by JL Merrow
Jerrick’s room was more of a concept than an actual thing at the moment, seeing as he was still too young to care about wallpaper and there were other problems that needed seeing to first. Like the leak in the roof, and the Victorian plumbing. The house had been left to Lyddie by one of her old artist mates when he’d popped his clogs nearly a year back. While Archie wasn’t one to ask a gift horse for its dental records, he couldn’t help wishing someone had looked this one in its damp-ridden rafters before it’d got so bad. Still, he couldn’t complain. The house was big enough to give them both a bit of space, and it’d stopped Lyddie fretting about how he needed a place of his own.
“Nah, kitchen. Thought we could have a table in there. Like a breakfast nook.” Archie stood and picked his way back through the silver to the sofa.
“Ooh, posh. Or do I mean trendy? Yeah, trendy—posh would be a breakfast room, wouldn’t it? Have you been looking in estate agents’ windows again? I hope you’re planning to repaint them first. That colour would put me right off my cornflakes.” She mimed chucking up, and laughed.
“Yep, total wash and brush up, the works. I’ll make a start on them tomorrow.”
“What, no events to go to? Have all the steampunks gone into hibernation for the winter?”
Archie shrugged. “There’s something on in Leeds this weekend, but it’s too far for a day trip. And there’s this lunch with Bridge’s parents on Sunday, which, by the way, are you sure you don’t want to go to?”
Lyddie made a face. “They don’t like me.”
“That’s not true!”
“Is. You should see her dad’s face when he sees me. Like I just asked him if he could spare some change for a cup of gin. And her mum’s no better. She keeps making comments about how women ought to dress their age. Last time I saw her she offered to take me shopping. At bloody Willoughbys. I told her I’d rather walk around stark naked than spend a single penny in that place.”
Archie winced. “She doesn’t know—”
“I think I’ll offer to take her shopping. Been a while since I’ve been to Camden Market. I’ll show her dressing my age.”
“Look, if you change your mind, just come along. Even if it’s last minute. They won’t mind.” Hopefully.
There was a soft knock at the front door. Archie went to answer it, and gave Bridge a smile. “Good shift?”
She shrugged, but it turned into a roll of her shoulders and a hefty yawn. “Average. No drunks, but a few kids out way past their bedtimes. I don’t know what some parents are thinking of. God, I’m turning into my mum. She’d have a fit if she could hear me now.”
Archie grinned. “It’s mature, responsible attitudes gone mad. Come on in. Jerrick’s in the living room with his Nanna Lyddie.”
She walked past him, bringing a strong waft of eau de chip shop with her. Archie gave an appreciative sniff. “Mm, your smell’s making me hungry.”
Bridge held up a middle finger. “I bet you say that to all the girls and guys. Which is why you’ll never be getting laid again, ever. Although if you’re very lucky, you might get arrested. Hiya, Lyds,” she added as she swept into the living room.
“Oh, hello, Bridge. Are you off already? It can’t be nearly midnight, can it?” Lyddie looked all round the room. “Archie, we need a clock in here. Why haven’t we got a clock?”
“Cos he’s a steampunk, Lyds. If he ever gets his hands on a clock, he takes it to bits for the cogs and stuff.” Bridge tiptoed through the obstacle course on the rug to crouch down by Jerrick’s side. “How’s he been?”
“Like a little angel, bless him. You know, you could leave him overnight. Save you having to get him settled all over again. I wouldn’t mind. Be glad to have him. I could give him breakfast, take him to the park in the morning—or maybe the zoo? Kids like zoos. Archie, love, is there a zoo around here?”
Bridge sent Archie a sympathetic look and answered for him. Again. “That’s so sweet of you, but I’d miss him. Maybe do the zoo when he’s older? I don’t think he knows what animals are yet.”
“Don’t you believe it. They’re like little sponges, kids are, learning all the time.” Lyddie smiled, her eyes misting as she glanced at Archie. “If he’s anything like his dad, he’ll be picking up all sorts.”
