Chapter 5
The number one goal was to get him stashed away where no one would stumble across him, either in his human form or his merman form.
If they (somehow) overlooked the gills and thought he was a man, they’d try to take him to hospital, and that wouldn’t end well.
If they came across him as a merman, god only knows what they’d try to do.
It definitely wouldn’t end well.
We’d achieved the goal, and had him safe.
The problem was, while we’d managed to drag him up here, we still had to get him inside the house. I couldn’t exactly leave him on the front lawn.
“Reckon we can lift him up onto the doorstep?” Jerry said, hands on hips and staring down at Dave.
“I don’t know. How much are you bench-pressing these days? I’m afraid I maxed out at two hundred pounds, so unless you can take up the other one thousand three hundred or whatever, no.”
Jerry side-eyed me.
“Sorry,” I said.
“Eh. We’ll work it out.” He dug around in his trouser pocket and pulled out my keyring. He flipped through until he found my house key. It didn’t take long; I had a front door key, a back door key, and a car key. “Step one. Open door.”
Dave made a querulous sound at my feet. I dropped into a crouch and smoothed his hair away from his tense face. “Nearly sorted,” I told him confidently.
The door clicked open and Dave rolled his head to the side, watching Jerry shove it wide before bouncing down the doorstep to join us. Dave’s gaze went from Jerry to the shadowed interior of the house.
“I’ve got an idea,” I said to Jerry. “But we’re going to need more rope.”
“I can get more rope. What’re you thinking?”
I rested a hand absently on Dave’s shoulder and gestured into the house. From here, you could see through the sitting room and into the kitchen. “It’s not a straight shot through to the back door, but it’s not far off.”
He nodded. “Go on.”
“We unhitch the hammock and tie it to a length of rope. Run the rope through the house and out the back door. I’ll do that while you take the bike around to the back. We tie the other end of the rope to the tow bar, and pull him on through. If the bike can’t handle it, we use the Hilux.”
“Genius,” Jerry said. “Except we’ll use my Land Rover. It’s better. Let’s—”
I wobbled in my crouch when Dave’s shoulder beneath my hand shuddered. With an agonised gasp, he shifted back to human, sucked in a deep breath, and pushed up to his feet.
Jerry and I both lunged to grab him.
“Dave!” I shouted. “What are you doing?”
“Don’t ask him questions, mate, get him in the house while we can!” Jerry shouted. “Come on.”
Jerry had an arm around Dave’s ravaged waist. Dave’s face was tight with pain. His wounds, which had started to look better in his merman form, started to look significantly less better.
“He’s bleeding again,” I said helplessly.
“Yup. Come on, lad.” He wasn’t talking to me that time, he was talking to Dave.
Jerry stepped forward, hauling Dave with him. He wasn’t gentle. Probably because Dave was already beginning to crumple. His knees were bending even though he was quite clearly fighting it.
“Joe,” Jerry growled. “Little help?”
I gingerly wrapped an arm around Dave’s waist and, between the three of us, we managed to get him over the threshold.
“All right,” Jerry said. “Let’s get him upst—ah, shit.”
He shifted.
One moment he was standing between us, towering over us. The next moment he went down, taking the pair of us with him. His tail unfurled and flopped out the door.
“Not ideal,” I said, scrambling to hands and knees. “At least he’s mostly inside.” I cut off and cocked my head, listening to a faint buzz in the background. “Uh-oh.” I scuttled over the floor, squeezed up against Dave’s tail, and poked my head out.
“DPD van is coming up the drive,” I said.
“What? Now?”
“Yes! I ordered some new socks! I didn’t realise the delivery was coming today!” I probably had an email on my phone, but I hadn’t been in an inbox-browsing, phone-scrolling mood for the last few hours.
“Go and head him off or something, because he’s definitely going to notice the big fucking merman on your doorstep.”
“He’ll be here any minute.” The white van was rocketing up my drive. “Drag him.”
“We’ve been over that! He’s too heavy!”
I scurried to the head-end of the unconscious Dave, wrapped an arm around and under his arm, and tugged. “We’ve got to try. Come on! We don’t have to move him far. All we have to do is get his tail off the doorstep so I can close it.”
