“Shit, it’s well past eight o’clock.” Ben put the book down and threw the covers aside, dragging Lyle back to the present. “We better get moving. Will you quiz me with some lines from this book, please?”
Lyle fired Ben with interview questions all through breakfast. By the time he combed Ben’s hair and fixed his tie, he grew tired of the repetitive quiz lines.
“What skills have you learned in your most recent employment?” he murmured, concentrating far harder on brushing Weetabix crumbs from the front of Ben’s best shirt. Damn, Ben scrubbed up well. If they hadn’t both been so jittery and in a rush, Lyle would’ve ripped those slick clothes off Ben just for the pleasure of ravishing him and then dressing him up all smart again.
Ben furrowed his brow as he mulled over the answer, however, reminding Lyle how he had been frustrated by his current job at the ice-cream parlour.
“I really hope they don’t ask me about it,” replied Ben, at length. “I mean, what can I say? I’m not quite as good at scooping out the mint-choc-chip as my boyfriend is, but my customer services skills are somewhat steadier.”
Lyle hissed guiltily as he straightened Ben’s collar. He’d been trying not to hash over his inner demons that morning, knowing Ben needed to focus on the interview. But that response couldn’t pass without comment.
“Ah, yes,” said Lyle. “Your boyfriend. Let me ask you about him. He wrecks lives, he’s not safe to be let out in public without sprouting weird fins, and it’s his fault you’re struggling on minimum wage when you once had a fine career on the go. Remind me again why you don’t ditch him?”
Ben rolled his eyes. “Because I love—”
Lyle pressed his fingers to Ben’s lips. “That won’t wash this time. Even removing the threats of albatrosses and dragons, there’s a part of you that wishes you were back in the midlands with your old job, living in a lovely thatched cottage and driving your convertible car thingy. In the long term, you’ll resent me for spoiling all that. You know you will.”
“I really have made you feel that way lately, haven’t I?” said Ben, shaking his head with apparent disbelief. “And I’m still doing it, even this morning, even after everything. What an idiot I am.”
“But, Ben—”
“No, you listen, love.” It was Ben’s turn to stun Lyle with the sheer force of words. “I see everything clearly now, and I totally understand why you hesitated to tell me about Welwyn. I’ve been distant and stressed and, oh yes, I’ve droned on and on about how my old job was better, about how we needed a better place to live. But… oh, please believe me. I had no life before you. I just drifted along, going through the motions. You are my life, Lyle! How on earth can you think that you wrecked it? That you could ever wreck it? And that’s a good job I’ve got at the parlour, really it is. There’s plenty of folk out of work around here, and I ought to appreciate it. I only complained because I want things to be even better for us… and to be perfect for you.”
Lyle grabbed Ben’s shoulders and pulled him into a tight hug, which segued into a wet, sloppy kiss. Lyle did his best not to ruck up Ben’s neatly gelled hair, although resisting pushing Ben down onto the sofa and jumping his bones then and there proved difficult.
“I’ve already got perfection,” rasped Lyle into Ben’s ear. “And you don’t need to apologize. I should know you well enough by now to understand you too. Maybe I’ve been a tad overdramatic… but, thank you, anyway.” He sucked Ben’s earlobe, enjoying the way Ben leaned into him and moaned. He’d just begun trailing kisses down Ben’s throat—taking care not to ruffle Ben’s collar, or worse, leave a love bite—when the alarm on Ben’s mobile phone bleeped.
“Agh,” said Ben, prying Lyle off him. “One hour till the interview. I’ve got to go. Want to walk with me to the town hall?”
“I wouldn’t let you go alone,” said Lyle. Ben scrutinized his phone screen fiercely. “What is it?”
“Nothing bad. In fact, you’re going to like this.” Ben waggled his eyebrows. “I’ve had a notification from the online auction I set up for A Seahorse Extravaganza. Not just one, but two people have bid. The selling price is already seventy-five quid, and the sale doesn’t end for another four hours. Cool, huh?”
“Gosh, that’s superb,” said Lyle, as amazed as he was pleased. “But let’s save all our luck for you today, right? For the job? I want you to be satisfied with our life together more than anything in the world.”
