Page 51 of Jessica Beam is a Hot Mess
‘OrRomeo and Juliet… ’
‘Fine. And then what will we do?’
I wiggle my eyebrows in what I think is a sexy way.
He nods once. ‘I’ll be back in ten minutes.’
* * *
I hurry back to the dining room and make my excuses to the dinner table.
‘Boy, am I full!’ I say, patting my tummy. ‘And really sleepy. Super tired after all of today’s … excitement. I think I’ll go to bed now.’
‘But it’s only eight,’ Peach says, her sandy eyebrows dipping. ‘I thought we could … hang out. I… I hoped we could have iced tea in my room.’
‘Can we do it tomorrow? I’m worn out.’
‘Oh. Sure. All right,’ she murmurs, looking back down at the table.
‘Who was at the door?’ Grandma says, putting her knife and fork together on her plate and staring at me through narrowed eyes.
‘Oh, er … Jehovah’s Witnesses.’
‘At this hour?’ She peers up at the dining-room grandfather clock – the only working one in the house from what I can tell.
‘Time of day doesn’t matter when there are millions of souls to be saved.’ I say solemnly.
‘Deary me. Rest up, then, Jessica. Beauty sleep is most integral in the life of a Good Woman!’
‘Of course, definitely, I totally agree!’ I say cheerily. ‘Bye!’
* * *
I open the bedroom balcony doors for Doctor Jamie and can’t help but laugh when I hear him heave-hoing up the side of the wall. I wander out into the fiery evening sunshine and watch with amusement as he clambers over the rails of the balcony, a stripy plastic carrier bag dangling from his wrist and a look of genuine terror on his beardy face.
‘Oh, bugger,’ he pants as he finally gets his leg over the bar and tumbles onto the balcony with a thump.
‘Smooth. Real smooth,’ I tease.
‘That was highly dangerous,’ he huffs, red-faced. ‘I’m wearing brogues. A bloke is not supposed to climb in brogues.’
‘I’m not sure a bloke is supposed be doinganythingin brogues.’
‘Hey, lay off my brogues. Are you going to let me in?’
‘Come on in then, little Joey Potter,’ I chuckle, leading him through the balcony door and into the bedroom.
He brushes off his cords and hands me the carrier bag. ‘Here you go, Dawson. Hello, cat.’ He crouches down to where Mr Belding is smooshing his furry body up against Jamie’s legs and gives him a soft behind-the-ear tickle.
I climb up onto the bed and dive into the bag, emerging with a bottle of red wine, which I proceed to open with the mini corkscrew Stanley knife thing Doctor Jamie has attached to his keys.
He unties his shoelaces, kicks off his brogues and joins me on the bed, shuddering as he notices the porcelain dolls. ‘Christ Almighty, it’s like a Point Horror book in here.’
‘Creepy, right?’ I take a swig from the bottle.
‘There are so many of them. They’re … they’re looking at me.’
‘They are. Hatching evil plans, I reckon.’
