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Tim nodded in approval. “Good. I like people who go after their heart’s desire without giving a toss about the paycheck.”
Now if only your stepdaughter was of the same mind.
“What do you do for a living?” I asked Tim.
“Fulfill my heart’s deepest, most passionate wish.” He opened his arms wide. “I make fish-and-chips.”
Laughing, I leaned in to give him a fist bump. “A divine mission.”
“I like to think of myself as a modern-day Jesus.”
“Riggs, do try your black pudding,” Mrs. Markham urged. “I know it looks a bit funny, but I swear it’s good.”
“Mum,” Duffy scolded, now bloodred with discomfiture. “Leave the man alone.”
“Actually, I was saving the best for last.” I smiled charmingly, picking up the round black thing between my fingers and bringing it to eye level. There was no way to sugarcoat it—it looked like crap. And I mean that literally. There were also yellow bits in it, which made it look likecorn-infested shit. But for a reason beyond my understanding, it was important to me to win these people over.
Halting my breath, I shoved the whole thing into my mouth, chewed just enough to help it pass through my pipeline, and swallowed. I reached for the orange juice quickly, guzzling it.
“Delicious.”
“Thank you!” Mrs. Markham radiated joy. “Tesco’s finest.”
“You want to vomit, don’t you?” Duffy whispered through gritted teeth beside me.
“Very much.” I dropped my voice.
“Well, Mum, let me show Riggs to his room!” Duffy stood up, covering for me.
A minute later, I was kneeling in their bathroom, throwing up into their toilet while Duffy patted my head.
“There, there. Now that you survived Mum’s cooking, it is safe to say you are immortal.”
The Markhams had a tradition. They went apple-picking the first day of the season. Since Duffy wasn’t around for that this year, they decided to do it now that we were visiting.
“You don’t have to come, obviously.” Duffy was standing in the matchbox-size room they’d assigned for me, which used to be her room. She wore a yellow summer dress and looked like an orgasm waiting to be unleashed. “It’s just a silly tradition. You probably want to explore London.”
I drank her in from my spot on her childhood bed, arms propped behind my head. The room was so Duffy it was ridiculous. With stripy beige-and-lavender wallpaper, pleated curtains, and all her memorabilia organized in drawers labeled with the year they were from. There werealso some Prince William posters I was sure she didn’t want to talk about.
“I’ve been to London twelve times. Did all the tourist shit,” I said, trying to downplay it. “Apple-picking sounds good.”
We hadn’t slept together since yesterday, when she’d received that text from Cocksucker, and I was becoming antsy. And worried. And fuckingmental, as Poppins liked to call it.
“Okay, brilliant. We leave in thirty minutes. Does that work for you?”
“Let me look at my schedule.” I picked up my phone and scrolled through the blank screen. “Yup. I have an open window between today and FIFTY-SIX FUCKING MONTHS FROM NOW WHEN YOU FINALLY GET YOUR PERMANENT GREEN CARD.”
“They’ll grant it to me beforehand. The lawyer lady said so herself. She has connections with the immigration office. That’s why we’re here,” she rushed to promise me, no doubt thinking it would make me feel good. “Then you’ll be off to your next exotic destination.”
“As soon as you get your visa, I’m out of here,” I said, forcing the words out of my mouth.
“Understood. And . . . thank you.”
I shrugged, putting on a cockney accent. “I’d like to think I have the patience of a saint.”
She winced. “Tim’s a character.”
“I like characters. Never apologize for your tribe. They’re your people. Everyone else is just a visitor in your life.”
