Page 14
“What does it taste of?”
“Lost hope and hamster droppings.”
I snort. “I told you to have a hamburger. You can’t go wrong with that.” I shrug. “And yet somehow they still managed it.”
A child runs past screaming, pursued rather half-heartedly by her mum.
“Do you want kids?” Levi asks.
I startle. “I thought we had one. Isa.”
He smiles. “It was nice of him to housesit for us.”
“It’s just given him another stage on which to embark on the seduction and eventual ruin of Rhys.”
“Thank you, Barbara Cartland.”
I wave my hand, nearly jettisoning a handful of napkins onto the floor. “I hope they don’t fuck in our bed.”
His eyes widen. “Oh my god. Is that probable?”
“Who knows?” I say gloomily. “This is what happens with found family, Levi. I know I’ve warned you several times about it.”
“More than several.”
“And yet you still ignored my wisdom. One minute, you have someone nice to talk to, and the next moment, they’re shagging in your bed on the good sheets.”
I take a sip of my coffee, manfully ignoring the old man standing in the middle of the bedlam that’s the cafeteria and screaming silently. I don’t blame him. I think if I were a ghost and stuck here, I’d be excessively grumpy too. Nevertheless, I avert my eyes in case he cottons on to what I can do. He’ll never leave us alone, otherwise, and this is my honeymoon. Nothing is going to interfere with that, I add fervently in my head. It’s me and Levi and absolutely, positively zero spirit life.
Levi is watching me knowingly, so I rush into a different conversation. “So, the place we’re staying is in Porthkrogour?”
He nods. “It’s a cottage and it looks out over the cove. It’s gorgeous. I still can’t work out why it was available. Something like that should be booked up all year round.”
“Well, let’s not look a gift horse in the eye.”
“Mouth.”
“Pardon?”
“It’s mouth. Never look a gift horse in the mouth.”
“Are you the head of the Correct Saying Committee now?”
“I’m the chairman, baby.”
I laugh. “I do find a man in power to be very erotic.”
The availability of the cottage has been a source of odd concern for Levi which makes me smile. Things going well are treated suspiciously by him, but give him a serial killer in our house, and he’s calm as a cucumber and making him a hot beverage.
“It should be lovely,” he says, giving up on his panini and setting it back in the wrapper. “Cornwall is beautiful, but it’s so busy in the summer. It’ll be quieter now.”
We’d originally intended to get married in the summer, but then Levi was asked to attend Comic Con as an attending artist, so we went to L.A. instead.
I’d tagged along, mainly to see Levi in his element, and as a sideline to see if the American ghosts had accents. They did. I’d valiantly ignored the coat-check girl haunting the convention hall and acted as Levi’s assistant at the event. If I’d had any delusions of glamour about that job, they were quickly dispersed. I’d spent the day getting out of the way of a multitude of men and women who fancied my husband, taking more photographs than Annie Leibovitz, and putting endless sticky notes in books so Levi could write the readers’ names correctly. That had gone slightly wrong, as my spelling is terrible, and a lot of people’s handwriting is abysmal.
The day had improved later on back at the room, when I’d put Levi’s glasses on and pretended to be a slutty assistant, which I was much better at than being an actual assistant. Anyway, that’s why our wedding is around Halloween and we’re off to Cornwall.
As if sensing my thoughts, Levi says, “I’m so sorry we couldn’t have a sunny honeymoon.”
