Page 163 of Every Silent Lie
“I can see, fella. Are we going ice skating?”
“Now, that one I got in Lapland,” Mr. Percival says, joining Albi and perching on the arm of the chair.
“You’ve been to Lapland?” Albi asks, his mouth forming an O in astonishment.
“Yeah, I’ve been, kid. In 1987. A long, long time ago. What year was you born, kid?”
Albi looks at Dec. “2021,” Dec says.
“Twenty-one,” Albi murmurs, shifting onto his butt and crossing his legs in front of Mr. Percival, as if he’s in class in front of his teacher.
“So you’re four.”
“I’m four and a half.”
“And have you been good this year?”
“So good.” He’s gazing up at the old man in complete awe.
I look at Dec. He shrugs. “Want a drink?” I ask.
“Well, it doesn’t look like we’re going anywhere fast.”
“Mind if I get a drink, Mr. Percival?”
“Oh my, how rude of me.” He dips. “You wait there, kid, I’ll bring back a feast and some eggnog.”
“What’s eggnog?”
“Magic, kid. Don’t move.”
“I won’t.”
“This way.” Mr. Percival passes us and leads us into the kitchen.
“What the fuck?” Dec stops on the threshold and gazes around at the chaos. “Are you having a party?”
Food is laid out on every surface, some with ice packs under, some covered with tinfoil, some in Tupperware pots. It’s a buffet on steroids. “It’s Christmas,” Mr. Percival says. “One must be prepared for guests, since you never know when they might show up.” He picks up a knife and points it at Dec, making him lean back. “Case in point.” He slices one of his scrummy cakes, and I’m first to help myself, humming my happiness. “Sherry?”
“Please,” I mumble.
“Sure,” Dec breathes.
Then once the old man’s seen to our needs, he loads a tray of goodies and rests it on his frame, going back to Albi. “Make yourself at home, kids.”
And we do, dropping to the couch and listening while Mr. Percival enchants Albi with tales about gnomes, Christmas, world travels, and the war.
“He’s actually talked my son to sleep.” Dec props Albi onto his shoulder and takes my hand, walking us up to the front door.
“That was unexpected and quite lovely,” I say, reaching for Albi’s hat and pulling it down over his ear. “Will he sleep through until seven?”
“He better.” Dec disappears up the stairs as I hang up my coat, dropping my bag to the floor and wandering to the kitchen. I stop on the threshold, looking up the stairs. Bite my lip. Reversing my steps, I kick my shoes off and take the steps, following my nose to Albi’s room, finding jungle animals decorating every wall. I watch quietly as Dec strips him down and gets his floppy body into some jungle pyjamas before tucking him in, dropping a kiss on his cheek.
The moment he turns around and sees me, I know my face spells out what I want and need in this moment. His arms around me. His lips all over my body. His slow, careful drives as he makes love to me.
He slips his coat off and drops it on a beanbag, then comes at me with purpose and picks me up, carrying me to his bedroom and sitting me on the edge of the bed. His fingers graze my sides as he pulls my jumper up over my head and tosses it aside, then he presses a palm into my chest and pushes me down to my back. I reach for my jeans to undo the fly, but he pushes my hands away, planting one fist into the mattress and looming over me while he takes over with his spare hand, his eyes dancing, moving from mine to his task. His lashes flicker. His lips part. His breath gets louder. Pushing my jeans open, he dips and kisses the flesh just north of my knickers, and I melt into the duvet on a sigh, closing my eyes as I rest my arms over my head, blissed out completely as he trails his mouth up my tummy, past my chest, and onto my throat. His hum vibrates against the hollow, his scruff brushing my skin, my back arching into his chest.
“Take it off,” I whisper, reaching for the hem of his sweater and wrestling it up his torso. I need his warm flesh on me, suffocating me, swathing me. He pushes to his knees and rips it up his body, leaving his hair a crumpled mess, and throws it aside before removing his T-shirt as well. Dizziness gets me when his hard chest is bared, his biceps swelling when he yanks his belt open. I shoot up, impatient, and unbutton his fly, shoving his jeans down over his arse and getting my hands there, squeezing.
