“Royal flush,” he said, raising an eyebrow at me, and then reaching out to sweep nearly all the Smarties over into his already huge pile (I had long ago eaten all of my Smarties and had been slyly ‘borrowing them’ from Millie ever since).
“Hey! I have more face cards than him,” I complained, and Pav let his head fall to the table, banging it once and groaning in frustration.
“Yes, indeed,” Barclay said, and I thought I saw his lips twitch but it might have been a trick of the light. Jesus, this guy was moody. Not usually my bag at all, but with Barclay the whole uptight politician thing just seemed to float my boat. If I were honest, any facial expression from Barclay would do it for me. Meeting the man in person had not diminished my crush on him in the slightest.
“You appear to have accumulated an inordinate amount of cards, Dr Murphy,” he said wryly. “Impressive.”
I scowled at him and Millie stifled a laugh. That was the thing with Barclay – every so often his dry sense of humour would make its way to the surface. Sarcasm was his weapon of choice and I’d always been a sucker for a sarcastic smartarse.
“Playing cards with you is like trying to wrestle an agitated squid,” Pav said, slamming his cards down on the table. “You neverlisten.”
“Chill your beans, Todger Tussler,” I told him as I made a frantic grab for the few remaining Smarties, shoving them into my mouth before anyone else at the table could launch an objection, then giving Pav a one-finger salute.
There was a snort from across the table, which drew everyone’s attention. Henry’s shoulders were shaking, his eyes were dancing, and after a few seconds he burst out laughing. I felt my chest constrict and a sting at the back of my eyes. Henry’s smiles were still few and far between, and this was the first time I’d seen him actually full-on laugh.
I blinked and glanced at Barclay, who had gone very still in his chair as his brother’s laughter filled the kitchen. Then, after a moment, he relaxed and some of the tension in his shoulders eased. It was as though the worry he carried for his brother was a physical thing that I could see slowly rolling off him. Just as I was about to look away, he caught my eye. The look he gave me was more than his normal intense (and make no mistake, he was an intense guy), and he gave me a short nod. I didn’t know if it was a nod of thanks, an acknowledgment of our shared worry (I was aware that my own eyes had misted over), or maybe just a cramp in his neck; but it made me feel ten feet tall rather than my actual five.
Chapter 5
The flow of time is an illusion
Kira
“I think this might have been a mistake,” Henry said as he took a sip of his second brandy and surveyed the chessboard.
“I’m getting the hang of it,” I slurred, reaching out for one of the horsey ones, and concentrated on pushing it forward a few squares, only to knock over several other pieces in the attempt. “Badger’s arse,” I pulled my hand away and sent a few more chess pieces flying. “I drink I might be thunk.” That didn’t sound right. I frowned as I repeated it back in my head.
“You are such a lightweight,” Henry said, smirking at me over the top of his brandy glass.
“I’m bloody hobbit-sized. Of course I’m a lightweight.”
I leaned back in the leather chair I was sitting in. We were in the library – a huge room overrun with mahogany and leather in a way that would have made the Anchorman very proud.
“Oooh, spinny,” I breathed as the ceiling above me started moving clockwise of its own accord. I heard Henry chuckle again through my drunken fog and my heart lifted. This was why I’d stayed on. It felt like a small victory every time I managed to make Henry laugh. The others had left at eleven just as Henry had dug out the chessboard, and Barclay had retreated to his office to do Very Important Things. Tomorrow was Saturday: I wasn’t on-call, and Henry looked so dejected when he realised everyone was leaving that I’d decided to stay, drink some ill-advised brandy and attempt to play chess. But chess was a game of patience and concentration . . . neither of which were qualities I possessed in abundance.
“Did you mean all that stuff you said at the hospital?”
“Er, Henners, I spout a lot of shit. You may have to be more perpific . . . er, I mean spernific . . . bugger,specific!”
His voice dropped to a slurred, soft whisper. “About me having a meaningful relationship. About someone being able to… to love me, to be with me.”
I blinked and sat up in the chair, trying to get my remaining sober neurones to start firing so I didn’t fuck this moment up.
“Henry, if somebody loves you, then your diagnosis doesn’t have to get in the way of that.”
“There was . . . a girl,” he said, his voice now hoarse with emotion. “Before all this shit, I’d started sorting myself out – toned down the partying. We were going to . . . I–I wish that . . . bugger it. Jesus, I’m the one spouting shit now. I’m absolutely blotto. It doesn’t matter now anyway. I cut her off – haven’t spoken to her in ages.”
“Henry,” I leaned right forward, knocking over all the remaining chess pieces so that I could lay my hands over his as they rested on the table. “If she cares about you enough, it won’t stop her from being with you. You can life a good live . . . Gah! I mean live a good life.”
He smiled a small, sad smile, and gave my hands a squeeze before he cleared his throat and pulled his own hands back.
“You’d better get home,” Henry told me, staggering to his feet before grabbing onto the mantelpiece for support. He didn’t seem that much better off than me, but he was still skinny as a rake and had told us all that this was the first time he’d had a drink in over a year. “Come on,” he said, giving my jumper a tug as he passed me on his way towards the large oak door. I stumbled after him in a semi-straight line. Once in the corridor he gave me a one-armed hug.
“Weird or not, you’re a good egg, Kira.” We both swayed to the side and then righted ourselves. “I . . .” he let me go and moved to the stairs. “I’d better get to bed. You’ll be alright getting home?”
“I–sh fine.” I waved him off with a lopsided grin as he disappeared down the stairs into the basement where, he’d told me earlier, he had a self-contained apartment. Now, where was my scarf?
*****
