Chapter 16 December 16th #4
“What are you doing?” Dec asks from behind me.
“Trying to get into my apartment without being accosted.”
“By the weird old man?”
“He’s taken it upon himself to be my guardian angel. I think he’s lonely. Or bored.” I hold the door open, looking over my shoulder. “You don’t need to walk me to my door.”
“I want to.” Dec pushes the door open with brute force, and I wince when it ricochets off the wall behind it.
“Shhh,” I hiss. And two seconds later, Mr. Percival’s door swings open. “Shit.”
“Ah, the walk of shame,” he sings, chuckling to himself.
“It’s not the walk of shame, Mr. Percival, if I’m not ashamed.”
He hobbles out of his flat, popping his flat cap on, eyeing Dec. “What are your intentions?”
Dec balks at him. “Excuse me?”
“With the lovely Camryn. What are your intentions, son?”
“My intentions?”
“Yes, your intentions.”
“I . . .” Dec looks at me, and I shrug, at a loss. “What are yours?” he fires back.
“Mine?”
“Yes, yours.” Dec stands up taller, frowning to himself.
“I’m not the one who’s kept her out all night, son.” Mr. Percival comes closer on his walking frame, looking Dec up and down. “So come on then. Speak up.”
“Mr. Percival,” I say, moving in front of Dec, giving the old boy a tight smile. “Do you want me to store your turkey in my freezer?”
He sighs dramatically. “My turkey is perfectly fine where it is.” He reaches for my arm and eases me aside, giving him access to Dec again. “Well?”
I’ve never seen a man look so uncomfortable in my life. “I’d like to date her,” he replies, the words coming out sounding tired and inconvenienced.
“You mean court?”
“Call it whatever you like, Mr. Percival.” Dec motions past him to my door. “Mind if we get on with our day?”
“You’ll respect her?”
Dec flicks his eyes to me, and I shrug. Another sigh. “Yes.”
“You’ll be honest with her?”
“Yes,” he grates.
“You won’t take advantage of her?”
“Too late,” he mutters, and I snort with the effort to keep my laugh in.
“What was that, son?”
“Sure thing, mate,” Dec says, louder. “Are we done?”
“One more thing.” Mr. Percival shuffles his way closer to Dec and leans forward on the tippy toes of his snow boots, and Dec crouches to listen, his brows drawing closer together.
Something is whispered. Dec nods. “That’ll be all.
” And with that, Mr. Percival turns on his walking frame and hobbles back to his flat, closing the door behind him.
“Huh,” Dec murmurs, shaking his head, then chuckling.
“What did he say?”
He points to the door, prompting me to open it. “A flimsy threat on my life, a promise of retaliation, nothing too drastic.”
“I don’t know where this misplaced duty has come from.”
“I can handle the old man. Anyway, it’s sweet he’s looking out for you.”
I drop my bag by the front door and watch as Dec goes to the kitchen. I follow him, finding him opening the fridge door. I cringe. “What’s that?” he asks.
It doesn’t take me much thinking to figure out what he’s talking about, since it’s the only thing in the fridge. “That’s Mr. Percival’s cake.” I nudge him aside and pull out the plate, uncovering it and cutting myself a slice. “You should try it, it’s quite special.”
“Fruit cake for breakfast?”
And for lunch and dinner. Sugar hits my taste buds like a torpedo as I wrap my lips around the wedge, humming. I actually can’t remember the last time I ate. “It’s not just any fruit cake, Dec. This is Mr. Percival’s fruit cake.”
He rolls his eyes and comes to me, plucking the cake from my hand and popping it on the plate, crowding me.
I don’t want him to go. I gaze up at him, screaming it over and over.
When his lips straighten, discontented, I wonder if he’s heard me.
I swallow my cake, my lips parting, as he slips a hand into my hair and pulls my face toward his, kissing me gently.
Every bone disintegrates, my body becoming heavy, my hands reaching for the lapels of his coat and clinging on.
His kiss is molten. Forceful without being hard, and I have no choice but to follow the flow of his tongue.
When he breaks away, way too soon, I’m unsteady and disorientated. “I love you,” he says softly, holding my gaze while cupping my face. “Okay?”
