Page 6 of Replay
“Right.” I bite my lip thoughtfully. “And we were a definite no on calling me your bodyguard.”
“Yes.” Freya waves me off. “You’re very tall and statuesque but quite thin, damn you. And I’m short and round, so honestly, I can’t say who would win between the two of us in a proper mugging.”
“What the hell are you two going on about?” Mac growls, rudely interrupting our conversation. “You sound properly mental!”
I pin Mac with a punishing glower. “We’re trying to come up with my official title now that I’m fully employed atPerfectly Sized Pets, thank you very much. If you don’t have anything useful to add to the conversation, you can be on your way. There’s a roast and potatoes in the oven that I put together!” I exclaim while thrusting my fist in the air. “With Freya’s guidance, of course, because I’m a crap cook.”
“You did wonderfully today!” she coos.
“Thanks, Freya.”
Mac’s jaw tics with agitation as he shakes his head and stomps off towards the kitchen. “Ever since you’ve arrived, I feel like a third wheel in my own house.”
Freya and I both cover our mouths as we try to conceal our giggles. Thank goodness I love my brother’s wife because if not, it would have been a lot more painful to help them out in their current situation.
But how can you not love Freya? She’s a quirky, fiery redhead, much like myself. She has freckles for days, and she managed to magically tame my stubborn Scot of a brother. Honestly, I’ve never seen Mac argue with someone the way he argues with her. They’re like an old married couple who should have their own sitcom. But even when they’re having a go at each other, he looks at her like she’s his complete and total world. It’s hard to watch because it’s so incredibly intimate, yet I struggle to look away because it feels meaningful.
Regardless, I’m committed to being Freya’s puppet, bodyguard, and baby-watching-Watson until the contract with Harrods is signed, sealed, and delivered with terms that will satisfy Freya to take a year for maternity leave. I’ll do absolutely anything, including chopping potatoes for a roast so that wee nephew of mine stays safe and sound inside her.
They just found out they were having a boy last week, and Freya told me Mac wept like a baby during the scan. Stubborn tattoo’d Scot on the outside, soft as a cuddly teddy bear on the inside…that’s my brother.
Freya exhales heavily, pulling me out of my musings. “I suppose we should clean up and eat since it’s well after six. We have another episode ofBridgertonto consume after dinner!”
I growl out my frustration. “Why are we only watching one episode at a time again? Netflix has groomed us to be binge-watchers, so this is complete torture.”
“I know, but I burned through all fourteen seasons ofHeartlandat an embarrassingly fast rate. Taking our time means prolonging our enjoyment. I don’t want to finish all of Netflix during this bed rest. That would be horrifying.”
I lift my brows as an idea hits me. “But maybe since Mac and I will be gone to the charity gala tomorrow night, we should watch two episodes tonight. I mean, we’ve earned it today, don’t you think?”
“Very well then.” Freya giggles. “I just can’t say no to you!”
Laughing, I rise from the sofa to begin tidying up our piles of options into a particular order so we can pick up where we left off tomorrow.
“Tilly should be Smarty Spice,” Mac bellows out from the kitchen around a mouth full of food.
Freya frowns toward the door. “Sorry?”
After a short pause, Mac shouts back more clearly. “Tilly could be Smarty Spice and Freya, you can be Stylish Spice. It makes the most sense based on both of your talents, and well…you two fancy the Spice Girls, right? Aren’t they kind of all about girl power?”
Freya’s and my face light up.
“That’s perfect, darling!” Freya exclaims jovially. “Alexa, play ‘Wannabe’ by the Spice Girls.”
I squeal excitedly as the song plays over the sound system, then hear Mac chastise, “Freya, you’d better be sofa-dancing, or I will be calling Belle whether you like it or not.”
“Oh, I am, darling,” she says, rocking her pointer fingers up and down by her face. “I’m practicing my mummy-to-be dance moves. I’ll leave the sexy gyrating to the single lady in the room.”
I hear Mac grumble something along the lines of “barf”, which makes me laugh out loud as I dance my computer up to my room, still reveling in the fact I’m going to have my first proper night out in London very soon.
I feel like Daphne Bridgerton at her coming out event. If only the queen could be there, touch my chin with her gloved hand, and say,“Flawless, my dear”,then I’d feel like maybe…just maybe…everything might finally be turning around for me.
As I turn to leave my room, I nearly trip over a box I shoved off to the side that arrived earlier today. I’d planned to leave this particular package at my parents’ in Dundonald, but they must have thought I’d forgotten it, so they sent it in the post.
I kneel to look inside because it’s been years since I’ve cracked this open. It’s chock-full of scrapbooks featuring small photos I took of various street art that I’d seen during my time in London. Large murals, small bits of graffiti, even silly sayings scrawled onto toilet cubicle doors. If it intrigued me, I snapped a photo and scrapbooked it. I even made a tradition of matting and framing my favourite piece every single year. I’ve created quite a collection over time, but I haven’t taken any new photos in years.
As I glance through the framed pieces, I can’t help but notice that it’s like looking at a roadmap of my life. They start off with colourful, carefree pieces that I captured in my university days and shift to anxious, grittier, and more troubled art. These are dated in the years following school, when I’d started working in the real world and feeling like a proper grown-up for the first time. It’s interesting to see what drew my eye in those days.
As I thumb through loose photos at the bottom of the box, I stumble upon a small print that I never framed, and it makes me smile. It’s a dingy alleyway featuring a white stucco building. In the centre of the dirty wall is a painted-on window with blue shutters and a giant orange cat peering out. It’s the spitting image of Hercules, judgmental eyes and all. I decide instantly I should definitely give this to Freya.
