Chapter Fifteen Nico
Chapter Fifteen
Nico
‘You should hold hands,’ Phoebe says as we get out of the car.
I swing round to look at her. ‘What?’
‘You and Lee.’ Phoebe nods at Lee who is standing very still.
‘You’ve got to practise being married, haven’t you?
And married people hold hands.’ Her tone implies that this is very obvious, and that – once more – we are deliberately sabotaging her vision.
‘They kiss too,’ she adds with devastating bluntness. ‘Maya’s parents kiss all the time.’
I think Lee’s face has lost what little colour it had, but she sounds calm when she says, ‘I wouldn’t expect there to be a lot of kissing at town meetings.’
‘Yeah,’ I say, trying to sound just as relaxed, even though now I am looking at her mouth and the possibility of kissing her flashes through my mind in cinematic detail. ‘This is practically a business meeting.’
Phoebe huffs. ‘At least hold hands,’ she demands.
I look at Lee, who shrugs and holds her hand out. My fingers wrap around hers; her skin is cool and soft.
The meeting takes place at the town hall, a pretty building opposite the church, and – surprise, surprise – today the place is packed to the rafters.
‘Yoo-hoo!’ Rita calls out and waves when Lee, Magda, Phoebe and I enter the scrum. ‘I saved us seats.’ She’s sitting right in front of the small stage, next to four empty chairs.
‘Great,’ I grunt as we make our way down the aisle between the rows of folding chairs occupied by the entire population of Roseport.
They all watch Lee with avid expressions, more than one pair of eyes travelling to our clasped hands, and I sincerely hope that she’s missing all the excited whispering that springs up in her wake.
Lee has always been nervous about big social events and I know she must be hating this.
Not that anyone else would guess. She glides down the aisle in her high-heeled boots, and her expression is serene.
When someone reaches out and touches her arm, I’m the one who starts forward, a weird protective growl in my throat.
We left Taco at home with a giant dog chew, but it appears I’ll be bringing the watchdog energy myself.
In the end it’s only Mrs Kaminski, the apple-cheeked, eighty-seven-year-old retired nursery school teacher, telling Lee that the belt tie on her fancy coat is dragging on the floor. Probably not a threat.
Lee thanks her and drops my hand, straightening her coat before removing it entirely and draping it over her arm. The crowd watch her like she’s a matador twirling her cape.
‘Thanks, Miss Rita,’ I say when we reach her, even though I’d rather not be sitting in the front row.
‘No problem,’ she winks. ‘Gotta have the best seats for the big show!’ She rummages around in her pockets before pulling out two sandwich bags full of the candy she uses as ice cream toppers. ‘Plus, I brought snacks.’
‘Yesss,’ Phoebe hisses, bundling past so that she can take the seat immediately beside Rita. ‘I’m starving.’
‘You literally just had dinner,’ I say loudly, keen to make it known that I am actually feeding my daughter. She even ate a few mouthfuls of buttered corn, which is at least nutritionally adjacent to a real green vegetable.
Phoebe treats me to a withering look. ‘But everyone knows there’s a separate kind of hunger for dessert, Dad. It’s science.’
With a sigh, I take the seat next to my daughter, and Lee sits in the one beside me, carefully shaking out her coat before folding it over the back of her chair.
This, I feel, is incredibly trusting. It’s a cream coat, clearly expensive and not the same one as earlier.
(Who in the world has one immaculate cream coat, let alone two?) And now she’s leaving it vulnerable to anyone with grabby little jam hands.
I eye the row behind us, checking for oil-stained mechanics or small, chocolate-covered children but it seems we’re safe.
‘Are you okay?’ Lee whispers, her lips dangerously close to my ear.
‘Yep,’ I reply quickly. ‘Are you?’
‘I’m fine,’ she says, and her expression gives nothing away.
There’s not a trace of anxiety on her face and I’m starting to think maybe that’s her tell.
Lee always looks so unruffled, but the more time I spend with her the more I’m convinced that when that calm mask comes down, it means she’s jittering with nerves.
I have the overwhelming urge to reach for her hand, to tangle her fingers with mine and reassure her somehow, but I am very aware that I shouldn’t.
I don’t know what the fuck is going on with me, but I do know that I was about five seconds away from kissing her in my bedroom before we left and, honestly, I’m still waiting for the resulting adrenaline kick to die down.
‘We’ll be getting started in a minute,’ Magda says from her place beside Lee where she is waving hello to various people. ‘I have to say it’s a great turnout… we haven’t had a meeting this well attended since the last time DeeDee Brady’s goose was on the loose.’