Ben’s expression stilled and grew serious. “I’m not sure this is a great day for an interview, after all. Because if they ask me what I really want in life, it’s going to be hard to say this job matters much at all. Not without resorting to our old bad habit of lying. But either way, we better get moving.”
He slipped his mobile away into his back pocket and allowed Lyle to fuss over him, straightening his collar and sorting his hair yet again. Lyle prayed Ben didn’t truly mean to blow any question for the sake of their love.
His happiness overflowed, all the same.
Chapter Eleven
After parting with Ben on the steps of the Town Hall, Lyle went down to the beach. The tide had reached its highest point, with only a strip of shingle visible. Lyle concealed himself tight against the concrete seawall then stripped off his loose, fin-covering coat, one of the few undamaged items he had left. Then he streaked into the water naked before anybody could see.
Splashing in the cold ocean set Lyle tingling with power and magic. If it hadn’t been for Ben’s reluctance to join him at this time of year, he decided he’d have preferred bathing in autumn to the summer. In August, the shore had been so busy they’d had to wait late into the evening—or arise at the crack of dawn—for Lyle to dare bathe in his full merman form.
Now, he could thrash his tail and wallow as far as the white cliffs without fear of being filleted by a jet-skier. All the same, as he scanned the blanched skies for albatrosses—and checked behind each white horse for Emmet—he realized he’d never find total ease.
Nevertheless, no external threat could hold sway over Lyle’s emotions for long that morning. Anxiety for Ben addled him. Diving deep, tracing an ancient undersea riverbed through the barnacle-clad rocks, he gleaned little of his usual pleasure. Even the discovery of a cluster of vacated urchin shells, which reminded him of beach umbrellas and would look great on his next collage, couldn’t divert his mind from the interview that was taking place not far away.
Ye Gods, he couldn’t enjoy a bloody thing.
Soon after the sun had passed the yardarm, Lyle shifted into full human form and stomped the streets of town. He lingered in front of a suit-hire shop, admiring the outfits on display. A sharp grey suit with a pale lilac shirt and black cravat distracted him for a while. He figured Ben would look super-hot in it but didn’t dare go in to enquire about the price. No point in tempting the fates too far. He meandered on, pausing next in front of an Estate Agent’s window, where he admired the semi-detached houses with gardens big enough for a tiny pool, then the luxury penthouses with views over the sea. He loved their flat, but yes, he comprehended why Ben craved a little more.
In the end, by accident rather than intention, Lyle found himself at the bottom of the street where Ben worked. If just to avoid looking toward the parlour, where Mr Bertrand would be manning the ice-cream counter for sure, he turned to examine the artwork in Daphne Slade’s front display.
He supposed those paint-spatter designs weren’t so bad. The use of colour was diverting, if not original. The overall effect reminded him of a collision between a patch of seaweed and an angry, ink-vomiting squid.
Lyle could do better, he knew he could. Spurred on by a split second’s impulse, he pushed the door open and went in.
Lyle recognized the woman behind the counter, with her neat bob and crisp white blouse. She usually arrived to unlock the gallery around the same hour he and Ben opened up opposite. She often exchanged pleasantries with Ben from across the street, but Lyle had always been wary of her. At first, it�
��d been because he’d been cautious about many humans, having never before encountered so many all at once. After that, he had to admit, jealousy for her art success had bred dislike. Time to swallow that back.
“Can I help you?” asked the woman.
He flashed his most charming grin. She countered him with a prim smile that matched her meticulous appearance. “Possibly,” he said. “I take it you’re Miss Slade, the owner of this gallery?”
“Yes, that’s right. I’m Daphne Slade.” She offered her hand across a countertop display of jewellery made from semiprecious gems. Lyle grasped her tentatively. “You do look familiar,” she said. “Have we met before?”
“No, but you’ll have seen me. My name’s Lyle. I used to work with Ben Miles in the ice-cream parlour opposite. But anyway, I’m also an artist. I wondered if you’d be interested in stocking any of my work.”
She dropped his hand as if he’d burned her. “Oh, I see. It’s always nice to meet a fellow artist. However, as much as I’d love to help you, mine is a very specialist gallery. I only showcase my own work and that of a select group of creatives whose outpourings are inspired by our local environs, and—”
“You’ll want to sell my work then,” said Lyle. “It’s very beachy and stunningly good.”
