Page 106 of How to Kill Your Rival

‘You and I are going to need to establish some boundaries,’ I tell Coffin while Eliza goes to wash the eyeball juice from her chest.

He turns his back on me.

Eliza comes back, and she settles back against me. I put my arms around her and caress her skin wherever I can.

The morning light spills through the curtains while Coffin finishes his grooming and tucks his beak under his wing, joining us as we lie there in the quiet.

I’ve waited for this.

No more secrets.

No more games.

Just us in the quiet moments, loving each other.

Eyeballs and all.

35

ELIZA

The Death Council meeting is only three days away, and there has been no news from the Kavanaghs or the Stewarts, and Jacob went and had to get himself killed before organising it.

Dad is in his chair by the window in the snug, the racing on mute and a cup of tea going cold on the side table. He looks tired today, and I blame myself for making him worry.

The tiredness looks different now, though. Not deathly tired. There is more colour to his cheeks, and more life in his eyes. His skin looks less papery than it was becoming.

I sit on the sofa beside him and plonk my feet up on the footstool beside his.

He glances at me. ‘You look better.’

‘I slept,’ I say.

‘Good.’ He looks back at the television. ‘James still here?’

‘Yeah, we’ll both stay until after the meeting.’

‘You can stay forever,’ Dad says. ‘Plenty of room, and it smells better here than in London, even with the pigs.’

‘You’ll never get rid of me completely.’

We sit for a bit in the quiet of the snug. He suits the room, all old wood and faded leather. Whisky and cigars. I remember sitting on the floor in here as a kid while Dad worked, pretending to read so I could listen in to learn about the business. It has always fascinated me. I learned more about the business from those hours on the floor than I ever did from tuition.

‘Doctor called this morning,’ he says, pulling me against his side as he used to when I was little. ‘Good news, apparently.’

‘Really?’

‘He thinks there’s a good chance of the all-clear by the end of the month.’

The end of the month.

It feels like half the stress I’ve been holding rolls right off my shoulders.

‘Oh, Dad,’ I whisper. I refuse to cry like a baby in the snug and fight back the tears. He puts his arm around me, and I’m at peace. For that sliver of time, anyway.

His cardigan smells of washing powder and cupboards.

‘That’s great news,’ I say.