Page 86 of Something Rotten (Thursday Next 4)

I decided to correct him.

'No – we have a son!'

'Right. Well,' he said, rubbing his hands together, 'I suppose you'd better have some supper. Do you still like fish pie?'

There was a crash as Friday found a vase in the living room to knock over. So I mopped it up while apologising, and Landen said it was okay but shut the doors of his office anyway. He made us both supper and I caught up with what he was doing while he wasn't eradicated – if that makes any sense at all – and I told him about Mrs Tiggy-Winkle, wordstorms, Melanie and all the rest of it.

'So a grammasite is a parasitic life form that lives inside books?'

'Pretty much.'

'And if you don't find a cloned Shakespeare then we lose Hamlet?'

'Yup.'

'And the Superhoop is inextricably linked to the avoidance of a thermonuclear war?'

'It is. Can I move back in?'

'I kept the sock drawer just how you liked it.'

I smiled.

'Alphabetically, left to right?'

'No, rainbow, violet to the right – or was that how Daisy liked— Ah! Just kidding! You have no sense of— Ah! Stop it! Get off! No! Ow!'

But it was too late. I had pinned him to the floor and was attempting to tickle him. Friday sucked his fingers and looked on, disgusted, while Landen managed to get out of my hands, roll round and tickle me, which I didn't like at all. After a while we just collapsed into a silly giggling mess.

'So, Thursday,' he said as he helped me off the floor, 'are you going to spend the night?'

'No.'

'No?'

'No. I'm moving in and staying for ever.'

We put Friday to bed in the spare room and made up a sort of cot for him. He was quite happy sleeping almost anywhere as long as he had his polar bear with him. He'd stayed over at Melanie's house and once at Mrs Tiggy-Winkle's, which was warm and snug and smelt of moss, sticks and washing powder. He had even slept on Treasure Island during a visit there I made last year to sort out the Ben Gunn goat problem – Long John had talked him to sleep, something he was very good at.

'Now then,' said Landen as we went to our room, 'a man's needs are many—'

'Let me guess! You want me to rub your back?'

'Please. Right there in the small where you used to do it so well. I've really missed that.'

'Nothing else?'

'No, nothing. Why, did you have something in mind?'

I giggled as he pulled me closer. I breathed in his scent. I could remember pretty well what he looked like and how he sounded, but not his smell. That was something that was instantly recognisable as soon I pressed my face into the folds of his shirt, and it brought back memories of courting, and picnics, and passion.

'I like your short hair,' said Landen.

'Well, I don't,' I replied, 'and if you ruffle it once more like that I may feel inclined to poke you in the eye.'

We lay back on the bed and he pulled my sweatshirt ve

ry slowly over the top of my head. It caught on my watch and there was an awkward moment as he tugged gently, trying to keep the romance of the moment. I couldn't help it and started giggling.

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