Page 100 of One for the Road
I studied the photo for a few minutes longer, until I felt Alistair’s focus drift from the photograph to me. I glanced up and down the hallway, not ready to return to the living room just yet.
“Which bedroom was yours?”
He hooked his thumb over his shoulder, pointing to the door at his back. “Closest to the bathroom, prime real estate in a house of six people.”
“Six.” My eyes flew wide. “Sorry, I don’t know why I’m surprised. Four kids and two parents. It adds up.”
His expression remained serious. “My faith in the British school system has been restored.”
I smiled, despite myself. “What Imeant–if you’ll let me finish – is, I can’t imagine growing up in a house with so many people. It must have been—”
“Loud?”
“Fun.”
“That’s a synonym for loud.”
I stepped back, letting my eyes rake over him.
He followed the action, smoothing an invisible wrinkle. “What?”
“Just wondering if you were born with that stick up your arse.”
“Oh, aye.” He nodded. “Nasty condition too. Doctors conducted numerous studies, turns out it’s incurable.”
“My grumpy neighbour actually has jokes.” This time I laughed, and his expression flattened.
“Don’t get used to it.”
“You’re more self-aware than I thought.” Startlingly so.
“An arsehole who knows he’s an arsehole?”
“You’re not an arsehole.” The furthest thing from it, in fact.
He said nothing.
Did he really see himself that way?
“Are you going to let me see it?” I pointed to the door at his back.
He considered it for a beat, then unfolded his long body. “After you.”
My hand was sweaty around the door handle, and the door swung in with the slightest squeak of disuse. Flipping the light, I paused.
“Not what you were expecting?”
“Actually, it’s exactly what I expected,” I said. “Hardly worth the big reveal.” I stepped inside, taking in the dark-green walls and single bed beneath the shelves of neatly packaged superhero figurines.
Pristine condition of course.
He sidled around me and sank onto the bed. “Like you’reso hard to read. Let me guess, yours has a Disney princess bedspread?”
I made agame-show wrong answersound in the back of my throat. “My parents didn’t have a lot of money growing up; we got most of our belongings from charity shops. I’m pretty sure it’s now a home gym. Or maybe my dad’s poker room. They’re obsessed with the shopping channel.”
“That’s rough.” He winced, glancing around like he was seeing his childhood time capsule with new eyes. He might have had everything handed to him on a plate, but at least his parents cared enough to interfere in his life and preserve so many good memories of it.
“I haven’t visited in years.” I shrugged, giving him my back while pretending to admire hisJurassic Parkposter.
