Page 9 of Love ad Lib
He thrust his hand in the box and pulled it out. ‘A pen, my chair, my desk, my jacket, my shoes, my car.’
‘Six more!’ yelled Libby.
He stared at her, his face paling. ‘Um, you.’
Everyone started laughing.
‘Go, go, go!’ she cried.
‘Aghhh! Erm, a cloud, erm, a sheep. Er, shit.’
‘Shit will do! Three more!’
‘Erm, a toilet, a banana, and er, James.’
Carl’s face flushed as he finished to applause and cheers.
‘James! Let’s have you next,’ said Libby.
James shook his head. ‘This is bullshit. I’ve got more important things to do.’ He turned on his heel and stalked out, slamming the door behind him.
Libby didn’t miss a beat. ‘Henry! Let’s go! Seven items!
Fuck!He put his hand inside the box. What could he feel? He looked at Libby and pulled it out. ‘Buttercups on a sunny day.’
She clapped. ‘Love it! Now go, go go!’
‘Um, the river, Fox—Thames, um, disappointment. A blue sheep. A whoopie cushion. A chicken madras, and er, the complete works of Shakespeare.’
Everyone clapped and cheered.
‘That’s awesome! Love it!’ said Libby. ‘Gaz, you’re next. Eight items. Go!’
The laughter got progressively louder as everyone took their turn. Henry felt lighter than air. Despite his initial panicked urge at the start of the session to leave via the nearest available exit, he was now genuinely enjoying himself. Thanks to two women who added fairy dust and sparkles to everything they touched, he’d gone from suspicious to sold.
‘You’re all amazing!’ said Claire as Libby moved the box and table back against the wall. ‘Now it’s time for one-minute life stories. Partner up with the person nearest to you.’
Because James had left, the numbers were uneven and Henry was on his own.
Libby came to his side. ‘I’ll go with you, Henry.’
‘Awesome,’ said Claire. ‘Now, this is a listening exercise. One of you has a minute to tell your entire life story. All the other person has to do is listen. So, choose who is going first.’
‘You go first, Henry.’ Libby beamed.
He blinked as if he were standing by a waterfall, the sunshine turning the spray into rainbows. A tug in his chest pushed him to leap into the light.
‘Three, two one, go!’ cried Claire.
He held Libby’s gaze and took a deep breath. ‘My name is Henry Arthur Fitzwilliam Foxbrooke. I have five siblings, a dad, and, er, two mums. My father is, um, a bit of a hippie? He met Mom, my birth mother—she’s American—in Paris when she was acting and modelling.’ He drew a quick breath. ‘So, er, just after she became pregnant with me, my grandfather and uncle died in a car crash, and my father became the Duke of Somerset. He and Mom got married and came back to live at Foxbrooke Manor. That’s the family home. Mom then started an affair with my mammy, er, Dervla, my other mother. She’s originally from Ireland. She had a son at the time, Connor. He’s, um, the same age as me and my sister. I have a twin, Estelle. Did I say that already? Then Mammy, well, fell in love with my father as well as my mother and, um, moved into the Manor with Connor.’ Was he really telling her all of this?
Libby nodded, encouraging him to continue.
He cleared his throat. ‘Dad and Mammy had three children together: my brother, Leo, and my sisters, Willow and Summer. So, we’ve all grown up with a father, um, and a mom and a mammy.’ He shook his head. ‘I know it’s nuts. Anyway, where was I? Oh, yes. My dad ran these wild sex and drugs parties at the Manor. He still does. But back then it all went terribly wrong, as you can imagine, and we were—’
‘Time’s up!’ Claire cried.
Henry blinked. Why had he just shared his family secrets with a stranger?