“Sounds like we’d better start minding our language around him, then.” Archie could still remember the shocked silence when he’d innocently come out with a four-letter word on his first day at primary school.
“It’s just words,” Lyddie said vaguely.
Archie gave her a hard stare that probably veered off on a flight path several thousand feet over her head. “Yeah, and some of them cause actions.”
Bridge perched her bum on the arm of the sofa. “What was Archie like when he was little?”
“Bright as a button. Daft saying, though. There’s more dull buttons than shiny ones around, aren’t there? He used to love buttons too—he’d spend ages sorting them into piles, like which were the shiniest and the biggest. And don’t give me that look. I only let him play with the ones that were too big to choke him.”
Archie’s mood softened. “Yeah, you always took care of me. Any scrapes I got into were all my own work.”
“Yeah, I can just imagine that and all.” Bridge laughed, and then turned back to Lyddie. “But what was it like having a baby so young? Didn’t you feel you were missing out on stuff?”
Archie frowned. “You know I can have Jerrick if you want a night out.”
“Duh. Talking about your mum, not me. I’ve done my partying—I’m twenty-seven, not seventeen. Makes a big difference, that decade.”
Lyddie shrugged. “Oh, I’d done plenty of partying by the time Archie came along. And if I wanted to go out, I took him with me. He was good as gold, most times. If he cried, there was always someone happy to hold him for me. He was like a canary. Or a . . . what’s it called? That bit of paper that might go red or it might go blue.”
Bridge and Archie exchanged blank looks.
Lyddie rolled her eyes. “You know. If they were good to Archie, I knew they were decent blokes.”
Archie huffed under his breath. He was fairly sure he could remember quite a few exceptions to that rule. Being nice to kiddies apparently involved a very different skill set to being a decent boyfriend, even when your girlfriend was barely more than a kid herself.
“Archie’s great with little Jerrick, aren’t you, love?” Lyddie went on. “Such a good dad. You two were a lovely couple.”
“Yeah, he’s got good genes.” Bridge stood up and rolled her shoulders. “Right, I’d better take him home so I can get my beauty sleep. Hah. Cheers for having him, Lyds.”
“Anytime. You know I mean that, don’t you? He’s a darling. Like having my Archie back little again. Only better, cos I’ve got grown-up Archie too.” She smiled mistily.
“I’ll see you out,” Archie said quickly.
“What, like I don’t know the way?” Bridge gave him a look that said, clear as day, She’s your mum; deal with it. “See you on Sunday.”
“See you then. And the HISS pub night on Monday is still on, right?”
“Yep. Which you’d know if you were on social media instead of being a total Luddite.”
“Hey, not everyone wants their whole lives trackable online. And you can’t call me a Luddite. I don’t go around wrecking machinery.” Archie frowned. “Uh, so long as you don’t count that fridge the other night.”
Bridge laughed, hefted Jerrick’s car seat and left, managing not to step on any bits of jewellery Lyddie had strewn around. The front door opened and closed quietly.
“She’s a good girl,” Lyddie said to the silver photo frame, which was now a lot shinier. “Are you sure you and her—”
“I’m sure. We were never meant to be together long-term.”
“It’s my fault, isn’t it?” Lyddie gave him a moist-eyed look, twisting the polishing cloth in her hands. “You never had a proper dad, and . . . and I wasn’t always there.
”
Archie knelt down beside her and put an arm around her shoulders. “It’s not your fault. It’s nobody’s fault. It’s not even a bad thing. Jerrick’s got two parents who love him, and he’s got you, and Bridge’s mum and dad. He’s got everything he needs.”
“You never had any grandparents neither. That was—”
“And I grew up fine, didn’t I? Come on. Leave the silver for now, and I’ll make you a cup of hot chocolate.” He steered her over to the sofa, and went to put the kettle on.
Archie wondered what Lyddie would think about that cute lad from last night. She’d like him, he was pretty sure. Maybe they’d bump into each other again another night? Archie gave himself a mental eye roll. He could hardly keep hanging around the streets after dark on the off chance. And anyway, when was he ever going to get time to date anyone? He spent his days at work, his evenings with Jerrick, and the odd weekend at steampunk events. The rest of his time was his mum’s, and that was only fair. She’d given him everything while he was little. It was his turn to look after her now.