I nod, and he pushes his lips to my forehead, breathing steadily as he reinforces his words. No, I don’t want him to go, but those words? I needed to hear them, and I can feel his reluctance to leave me. “Go,” I order softly, as he kisses his way down my nose to my mouth again.
“Okay.” He groans and tears himself away, and I smile as he backs out.
Light. I feel so light. And yet bereft.
By six o’clock, Dec hasn’t called. Mr. Percival, however, has. Numerous times. A small part of me is grateful for his incessant drop-ins, another part feels downhearted that I’m depending on my ninety-nine-year-old neighbour to take my mind off things.
Why hasn’t he called?
By the umpteenth time Mr. Percival knocks on my door, for one thing or another—Have I seen Maureen? Can I smell gas? What did I do last night with my new friend?—I’m past the point of being exasperated and instead invite the old boy in for a coffee.
“Oh, if you’re not too busy,” he says, wandering in on his frame.
“Wait.”
“What, dear?”
“Do you like milk in your coffee?”
“Milk and two sugars, dear.”
“Do you have milk and sugar?”
He’s utterly thrilled I need something from him and ambles off again while I put the kettle on, trying not to constantly check my phone. He’s back a few minutes later with a container of sugar and a pint of milk. “Go sit down,” I say, ushering him into the lounge and finishing our coffees.
“Oh, your flowers still look beautiful.”
“They do,” I say on a smile, stirring some sugar into his coffee. “It’s Dec’s birthday today.”
“Oh, are you going out for dinner? Am I keeping you?”
I wander in, forcing a smile. “He had pre-arranged plans with his sister.” I shrug, lowering to the couch. “It’s a bit soon to meet her.”
He snorts. “It’s never too soon for anything. Look at me. I’m a hundred years old next month, Camryn. One bleeding hundred! I was twenty-one what feels like yesterday.”
I smile and settle back. “You’ve still got lots of years to fill me in on.”
He beams at me, inhaling ready to launch, and I sit on my couch for the longest stretch of time since I moved in and listen to tales of years gone by, when foods were rationed, and he could walk to the end of his street and find everything he could possibly need.
A butcher, a baker, Mrs. Smith’s grocery store, which also, conveniently, had a post office counter in there too.
A hardware store, a chemist. He lived in the East End.
Drank in the same “boozer” as the Krays.
Used to fix their cars too. Following his service in the war, he had a garage in the East End.
“Those were the days,” he says with a fond smile on his face.
“Only the wealthy had cars. Now, every bleeder and their dog whizzes around London.”
“I don’t,” I point out, pulling my feet up onto the couch. “Have you ever driven, Mr. Percival?”
He grins. “I had a Ford Capri in the eighties. It was bright green.” And he goes on.
I come to with the sound of my mobile ringing from the coffee table. I frown, disorientated, trying to gather my bearings. I have a pillow from my bed under my head and my duvet draped over me.
Bleary-eyed, I reach for my phone and squint at the screen. “Hello?” I murmur sleepily.
“I woke you,” Dec breathes. “I’m sorry.”
He shouldn’t be sorry. I’m glad he’s called, no matter the time. Speaking of which . . . “What time is it?”
“Just gone ten. I just got done with some work stuff and needed to hear your voice before I go to bed.”
“Swoon,” I murmur sleepily, falling back to my pillow, smiling when he chuckles. “Why are you working on your birthday?”
“I had a few contracts to check. What did you do today?”
“Miss you.”
“Swoon,” he murmurs.
My smile widens. “Another man tucked me into bed tonight.”
“Oh? Do I need to deploy my alpha streak and mark my territory?”
“Maybe. He’s seriously wooing me.”
“I’ll be having a word.” There’s laughter in his voice.
“Did you have a nice time with your sister?”
“I did. She’s very excited to meet you.”
I’m suddenly more awake. And nervous. “You’ve told her about me?”
He laughs. “Are you freaking out?”
“Not at all.”
“Sure,” he chuckles. “Listen, get back to sleep. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”
I pout. “Okay.” And brace myself for the words that’ll send me back to sleep peacefully.
“I love you.”
I can’t contain my smile. “I love you,” I reply, a fuzzy warmth radiating through me. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight.”
I hang up and snuggle down, content.
Smiling.
Not scared to go asleep alone.