“Right. Right.” Jerry rushed up to join me. “On three—”
“Don’t count, for god’s sake. Do it!”
We both heaved.
Dave moved about an inch.
“Fuck,” I said.
“Think I herniated something,” Jerry said.
“Again!”
“Arrrrrrghhhh!” Jerry bellowed as we both heaved.
My feet skidded and my arse hit the floor. I didn’t let go of Dave.
“Good idea,” Jerry said, and dropped down on Dave’s other side. “Go.”
We braced our boots and heaved. Dave definitely moved. Maybe half an inch, but he moved.
In unison, we shuffled back and did it again, and then again.
“That’ll do!” I leapt to my feet and ran for the front door.
Dave’s tail fin was a thing of beauty. It was enormous.
The bulk of it had made it into the house, but the frilled, gauzy edges were hanging out the door.
I bent down, grabbed and folded the lot—it was like trying to gather up a satin ballgown that kept spilling out of my arms—and stuffed it in the house, then heaved the door shut, putting my back to it.
“Morning,” the DPD guy said, loping up my garden path. His van was parked at an angle, door open and engine running.
“Yep,” I gasped. “Wonderful. Hello.”
He set the small package down on my doorstep, snapped a photo, and shot me a grin. “See you—”
He broke off.
What?
WHAT???
“You okay?” he said. “You look a bit hot and bothered.”
“Yes. Um.” I adjusted my stance into a casual lean, projecting as much nonchalance as I was capable of when I was just this side of hyperventilating with anxiety. “I’m…um. Spring cleaning. Revamping my space. Moving furniture around. Sofa. Kitchen table. You know. I’m not as fit as I used to be.”
He bounced his brows at me with a cheeky grin. “I wouldn’t say that.”
My eyes widened even as I laughed weakly.
Yes.
Great.
That’s what I needed right now.
For Dave to regain consciousness, hear the DPD guy flirting with me, and come out to stake his claim. I braced for disaster.
“See you later,” the DPD guy said, and strode back to his van. He leapt in, threw it into a sharp, three-point turn, beeped his horn at me, and tore out of there like the police were in pursuit.
I sagged.
Today was doing a number on my stress levels.
As soon as the van was out of sight, I opened the door and fell over Dave’s tail as it unfurled and flopped out.
Jerry was standing over by the sink, filling the kettle. He’d put one of the sofa cushions under Dave’s head.
“How’s your hernia?” I asked Jerry, gathering up Dave’s fin. I straddled the very base of his tail, my back to him as I bundled up every gauzy wisp and made sure that he was clear before I shut the door.
His fin fluttered in my arms.
I turned to look over my shoulder. Dave was staring at me, his dark eyes hazy. He grunted softly and lifted a hand.
I crawled off him and collapsed onto the wooden floor beside him. Scooping me closer, he pulled my head onto his shoulder and let out a deep, heartfelt sigh.
I lay there for a few minutes, listening to Jerry clink and clatter about in the kitchen as he made tea. The tap whooshed on and off. The kettle began to boil. Dave’s body softened. I hoped that he’d fallen asleep, now that he was safe. I was afraid that he’d just blacked out again.
Behind me, one of the kitchen chairs screeched over the floor as Jerry dragged it out from under the table. “Tea’s made,” he said. “Come and have a cup.”
Jerry Barnes. Mother hen.
The best friend a man could ask for.
I got slowly to my feet, pausing to see if Dave was going to wake up before I moved.
He didn’t.
He just lay there.
Jerry watched us contemplatively.
I bent down, pecked Dave on the cheek, and went to join Jerry at the table.
He slid a mug of tea over to me. I grimaced down at it.
“Don’t start with me,” Jerry said. “Nobody ever said, Had a shock? Pour some caffeine on it. It goes, Had a shock? Have a nice hot cup of sweet tea.”
My grimace deepened and I tilted the mug towards me, glaring at the beige liquid. “There’s sugar in here?”
I took my coffee black, and straight up.
“Yeah,” Jerry said. “Plenty in here, too.” He’d put some biscuits on a plate, and he held it under my nose.
