Page 57 of How to Kidnap a Fake Date
Coffin, the pet/not pet crow, decides I’m his new best friend.
He hops onto the arm of my chair and drops something shiny into my lap. A coin. Then stares at me expectantly.
‘Is he… paying me?’
‘Feels like a trade,’ Eliza says before nodding at my biscuit.
I offer up a corner, which he graciously accepts. A few minutes later, he brings me another coin.
Around the table, there’s a murmur.
‘He usually hates strangers,’ Priscilla says.
Maggie glances at me, then back at Coffin. ‘Well. He’s not a stranger.’
‘He is to us,’ Eddie says, narrowing his eyes.
I place a hand on Maggie’s thigh, shaking my head slightly to deter her from rising to Eddie’s bullshit. Her shoulders loosen as she sits back in her chair.
The game carries on until Maggie reaches for her drink and knocks it straight over the table.
Cards soak through, and everyone groans.
‘Maggie,’ Eliza laughs. ‘Honestly.’
‘Some things never change,’ Evan says.
‘Classic Maggie,’ Fraser mutters, not unkindly.
Maggie folds in on herself before reaching for a stack of napkins on the side.
And despite my role as a relative stranger, I snap.
‘Hey,’ I say, sharper than is proper. The table hushes. I look at Maggie, then at the others. ‘Stop picking on Maggie. It’s not like we haven’t all knocked over a bloody glass every now and again. You keep acting like she’s a joke to you all. Maggie’s determined. And she’s fun. She takes on the world in her own way, and I admire her for it. She goes after what she wants, no matter what stands in her way. That’s not a flaw.’
Where the hell did that come from? Now I’m defending my kidnapper?
Silence hangs over the somewhat shocked-looking faces.
Maggie stares at me like she’s not sure whether to laugh or cry. All pink-cheeked and shiny-eyed. Even Eddie neglects to throw a retort our way.
Eliza shrugs and gives a small smile, ‘Mum did always say that messes clean, and if anyone knows that, we should.’
A new deck of cards is produced once a staff member cleans up the table, and the games resume as if nothing had happened.
Maggie leans towards me, daring to slip a hand tentatively on my thigh. I don’t hate it. ‘You didn’t have to make all that up.’
‘I didn’t.’
She bites her lower lip before turning back to the game.
The next round of drinks arrives shortly before Eddie comes back from the bathroom, leaning against the fireplace and looking like someone had shit in his sandwich.
I grip my glass overly tight and take a sip, ice clinking amongst the fiery whisky. Something sharp nicks my lip. I reach up to touch the pained part and note a smudge of red on my finger.
My eyes narrow as I lower the tumbler, inspecting the drink. A shard of glass bobs amongst the ice.
Across the table, Eddie raises his own glass, meeting my eyes.