‘A goose on the loose?’ Lee echoes, a quiver in her voice.
‘That goose is a fucking menace,’ I grumble. ‘Any time he gets out he destroys so much property, and squares off with all the dogs. Taco’s absolutely terrified of him.’
Lee lets out a strangled ‘Mmm.’
‘He’s a delinquent.’ Magda purses her lips. ‘I didn’t agree with the people calling for the town to build some sort of animal jail, but it’s hard to know what to do with him. Then of course there’s Russell…’
‘Who’s Russell?’ Lee asks.
‘I believe he’s on the docket tonight,’ Rita says, leaning across. ‘Been bothering that young waitress at the diner again, the old pervert.’
‘You have a town pervert?’ A line forms between Lee’s eyes.
‘Certainly we do,’ Miss Rita says, as if to be without a pervert would somehow be insulting of our townhood.
‘He’s a bird, too,’ I explain, but clearly not well enough because Lee continues to look baffled.
‘Russell the crow,’ I carry on, and I am struck by the distressing realisation that this is just my life now.
‘He’s got this thing about peeking in people’s bedroom windows,’ I add a little desperately.
‘So you watch out, Lee,’ Rita warns. ‘He’ll have his beady eye on you, that’s for certain.’
‘Goodness,’ Lee murmurs, clearly not knowing how else to respond to this statement. Twenty seconds later she has her phone out of her pocket and she’s texting someone, her lips pressed together. When a reply flashes through almost instantly she makes a muffled snorting sound.
‘Okay, people!’ Art, the head of the town council, yells as he finally takes to the floor, and the crowd quiets.
He’s a small man in his sixties with a big voice, and he struts along with his chest puffed out.
His wife Annie – taller than him and pale with an elbow-length fall of white-blonde hair – drifts along behind.
Despite the fact that Art has the look of an officious little twit, and Annie gives the (correct) impression of being extremely vague, they’re actually not that bad. Inept, of course, but not bad people.
‘Big meeting tonight,’ Art booms, rubbing his hands together. ‘And we’ve got a special guest here, all the way from jolly old Blighty!’ This last is said in a horrifyingly bad cockney accent. ‘Apples and pears!’ Art continues, seemingly at random. ‘Tea and crumpets!’
He looks expectantly at Lee.
‘Um. Hello?’ she says. This response is understandable, but if she thinks this is weird she needs to brace herself for what’s sure to come.
Art beams at her, and Annie lifts her hand in a gesture that might be a wave, but she seems to forget what she’s doing half way through and her arm falls limply back to her side.
Lee darts a worried glance in my direction and I try to look solid and reassuring.
‘So,’ Art picks up again, ‘thanks to last night’s emergency meeting, most of us know why we’re here, but I’m going to turn the floor over to Magda, to lay out the details.’
‘And me,’ Phoebe insists, jumping to her feet.
‘And Phoebe,’ Art agrees. ‘Miladies,’ he rolls forward into a bow, ‘me doth believe the floor is yours.’ Looks like the British thing is going to stick, although now he appears to be channelling a medieval squire with awful grammar. Perfect.
Magda and Phoebe shuffle up to the stage, and give a brief overview of the situation we find ourselves in.
As this includes my father’s draconian will, his position as a member of the British nobility and the scandalising fact that Lee and I got married in Vegas and were too drunk to remember it, I expect an uproar.
What I get is the sort of slightly bored silence that means every single person in this room was already well aware of these details.
Someone even sucks loudly on an empty drink, the straw making those obnoxious bubbling sounds as they try to hoover up the last drops.
I should have known this gossip would be old news by now – it has been almost three whole days since Magda and Phoebe found out.
‘So,’ Magda concludes, ‘we have a week until the trustee will be coming to conduct their inspection. We must integrate Lee fully into the town and make sure, when the trustee arrives, that he or she—’
‘Or they,’ Annie murmurs.
‘Thank you, Annie, or they,’ Magda corrects herself, ‘believes completely that Lee and Nico are in a happy, stable marriage. To do this our entire community must work together, so this meeting today is for us to discuss exactly what that looks like.’
At this a dozen hands shoot up into the air.
‘Yes,’ Magda says, ‘Phil?’
Phil gets to his feet. ‘The Roseport Players stand with you,’ he says, and his throbbing tones lead me to believe that Art’s chivalry is contagious, particularly when the two of them exchange glances and then both pound their fists over their hearts in some sort of weird salute while bowing their heads at Lee.