I opened my mouth to tell him I wasn’t hungry, but at the look in his beady little eyes, I subsided. “Thanks,” I said meekly, stuffed a Hobnob in my mouth and washed it down with half the mug of tea in one gulp.
Jerry shook his head at me.
“I’m having a coffee after,” I said.
“If you eat two more biscuits. I ain’t having you go into shock again. Not on my watch.”
“I’m not in shock.”
“No?”
“No.”
“Hold your hand out straight and show me.”
I sat on my trembling hands and glared at him instead.
Jerry grunted, and sipped his own tea.
“Thanks.” I nudged his ankle with my foot.
“Said that already.”
“I mean for dropping whatever it was you were doing when I called to come over. For going to get the quad bike. For helping me get him to safety. Thank you.”
He brushed a scatter of Hobnob crumbs out of his beard and said, “Bet you’re going to let me keep my new quad bike up here now, huh?”
“Yes. I’ll buy it for you and build you your own little shed, too.”
His mug froze halfway to his lips. “I was joking.”
“I’m not.” I shrugged. “You want a quad bike? Buy one, and send me the bill.”
“Don’t be daft.”
“Where do you want me to build the shed? Here? Your back garden? Let me know.”
Technically, I could afford to buy him a new house for his new quad bike to live in, but while Jerry knew I had some money set aside, he didn’t know how much. In general, I didn’t like to talk about it.
I’d earned a lot of money in my regrettable former life as a hedge fund manager in the City, and my family had money that would make its way to me in the fulness of time. I didn’t really see it as mine in any functional way. I considered myself more of a temporary guardian than anything else.
I wasn’t a big spender. I had my house how I liked it, and would only buy a new car when my current one couldn’t be fixed.
I lived in cargoes and anoraks or shorts and hoodies when I was outside; sweatpants and jumpers and thick socks when I was inside.
I wasn’t interested in big, flashy holidays.
If I had a hankering for some winter sun, I went to stay with Grandpa and Art in Kos.
I still worked on my investment portfolio, but even that wasn’t for me. I was tending it for the intellectual challenge, but mostly because I had plans for when it was my turn to pass it on.
More than a few charities were going to have a really good day when my number came up.
“You can’t—” Jerry started.
“I can and I will. You want it, say the word. You’re always there for me, Jerry.” And I was never there for him, not in any way I could see.
Jerry blinked at me in astonishment. “Huh. Well, now. Never thought I’d get me a sugar daddy.”
I scowled. “I’m not your sugar daddy.”
“In that case, I never thought I’d get me a sugar baby.”
“What? I’m not your sugar baby, either.”
“You’re younger than me, aren’t you?”
“No, it’s…that’s not how it works. It doesn’t actually have anything to do with age. If I was your sugar baby, you’d be buying me the quad bike. Since I’m the one buying the expensive gifts, it means you’re the sugar baby.”
He squinted. “What?”
“In this scenario, you’re my sugar baby. I’m your daddy. That’s in general the way it goes. I shower you with gifts and in return, you…”
“Go on,” he said, plonking his elbows on the table and his chin in his hands. “What do I do?”
“Nothing, because you’re not my sugar baby and I’m not your sugar daddy. I’m just…I’m a grateful friend.”
“Ah.” He sat back and crossed his arms. “Thing about friends, Joe, is that you don’t have to pay them for helping out when you need it. They do it for free.”
“But you always—”
“Yuh. Always will.”
“Jerry—”
“Buy me a pint and we’re square.”
I’d buy him a pint.
And then I’d buy him a quad bike. We could discuss the finer details another day.
“All right,” I said, and snagged another Hobnob before getting to my feet and going back over to Dave.
Jerry slurped the rest of his tea, walloped his mug down on the table like a barbarian, and came to crouch beside me. “Fuck, my knees,” he muttered vaguely as they cracked on the way down.
Dave’s wounds had stopped bleeding, but they still gaped unpleasantly wide and would, I had no doubt, start up again the moment we moved him.
Unless…
I slanted Jerry a speculative look. “How good are you at sewing?”