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And he wasn’t wrong.
Her laugh was now a wild animal, breaking free of its bars.
She had to put a hand over her mouth to keep it in.
Then, just as she was sure she’d succeeded, just as she was certain she’d kept her cool and been as professional and noncupcake-like as possible, in the face of all these ridiculous things they’d both accidentally done, it happened. Words just came out of her, one after the other, each sillier than the last. “Why don’t you come back to mine, so I can make sure you carry on having sight?”
And worst of all?
He actually agreed.
Office of the Prime Minister
Oslo, 22 August 2014
Dear Mr. Harding,
I would like to extend my deepest apologies for the misunderstanding that occurred on July 17. I can assure you the Norwegian Government does not believe you are a cybercriminal, and I have personally addressed the issues that led to this unfortunate incident. Needless to say, you will experience no further unpleasantness from any department under my administration.
The people of Norway deeply admire your contribution to football, and we look forward to many more years of your talents both on and off the pitch.
Yours sincerely,
Erna Solberg
SixGoogling the Recovery Rates for a Broken Bum
She tried not to panic too much, once Alfie fucking Harding was inside her flat. But it was hard not to, when Alfie fucking Harding was inside her flat. Partly because he was Alfie fucking Harding, and in her flat. But mostly because he just looked so jarring and out of place among her things. Like he had in that Starbucks—only worse, because Starbucks had at least seemed somewhat neutral.
But her decor was not.
It was a lot of pastels.
And plump, comfy things.
And all of them were surrounding him, like white cells sensing a terrible disease had entered the body. Now they were going to kill him, before he could infect everything with his aggressively dark clothes and his furious eyebrows and his obvious discomfort at having to be around softness and color.
Which sounded ludicrous.
But only got less so, as time went on.
She put lights on, forgetting that they were mostly just twinkling fairy ones that she’d stuck up one Christmas then not wanted to take down. So now he was standing in the backwash of a bunch of blinking reds and greens and blues and yellows, like a burnt stump of a tree still covered in its gaudy decorations.
Then she went to offer him a drink.
And only realized too late that she didn’t have a single thing he could reasonably want. There was no special brew in any of her cupboards. She didn’t regularly stock hard liquor. She had abottle of pink lemonade, and a bunch of different types of hot chocolate.
Oh, and some milk.
Which she felt even sillier offering him than all the rest.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to include that last one,” she found herself saying.
But the weirdest part was: he actually took her up on it. She had to pour a bit of semi-skimmed into a mug with Peppa Pig on the front, and then watch him clutching it like it was a pint of booze down the social club, while standing across from her in her kitchen, looking far too big for the space he was in.
And he looked even bigger than that when she offered him a seat. Honestly, she expected her little wooden kitchen chair to splinter the second he tried it. He was probably going to end up breaking his butt on her kitchen floor, because all she apparently had was bloody doll furniture.Alfie Harding in Need of Intense Ass Surgery Because of Fluffy Fool, she imagined the headlines reading. Then breathed a sigh of relief when the chair did nothing but creak a bit under his weight.
She was safe from that, at least.