After darting me another what-the-fuck? look, Lee gives a brief nod, which is the sort of vaguely royal gesture that has these idiots beaming with approval.
‘Who are the Roseport Players?’ Lee whispers out the side of her mouth as Phil continues talking.
‘Amateur dramatic theatre group,’ I murmur back.
‘Their extended performance of Chicago last year was surprisingly good,’ Miss Rita pipes up, and I wince, thinking about those four hours of my life that I’ll never get back.
‘We were wondering if we could devise some simple scenes within the group,’ Phil is saying, ‘small tableaus if you will, for our trustee to stumble across.’
Magda’s eyes narrow. ‘What sort of thing did you have in mind?’
‘A date night at Stefano’s?’ the woman next to Phil stands up. ‘We thought some of the players could go in undercover, and make subtle comments about what a nice couple they are in front of the trustee? Talk about our favourite memories of Lee from the past year.’
‘Casually of course,’ Phil adds earnestly, which is something. ‘But, you know, kinda loudly?’ he adds, which seems less promising.
‘I like it,’ Magda beams. ‘This is the kind of thinking we need.’
Buoyed by this success there are several more suggestions. Some – like including Lee in the local craft group – are small and manageable enough. Others – like having a plane fly daily over the town dragging a banner with mine and Lee’s faces on it are… less so.
‘I’ve been watching YouTube to learn about improvising,’ Phoebe says. ‘It’s important that you go along with whatever someone says to you. You have to say yes, and…’
Phil and company nod with approval. ‘Perhaps a small demonstration?’ Phil suggests.
‘Yes, and we’re in space!’ Phoebe exclaims, pointing a finger at him.
‘Yes, and my Quazon laser has malfunctioned!’ Phil hurls himself forward, clutching an imaginary gun.
‘Yes, and… Don’t worry, commander,’ adds Phyllis, the local florist, stepping gamely forward. ‘We have a battle-ready space cannon that shoots… um… green slime.’
‘Take that, alien scum!’ Mrs Kaminski yells and she looks a lot less sweet and innocent as she bathes in the imaginary blood of her enemy.
‘What… is happening?’ Lee whispers.
I scratch my jaw. ‘You just have to let them wear themselves out.’
Although, admittedly, the space opera playing out in front of us is a lot to take. Lee has lost her serene look and is now observing the scene through eyes rounded with shock. She’s gripping her phone like it’s some sort of life jacket.
‘I think that’s enough,’ I say finally, getting to my feet.
I try to put as much authority behind the words as possible.
‘While Lee and I both appreciate your… enthusiasm, it’s best to keep things simple.
If we do decide to go ahead with this, we just really need everyone to act…
normal.’ I realise the futility of this suggestion at once.
‘Lee and I will pretend to be a couple, all we need is for you to act as if you’re used to seeing her around. Honestly,’ I can hear the desperation in my own voice, ‘that’s it.’ I slump back into my seat.
A chorus of unhappy mutterings greet this. ‘… no fun,’ I hear someone grumble.
‘Well, Nico,’ Magda says, ‘if that’s really what you think. Everyone here wants to support you and Phoebe, and Lee as well. After all, she’s part of the family now, too.’
There’s a murmur of agreement and Lee’s posture stiffens. Unthinkingly, I reach out to touch her knee.
Huge mistake. Her dress has ridden up and my palm unexpectedly meets warm skin covered in only a fine layer of silk. It’s like holding her hand multiplied by infinity.
I snatch my fingers back, like I’ve burned myself.
Rita tuts sympathetically beside me. ‘You’ll have to do a lot more than touch the poor girl’s knee if you want to sell this thing, Nicolas,’ she whispers in my ear, and then she lets out one of her too loud laughs as I wince.
‘So, as long as everyone is happy to agree to our little charade, it seems we’re done with the matter for now,’ Magda adds.
‘Obviously, once we know the details of the trustee’s arrival, we’ll send out a town-wide alert.
Code name Operation Wedded Bliss,’ she adds, and everyone perks up again at this bit of subterfuge.
‘Not a very subtle code name,’ I point out.
‘That’s what I said,’ Phoebe sighs. My daughter’s potential for devious machinations is clearly being thwarted by the quality of her co-conspirators.
Magda, however, ignores this. ‘So unless there’s anything either of you want to add…’ She looks at me and Lee expectantly.
‘Nope,’ I say. I stretch my legs out in front of me and cross my arms, glad that this bit is over.
Lee only shakes her head.
‘Okay then,’ Art says, reclaiming his position. ‘With that first matter sorted, let’s talk other business. It seems Russell has been up to his old tricks…’