Page 20 of The Duke Who Saved Christmas
He grinned up at me. “Thanks, Uncle Tommy.”
I turned back to the counter where Sylvie was just tapping her card against the card machine.
Mrs. O’Shea looked at me. “There’s no room on the truck for tonight,” she said. “Shall I put it down for tomorrow?”
“I’ll take it over on my way back,” I told her. “It’s just so I don’t forget.”
She raised her pencilled-on eyebrows with a look I couldn’t discern and wrote it down in her wiggly, old-lady handwriting that was always comforting to read. “All right, then.” She pulled the receipt from the machine and handed it to Sylvie with a grandmotherly smile. “There you go, my dear. Does your grandmother still have that pig of hers?”
Her what?
Sylvie dropped her chin to her chest, bobbing her head. Her shoulders rose and fell with a heavy sigh before she looked up. “Yes. She, uh, bathed her in the kitchen sink yesterday morning. I’m going to need to buy a new gravy boat. And some bleach.”
I snorted. “That’s… different.”
She shot me a dark look and tucked her purse inside her handbag, switching it for her keys. “Yes, well, I don’t remember asking your opinion.”
I stared at her.
“Some things don’t change.” Mrs. O’Shea grinned. “The last time you two were in the same room you were bickering like babies, too.”
“Please don’t remind me,” Sylvie said, zipping her handbag and hiking the strap up over her shoulder. “I’m only here under duress. Apparently, Gramps thinks he’s funny.”
“He was. Once. Watched him go arse over tit over his bicycle handlebars when he was about seven.” Mrs. O’Shea chuckled. “I wish we had those fancy phones in those days. It would have been a great video.”
Sylvie’s lips curved into a gentle smile. “Yet, somehow, I can imagine it perfectly.”
There was a little tug on my coat, and I looked down to see Danny standing just behind me, peering up at me with wide eyes.
“What’s up, buddy?” I asked, resting my hand on his shoulder.
“I finished,” he replied, pointing at the decorations. “They’re there.”
I made a show of looking at them. “Great job. They look so good.”
Danny held out his hand. “Five pounds.”
My eyebrows shot up. “Five pounds? What for?”
He swung his arm around to point at Mrs. O’Shea. “Mrs. O’Shea said you have to pay me now.”
I caught a glimpse of Sylvie fighting back a laugh as I looked at the older woman. “Did she now,” I deadpanned.
Mrs. O’Shea sniffed, nodding righteously. “He works. You pay. Just like your daddy did for you.”
I held her gaze for a second before I sighed and bobbed my head slowly. “You are quite right, as always, Mrs. O’Shea.” I rounded the counter and dug out my keys from my pocket, then located the small key for the till drawer. I unlocked it and removed a five-pound note from its place before turning back to Danny and handing it over. “There you go. Five pounds for your hard work today, sir.”
He took it with the kind of shit-eating grin that could only belong to a six-year-old who knew he’d just stiffed you out of your cash.
Something told me I was going to be more than a fiver down by the end of the day.
“Thank you,” Sylvie said to Mrs. O’Shea. “It was six-thirty, wasn’t it?”
“It was,” she replied.
“Thank you. Time to get back to work.” Sylvie slid her gaze towards me. “Some of us have things to do.”
“What do you think I’m doing?” I asked, closing the till drawer. “Having a dance party between the trees?”
