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“You know what you’re asking, right?” he said. His tone had steel in it.
She nodded. She couldn’t speak.
“I told you before, you have to be certain what kind of invitation you’re issuing.” He turned towards her. “I want to be clear. I don’t want to play any games. I’m not coming over for the food. I want you.”
Her skin flushed at the thought.
“But you’ll eat, right? Otherwise why cook?” She smiled, trying to keep it light.
“I’ll do whatever it takes. Even eat.”
His lips twitched again and Kirsty felt herself relax.
“For goodness’ sake, Lake—smile or don’t smile, but stop it with the twitching face. Everyone knows what you’re doing. No one is fooled. You may as well smile.”
And he grinned. Widely.
“Lake is coming over for dinner tonight,” Kirsty told the women of Knit Or Die.
She watched them smile conspiratorially at each other. They might as well say what they were thinking; it was written all over their faces anyway.
“It’s not what you’re thinking,” she told them. “It’s a ruse to get him out of the flat so you lot can get in there and mess with his computers.”
Liar, liar, pants on fire, the voice in her head told her.
“I’ve written everything down for your grandson,” she told Jean. “I’m not sure he was listening to me the other day. But basically all he has to do is make sure all the photos are attached to everything Lake sends out and that the email he thinks he’s sending for the comp
etition isn’t the one the women get.”
“What did you write in the new competition email?” said Heather.
Kirsty’s eyes narrowed wickedly.
“I wrote that he was looking forward to spending the weekend with them and that they didn’t have to worry because by then he would have seen the doctor and he was pretty sure that he’d be given the all clear that his chlamydia was gone.”
There were whoops of raucous laughter.
“You didn’t,” Shona said.
“I also said that he had a great weekend planned for them. They were going deer shooting and afterwards a friend of his was going to give them a demo on how to skin their kill.”
The women were wiping their eyes and slapping the table in approval.
“You are wicked, Kirsty Campbell,” Jean said, but not without admiration.
“She gets it from me,” her mother said with pride.
“Okay,” Kirsty said. She stood up and reached for her coat on the pegs beside her mum’s back door. “Make sure your grandson does his job, Jean, or there will be no date with Magenta.”
“How on earth did you get her to agree to that?” Jean said.
Kirsty smiled. It’d been pretty easy. She’d explained to Magenta that Gordon was an arrogant wee jerk who needed to be taught a lesson about respect for women. After that Magenta jumped at the opportunity to help the boy out. Kirsty hadn’t asked what she had planned. All she had done was make Magenta promise that there wouldn’t be bloodshed. Or anything that would ensure a lifetime of therapy.
“Don’t forget,” Kirsty told them, “Lake’s coming over at eight.”
“What time will he be leaving?” her mother said.
Shona started giggling.
