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She kissed him.
‘My prince.’
Matty gave a bow, stirred up the air with his right hand as he bent over.
‘My lady.’
‘Princes don’t bow,’ I said. ‘People are supposed to bow to them.’
He grinned.
‘Aye, reckon I could get used to that.’
‘Shall I open the bottle?’ my mother asked, brandishing the Rioja by its neck.
‘How about changing into a skirt first? Figure like yours, you should show it off.’
I mimed sticking a finger down my throat.
‘Don’t you want to look like a lady, pumpkin?’
I told him, no, not especially.
My mother was keener to please. I was going to change anyway.
Matty caught me between his legs, gripped me in a vice.
‘Gotcha!’
‘Let me go!’
He put on a mwahahaha voice—
‘You’re my prisoner now. . .’
I kicked and struggled. He tightened his hold.
‘She wasn’t going to change anyway,’ I told him, still panting from the exertion.
He’d released me, decided I’d struggled enough.
‘If it wasn’t for you, she’d live in her jeans. Same as me.’
Matty just smiled to himself, started unpacking the groceries. I went over to inspect the purchases.
‘Rocky Road, excellent!’ I said pulling out a big tub of ice cream with a triumphant flourish.
‘Your favourite, right?’
They didn’t sell that at Safeway up the road. He’d have had to make a special trip to Baskin-Robbins all the way over in Golders Green.
‘Thanks, Matty. You’re the best!’
He did a Mickey skit, started capering.
‘Aw shucks, you’re making me blush.’
My mother returned, in a blue and white boho dress similar to one Lady Diana had been wearing on the front of that week’s Woman’s Own. She leaned against the door jamb, watching the show. Her eyes big and wide and filled with love.