Daphne fiddled with an ebony-and-gold-flecked fingernail, which Lyle couldn’t help admiring. “Okay. Do you have any examples of your artwork on you? Anything at all you can show me?”
Lyle silently cursed himself. How bloody stupid, just waltzing straight in here without anything to dazzle with, apart from…
“Actually, one of my artworks is for sale online at the moment,” he said brightly. “According to my boyfriend, if you search for A Seahorse Extravaganza on Ebay, it comes up straight away.”
With a jaded air, Daphne swivelled to face a computer monitor. Her long fingernails clacked across the keyboard as she entered the search, then she clicked the page open. Her neat brows shot up. “Wow!” she said. “That’s beautiful, and there seems to be a bit of bidding war. You’re currently selling for one-hundred-and-fifty pounds, and there’s thirty-five minutes on the auction still to run.”
“What, seriously?” Lyle craned across the counter, nearly sending a tree of opal necklaces toppling over. He blinked at the screen, hardly daring to believe. Eight people had bid. The selling price notched up to one-hundred-and-sixty-two pounds as he and Daphne watched.
“Gracious!” Daphne nodded, impressed. “Seeing as you can evidently attract a market of interested buyers, I would be most keen to examine other examples of your work.”
“How about sculptures?” Lyle’s confidence skyrocketed. “I’ve got these shells, which I plan to transform into little woodland songbirds. They’ll be a winner with the day-trippers and holiday makers, for sure.”
“Maybe,” said Daphne, shutting down Lyle’s auction on her PC. “Drop by soon with some samples, okay? And good luck with the sale, Lyle. It looks like it’s going to be pay day for you.”
As the gallery door clicked closed behind him, Lyle paused on the front step. His heart raced like he’d swum against an Atlantic gale. He puffed out his cheeks, fortifying himself.
That’d gone better than expected. Ben would be elated, though one-hundred-and-sixty-two pounds would hardly purchase them a house with a hot-tub.
“Lyle!” At the call of his name, Lyle started, and then found himself staring across the street at his old boss, Mr Bertrand. He’d either have to run for it or face the inevitable bollocking.
Best to take it on the chin, he decided. He’d make sure all the blame for any disruption lay with him. If Ben didn’t get the job at the environmental office today, Ben would still have to work for this guy, or they’d both be in trouble.
Lyle crossed over the road, then stuffed his hands in his pockets and shuffled over to where Mr Bertrand waited. “Mr Bertrand, I’m most terribly sorry about my appalling customer services skills. You were undoubtedly correct to fire me for my shortcomings.”
“Oh, never mind about all that now,” muttered Mr Bertrand from beneath his bushy moustache. “I was in a foul mood earlier this week because the Seagulls lost three-nil to sodding Crystal Palace. The fact is, if I lose Ben, to migraines or a new job or whatever, I need somebody to flog these lousy little desserts, don’t I?”
Lyle crinkled his nose, not quite comprehending. “Are you offering me my position back?”
“Last chance, Lyle.” Bertrand snorted. “But I’ll let you in on a secret—for every complaint email I’ve had about you, I’ve received two telling me how fab you are. How do you make all those little animals out of the raspberry ices?”
Lyle favoured Mr Bertrand with an enigmatic beam, then leaned down to whisper in his ear. “It’s a secret,” he hissed. “I’ll tell you, but only if you give me a pay rise.”
“Keep it to yourself then,” said Bertrand. “I’ll expect you here and in uniform first thing tomorrow. The parlour will be open at 10am sharp, righty-ho?”
“Righty-ho,” affirmed Lyle. Bertrand retreated back inside, bell clanging, and left Lyle stunned at what a successful few minutes he’d had. Yet he couldn’t let himself feel too smug.
This day wasn’t about him.
~~*
Ben descended the steps of the town hall in a faltering fashion, his lips pursed as if in intense thought. He’d removed his tie, which dangled from his pocket. The instant he spotted Lyle, who slunk out from behind a neo-Corinthian column, his demeanour transformed utterly.
