced down and saw Madeline. She was a pretty good second choice.
Josh bounded down the stairs and opened the door.
“Morning,” Madeline said, pushing past him. “I hope the show went well. Tell me about in a bit. First things, now Suzanne has dropped her guard, let’s talk.”
Despite everything, knowing he had Madeline on his side made things a little better. Along with Suzanne and Mrs Wimpole, he had quite the female army.
“Oh and by the way, it was only because this is an emotional emergency that I let her manhandle me out of the studio. You can tell her from me, that won’t happen again.”
Madeline led him into his own kitchen.
“I presume you’re regressing,” she said, firing up the coffee machine.
“What do you mean?”
She looked him up and down. “Unless you sleep in a dress shirt, that is the outfit I selected for you last night, is it not?”
He nodded sheepishly.
“We’re not doing that again. While you have a shower and change, I’ll sort us something to eat.”
Josh’s jaw dropped. “Sorry, did you just say you would cook?”
The house reverberated with Madeline’s cackle. “Don’t be so ridiculous. There’s a new place on Pelham St that does the most divine French toast. In fact, why am I messing with this machine? We’ll get that too. Come on, move it.”
Although he didn’t usually like being managed, Madeline often knew exactly when he needed it, so he obeyed. The shower did make him feel better. In fact, he wanted to stand under its jets for an hour. However, Madeline Morrison clearly had plans for him. And her plans waited for no man.
He put on his joggers and oversized T-shirt. Peering at himself in the mirror, he noted the bags under his eyes appeared to have grown ones of their own. He was getting way too old to pull an all-nighter.
By the time he returned to the kitchen, Madeline had food on plates and coffee in cups. She wouldn’t be seen dead drinking out of a takeaway cup.
“What time is it?” he asked.
“Quarter to eleven.”
The day stretched out ahead of him. He sat at the kitchen counter and nibbled a piece of the French toast. She was right, it was incredible. He bit another, larger piece.
“That’s the spirit,” she said.
“I thought you were out of town?”
“I was,” she replied. “Mrs Wimpole contacted me. We aren’t filming this weekend so I flew back to check up on my best friend.”
Josh frowned “I thought you and Mrs W hated each other.”
“Hate is a strong word. We have one thing in common.”
“What’s that?”
“You.”
He almost choked on his food. Madeline excelled in tough love. He wasn’t used to such declarations of emotion.
“Apparently Mrs Wimpole has it all sorted out. I’ve got to go to hers at five.”
Madeline sniffed. “I know all about it.”
