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‘As quiet as a … house?’
I think on this.
‘Mouse,’ I deduce. ‘As quiet as a mouse. Squeak squeak.’
Joe appears thoroughly entertained. ‘You triggered my doorbell sensor. And then I saw you on my phone crawling around outside as if you were looking for something?’
‘Yes! A stone! I didn’t want to wake the kids,’ I whisper, my brilliant plan suddenly feeling slightly less brilliant as I take in the scene from Joe’s eyes.
‘So you thought you’d stone my house instead?’
I glance at the pebble. Drop it.
‘The kids are still up.’ Joe still has that amused smile across his face. ‘It’s only just gone seven.’
‘Which is exactly the time I said I’d come to get Lila,’ I recall.
‘Precisely. And I also said that Sid doesn’t go to bed until around eight p.m. so …’
‘So we’re good.’ I hiccup.
‘Good night?’ Joe practically smirks as he ushers me inside.
‘Excellent,’ I say. ‘Very … celebratory. I’m a lightweight and I don’t usually have this many champagnes, especially with clients. But the drinks kept flowing and now my head feels a bit swirly.’
‘I’m glad you had fun.’
I squint at my fake boyfriend. ‘Oh GOD. Do you think I was palming Lila off on you so I could go on a piss-up? Because that is not the case. I’m usually extremely professional. Professional is my middle name. Are you cross with Sophie Professional Rogers?’
Joe hands me a glass of water which I slurp in one go. ‘Paranoid when tipsy. I’ll add that to the list of Sophie quirks I’m keeping a note of. What happened to your head?’
I reach up to feel an egg shape rising up around where I walked into the lamp-post. Mortification sets in.
‘Bit of a hump. A jump!’ I say. Joe’s eyebrows have shot skywards. ‘Wait, what? Bit of a bump. That’s it! Just a bump, nothing major.’
Joe starts wrapping an ice pack in a tea towel. ‘May I?’
He sits me down and presses the cool pack against my head, at which point two things happen.
One: the injury almost instantly hurts less.
Two: I close my eyes and inhale his earthy scent and feel the warmth of his proximity.
I was not expecting two.
He lifts the ice pack and I watch as he examines my forehead.
‘Did you just say that you’re keeping a note of my quirks?’ I ask, in need of some kind of distraction from whatever this feeling is.
‘You’re going to have quite a bruise there,’ he murmurs. ‘Could you hold this in place while I grab you some paracetamol?’ I do as I’m told while he reaches into another cupboard. ‘And yes, I am. Paranoid when drunk, quite blunt all the time, absolutely terrible tea-maker.’
‘What?’ I squeak. ‘My tea-making skills are second to none.’
‘You put the milk in first,’ he says with a look like he might be sick just at the thought of it. ‘It’s a travesty.’
The cheek of Joe.
I shake my head at the insult then quickly stop doing that because, ouch!
