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That red wine is really taking effect right now. I halted that path of thought, only realising I'd spoken out loud when the entire kitchen burst into laughter.
Denise got up, snuggling Pickles, while Jeremiah took a discreet step back in the wrong direction. Pickles’ throat worked the wrong way.
"Yeah, watch out for that." I left the super to deal with Pickles on his own and faced Ford.
There was a joke there, but my idle brain couldn't pick it out.
Ford crossed my living space and kitchen into long strides, leaning down to brush his lips over mine. “Merry Christmas,” he murmured.
I swooned, and straightened and slapped him and regretted it, anger busting out of me in the climax of the grieving circle in a matter of seconds.
Ford didn’t move an inch, giving me a hard look I knew I’d never forget. "You left. You know that puts you on the naughty list?"
"Does it?" I said faintly, wondering what the punishment was for earning myself a spot on that side of the list. A spanking? Or a lifetime of abandonment?
My heart tumbled a little inside my chest. "What are you doing here?"
"I was promised ham for breakfast." Ford smiled. "And I didn't have anything else to bring, except for...." A small, rectangular package wrapped in plain brown paper.
I shook my head. Ford gave me enough already, though I managed to return the goods. I didn't expect to do gifts with him, or anyone else.
My mind picked on the weirdest facts, clinging to some semblance of reality I understood. "When did you fly to California and collect Pickles?"
He shook his head, still smiling. “He wasn't in Cali. He was getting his sperm frozen at an institution for a rainy day event. Also, I didn't intend to come back when I planned all this. That was before I had a reason to."
“Oh."Eloquent, Nisha.
"Something like that. Are you going to introduce me?"
Jerking a little, I did the rounds, staring at the package in my hands and back at Ford.
"Open it." Ford’s lips brushed my ear, his soft whisper edging its way down my spine.
Turning the package over, I slipped open the neat sticky tape at the bottom of the pack working around its clean edges and straight lines, so very much Ford.
I held back a laugh as I tore the package open, staring at the long, brown cylinders with their pretty ribbon tie downs. "Are these – what are they?" I asked Ford, confused. "An Aussie Christmas thing?"
He snorted. “Kind of like you're ugly sweater thing. Trust me, we don't get it." He took one of the brown paper cylinders free and held it out. "It's a Christmas cracker."
"Oh, crackers." Gerard rubbed his hands together, reminiscently. “I haven't seen one of those since Glasgow.”
"You know, Glasgow is full of psychopaths." Denise waggled a finger in his face.
"Only if you believe the results of those tests. The silly ones online." He paused for a moment. “And we're only a few percent higher than the rest of the population anyway."
"Whatever you say." Denise said, her hand wrapped around one of the crackers at the end like a telescope. "How does it work?"
Ford demonstrated, gripping one end and offering me the other. He held up a finger. "On three, we pull. Anyone PTSD with gunfire?"
I stared at him. "Are you going to shoot me?"
"Not quite."
Negative chorus rumbled around the world room. Every eye is fixed on Ford and his magical Christmas device.
"Three, two, one –"
The Christmas cracker, living up to its name, exploded in a shower of soft confetti and glitter. Something plastic hit me in the nose.