Robin headed into work on Saturday with renewed optimism. The sun was shining, there had been plenty of seats on the bus, and moreover, his manager expected great things of him. Which meant he definitely wasn’t on Gail’s redundancy Christmas card list. He’d been thinking matters over, in the shower and while he shovelled down his breakfast, and he’d come up with a plan to hopefully save Azrah’s job as well.
Firstly, he needed the Loyal Customers’ Christmas Shopping Evening to be a roaring success. And secondly, he needed to make Azrah an integral part of it. That’d show Gail how indispensable she was. Maybe he should include Heath too. Heath wasn’t exactly Gail’s favourite person, either.
Yes. That was it. Robin would save the day for both of them.
He didn’t get a chance to reveal his cunning plan to Azrah until lunchtime, when he found her in the store café, hiding in a corner with her Pasta of the Day (which, seeing as the Day was Saturday, was macaroni cheese. Wednesdays were also macaroni cheese; Tuesdays and Fridays were tomato sauce; Mondays and Thursdays were creamy mushroom. Robin was seriously thinking of buying the chef an Italian cookbook for Christmas). Heath sat opposite her with half the patisserie counter on his plate.
Robin pulled out a free chair and sat down with his salad. “I thought you weren’t working today, Heath?”
“’M not,” Heath said around a bite of jam doughnut.
Azrah drew away from him with a disgusted look. “Ew. Did you just spray sugar all over my pasta?”
“Would I?” Heath said, spraying some more.
Azrah moved the menu card to act as a shield. “That’s so gross. If I come down with something horrible, I’m blaming you.”
“Exposure to germs is good for you. Builds up your immunity. You’ll be thanking me when there’s an outbreak of Ebola and you’re the only one who survives.” Heath finished the doughnut and grabbed a custard slice.
“So what are you doing here?” Robin did his best to wrench the conversation bodily back on track.
Heath gave him a pitying look. “See, round about midday, most people like to have a bite to eat. It’s called lunch, unless you’re Northern, when it might be dinner, and then your dinner’s your supper. Obviously. Unless it’s your tea.”
“I do know what lunch is, thank you very much. You might have noticed I’m a bit of a fan of the concept.” Robin gestured pointedly at his plate.
Heath eyed Robin’s salad with a frankly dubious expression. “You do know food is supposed to have actual calories, right?”
“Been telling him that for years,” Azrah butted in with her mouth full. “One of these days he’ll turn sideways unexpectedly while crossing the road and we’ll lose him down a grating.”
“Hey, I had chips last night. I’m just trying to have a balanced diet here.”
“Oi, we all had chips last night.” She narrowed her eyes and turned to Heath. “Did you hear that? He’s trying to food-shame us.”
Heath shook his head. “Not cool, mate. Not cool. Fat’s a feminist issue.”
“You’re a bloke!” Robin spluttered.
“Hey, men need feminism too, you know. Keep your toxins away from my masculinity.” Heath wagged what was left of the custard slice in Robin’s direction. And then stuffed it in his mouth.
“Hah, that told you.” Azrah snickered into her macaroni.
Robin thought about flicking a tomato at her, but his stomach rumbled and he decided his need was greater. Maybe he had underestimated the role calories played in keeping a man going through the day.
Then again, if he ate like the annoyingly skinny Heath, Robin would be the shape of a Christmas pudding before they’d even reached Advent. And speaking of Heath . . . “You still haven’t said why you’ve come in on your day off. I’d have thought you’d be snoring in bed at this time of day.”
“Came in to see Gail. Had some ideas to run by her.” Heath picked up his apple turnover.
“Ideas? What about?” Robin was supposed to be Gail’s ideas man, not Heath.
Heath smiled and tapped the side of his nose with one irritating finger, leaving a flake of pastry there. Robin decided not to tell him about it. It’d only embarrass him. “Ah ah ah. Not saying a word until they’re a go. But I think you’re gonna like them.”
