Alfie beams. ‘That’s so cool! I’ve seenRatatouillefour times, haven’t I, Mum? Can I hold one too?’
Sarah nods in defeat. Alfie just called her cool. There is no way she can decline. I can still say no, though. After playing Santa, my cool rating is at a minus anyway. For the first time today, Sarah and I throw each other a look of anxious solidarity as we walk slowly over towards Dean and his pet vermin.
Alfie dives right in, allowing the little rodents to sniff and explore him, while Sarah and I stand there with forced smiles, hoping that Dean will suddenly announce that visiting hours are now over. Sadly, it isn’t to be.
‘Nick, you hold one too!’ Alfie insists. ‘Come on!’
Sarah, considerably braver than me, bends down and starts by gently stroking Alfie’s rat as he holds it out towards her. I manage to hold the smaller rat for three seconds before it senses my aversion and decides to go back to Dean on its own. I feel quite offended.
‘Mum! I think it likes you!’ Alfie says as he watches the rat rise up and sniff Sarah’s slightly tense face, his little whiskers tickling her nose.
‘His name is Byron,’ Dean informs Alfie, ‘and I think you’re right.’
Sarah grins. ‘He’s softer than I thought. . . actually rather. . . woooahh!’
Quick as a flash Byron leaps from Alfie’s hands and disappears down Sarah’s top towards her waistband, his little body moving swiftly under the fabric.
‘Don’t panic,’ Dean insists, his voice breaking slightly. ‘Nothing to worry about.’
Alfie, finding this hilarious, gives everyone a play by play of where the rat is going next. ‘Hahaha, is he in your pants now? I think I can see his ear.’
Sarah yelps as we see the shape of Byron under her dress, lingering at her hips before heading north again. Her now crimson face pleads with Dean to make this stop.
‘Nothing to worry about,’ Dean repeats, reaching into his little food bag. ‘Byron is just playing. They love tunnelling and warmth, he’s very happy in there.’
Dean, now sweating a little, waves a peanut butter treat near the opening to Sarah’s dress but in his clumsy rush to help, drops it down her cleavage.
‘Are you KIDDING ME? You’ve just given him a snack! He has no reason to leave now!’
Dean scrambles in his bag to find another, apologising profusely. ‘I – I’m so sorry, I’ll just try—’
‘Can we remove Byron from my nipple area,’ she growls quietly at Dean. ‘I’d like to walk out of here with two.’
Dean scrunches up his face in mortification. ‘Um, ideally someone would reachdown thereand retrieve him, but I don’t think it’s appropriate that—’
Sarah shoots a look towards the bathrooms where Matt is obviously hiding out, before her eyes turn to mine and begin silently pleading.
‘Me?’ I ask, before shaking my head in dismay. ‘No! I mean, I can’t just go rummaging around in there! I’m sure Matt will be back—’
‘Oh, come on!’ she implores. ‘I would do it for you!’
‘Can’t you just. . . shake it out of there?’ I reply, awkwardly pointing towards her chest. ‘Dean, dude. Don’t you have a manager or a mousetrap orsomething?’
‘I’ll do it!’ Alfie offers, reaching up towards Sarah, who now looks like she’s about to burst into tears.Fuck. Between Sarah’s wobbly bottom lip and the thought of Alfie getting accidentally nipped by Byron, there really is no other choice. I’m going to have to man up and step in.
‘It’s cool, I’ll do it, buddy,’ I tell Alfie. ‘I have bigger hands. . . if that’s alright with your mum?’
Sarah nods gratefully.
‘Right, Dean, tell me what I need to do.’
‘OK, yes. . . so, madam, if you can just stretch the top of your dress as far as it will go and you sir, just reach in and scoop Byron under his front legs and lift. Don’t lift from his tail.’
As Sarah stretches her dress, I move in closer, trying my very best to ignore her white lace bra and concentrate on the furry stowaway, but my best isn’t good enough and she knows it. We both start to blush.
Goddammit, Nick, they’re just breasts! This isn’t the time. Focus!
Spotting a cosy-looking Byron, I slowly reach in, my hand grazing her skin as I grab him gently. She shivers and gives a barely audible gasp, but it’s loud enough to make me wonder whether it’s from my touch or just from simple, plain old fear.