“Hey!” Ben grinned and hurried into Lyle’s open arms. Lyle hugged him tight, confused, especially as he felt Ben heave a contended sigh.
“Uh, how did it go?” asked Lyle, realizing he was none the wiser either way.
“Okay.” Ben released Lyle, and they started up the road together. “The interview went well, and I passed the written test but… well, they told me there was an internal candidate lined up, plus I don’t have enough management experience for the position that currently needs filling.”
“So… you didn’t get it?” Lyle stopped dead, his hopes plummeting through the concrete paving. He’d been yearning way too hard for those slick clothes and that hot-tub. And for Ben to be content.
“Nah, sorry.” Ben shrugged. “I’m not entirely sure I wanted it in the end. It would’ve been long hours and tons of pressure. We wouldn’t have been able to spend half so much time together. Anyhow, I got on pretty well with everyone I met, and they said they’d be in touch if a more junior role came up. I think I’d be happier with that, anyway.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Really, truly, honestly. Uh, are you okay, Lyle?” He regarded Lyle sidelong and his forehead crinkled. “You look more disappointed than I feel.”
Lyle turned the question over in his mind. Then, as they meandered on up a quiet residential street, he sighed. “I wonder if you and I went through some strange mind swap yesterday, on top of all the rest of it. This whole morning, I’ve not been able to stop thinking about how great it would be if we could afford a lovely house, a better life. Yet you… you’ve changed your tune.”
“I still want those things, Lyle,” said Ben. “I’m glad you do too. But they’re not the most important things, are they? I think that’s what we learned.”
And I learned that I love you more every day. It feels like we’re two halves of the same soul.
Lyle didn’t see the need to say it. He shuffled a bit closer to Ben and hooked their elbows together. “I suppose we’ll have to wait a bit longer for the wedding, right?”
“Actually, I think we’ve hesitated long enough,” said Ben. “We should start some serious planning right away, pooling our resources. Oh, and another thing—I’ve got some great news for you about the auction.”
They wended their way onward to the seafront. Lyle confessed he’d already received an update on the sale of his artwork, as well as disclosing his success at the gallery and about Mr Bertrand un-firing him. Lyle shared Ben’s t
hrill at the news, and couldn’t contain a yelp of delight when Ben revealed to him the final selling price of A Seahorse Extravaganza.
“Two-hundred-and-seventeen pounds!” Lyle jumped into Ben, hoping Ben would catch him in his arms, but Ben didn’t see him coming. Instead, Lyle whacked into Ben, and they nearly toppled onto the boardwalk behind the beach-huts. Lyle grabbed Ben and righted him. “Whoops. Sorry,” said Lyle. “I can’t believe it, though. I never thought I’d earn that much.”
“I should’ve believed it before,” said Ben, puffing from having the wind knocked out of him. “You’re very talented, and that’s an awesome addition to the wedding pot. We should set a date as soon as possible.” On reaching the end of the huts, Ben leaped from the promenade onto the stony beach, beckoning that Lyle should follow. “How about a winter wedding? It’s cheaper off season. We can hire the best wedding gear and afford a nicer venue if we keep it small, just family.”
Family.
Lyle stepped onto the stones, then plonked himself down with a crunch. “Not my family, thank you very much. And honestly, do you really want me too close to yours?” He felt the heat of excitement siphon from his cheeks, replaced by a cool pallor. “What if I get angry about something? What if…”
“You’ll be okay.” Ben sat down next to Lyle and slipped an arm around his waist. “Besides, my grandma can be a bit cantankerous, but I don’t think she’s going to try to destroy your home, curse you, imprison you in a tower for all eternity, or force you into an unwanted marriage. I’ve seen why you get mad, Lyle—you normally have a damned good reason. And as much as I’ve regularly wished to strike my sister down with lightning, I’ve managed to resist. I trust that you can too.”
Ben sounded so sure. So ruddy sensible. Lyle rested his head on Ben’s shoulder and gazed out to sea. He wondered briefly if there’d ever be a time when he didn’t wonder if the next swooping seabird would turn out to be one of Emmet’s albatrosses. Or if he’d sprout scaly wings, a long snout, and claws like giant fishhooks. Though, right now, even that concern faded in the light of his fears about what on earth Ben’s extended family would make of him.
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