Robin had mixed feelings. Part of him couldn’t help being a bit miffed that, instead of waiting for Robin to save his job for him, Heath had had to go and be all proactive about it. The rest of him was just glad Heath was finally taking his career seriously and getting in well with the boss.
Okay. Maybe that part of him wasn’t really all that glad. But it knew it ought to be, which was what counted, right?
“Got the idea from what we were talking about yesterday,” Heath went on with a distinctly smug air of mystery.
Azrah threw her fork down. “Oh, come on. Give us a hint or bugger off.”
Heath crammed the last of his apple turnover into his mouth and stood up. “I’ll take door number two. See you later, worker drones. I’ve got things to see and people to do.” He swept off.
Azrah made a disgusted face. “Did he just wink at me?”
“I think it was a general wink. Addressed to anyone who’s not in on the secret so, like, everyone who’s not him and Gail. But I could be wrong. With Heath, who knows? Are you going to eat the rest of that?”
She circled her plate with both arms. “Hands off. If you want some actual food with your lunch, you can get your own.”
Robin cast a wistful glance over at the pastry counter. “No point going up for pudding. Heath’s eaten it all.”
“Should have thought of that, shouldn’t you? So anyway, did you see your imaginary friend again last night?”
Robin choked on a cherry tomato. “No,” he spluttered, eyes watering. “Why would I? It’s not like he hangs around on the street waiting for me to walk past.”
Azrah fixed him with a knowing look. “Or does he?”
“No. He doesn’t. I’ll probably never bump into him again.” Great. Now he was hungry and depressed.
“You could try local car boot sales.”
“What?”
“Duh. He likes junk, doesn’t he? So you need to go to the places where junk goes.”
Robin gave her suggestion the withering sarcasm it deserved. “Yeah, great idea. I’ll just spend my days off hanging around the tip, shall I?” Come to think of it, he did have some boxes to get rid of from the move. Maybe he could get Azrah to give him a lift there in her mum’s car . . . Except no, because he’d literally die of embarrassment if she found out he’d given that idea serious consideration.
“See if I try to help you get laid ever again. Pub tonight?”
“Yeah, why not? It’s your turn to buy the chips.”
“What happened to the balanced diet? No, don’t answer that. I’ll only end up feeling food-shamed again.”
It being Saturday, the Millstone was pretty busy when
Robin and Azrah finally finished work and trudged through its doors on aching feet. Mercifully, they got in just as a small group was leaving, and Robin zipped over to secure the table while Azrah elbowed her way to the bar.
“I ordered you sweet potato fries,” she announced when she came back with their drinks. “So as not to unbalance you.”
Robin pouted. “But you know I’m not keen on them.”
“Which means they’ll be even better for you, because you’ll leave half of them. For me.” She smirked.
“I thought you were worried about me not getting enough calories?”
“Nah, that was lunchtime. Now I’m only worried about me not getting enough calories.”
“Cheers, Az. You’re a mate.” Robin raised a sarcastic glass to her.
“Hey, you don’t want any excess pounds if you’re going to be running after your fridge bloke. It’d only slow you down.” She sipped her Coke. “Ah, that’s better.”
Robin took a swig of his vastly superior (i.e. rum-containing) drink, and couldn’t help agreeing. “Hey, any guesses what Heath’s big idea was?”
“Nope. I’m totally without insight into how Heath’s mind works, and I’m happy to keep it that way.”
“He said I was going to love it.”
Azrah grinned. “Worried?”
“Bloody terrified. And how am I supposed to plan this event if Heath’s already planned half of it without me?”
The barmaid with the piercings came over at that point, weaving her way expertly through the crush at the bar to plonk down a plate of chips in front of Robin, and a bowl of sweet potato fries in front of Azrah.
Robin beamed, relieved. “Aw, I knew you wouldn’t really get me fake chips.”
“Guess again.” Azrah deftly switched the plates around and squeezed several sachets of mayonnaise on her chips. “And shame on her for gender stereotyping,” she added, nodding at the barmaid’s retreating back.