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Authors: Charlotte Eve
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put her into any of those, but instead I moved her into my own family home. That was a schoolboy error.
And I resolve in the morning to ask my assistant to look into moving her into one of the many other properties in my portfolio; somewhere smart, somewhere nearby so she’s available for Tabby, but still far enough away from me.
I’m simply not in the mood for conversation with her tonight. I have to ensure that we’re not in the house alone. So I call up Bruce and to my relief, he answers immediately.
“Hey buddy,” I say. “What are you up to tonight?”
“Not a lot,” he replies with a deep chuckle. “Unless I get lucky on Tinder in the next couple of hours!”
Typical Bruce.
“Drop all that,” I tell him. “Come to mine, play a game of pool with me in the old games room. It’s been months since I’ve used it – and it’s a crime for it to just sit there empty.”
“Okay, okay,” he laughs. “Unless I get a better offer of course.”
“Of course,” I say. “See you at seven?”
“See you at seven,” he replies.
§
I dawdle at the office long enough that I know Bruce will be practically waiting for me when I come in. And sure enough, no sooner have I dropped my bags in the hallway when the doorbell rings again. I turn to answer it, but as I do, Tabby comes running from down the stairs.
“Daddy!” she cries, full of excitement. “We played a number game! Do you want to hear all about my numbers?”
Chrissie follows down the stairs behind her, demurely dressed today in smartly pressed navy slacks and a flimsy cream blouse. She seems nervous, twisting her hair. She’s smiling but I can tell its put on, like she’s going to pretend that whole silly little charade never even happened.
Good , I think.
“Yes,” says Chrissie, “we’ve been learning all about numbers.”
She’s about to continue but I hold up one finger to cut her off. “Excuse me,” I say, turning to answer the door. “Good evening, old chap,” I say, ushering Bruce into the house.
Trust Bruce, he’s dressed like he’s come ready to pick up girls in a nightclub, rather than shoot a few games of pool with his old friend. He’s wearing a suit jacket and chinos, with a freshly ironed white shirt – unbuttoned at the neck as if to show he’s a smart guy but still ready to party.
Tabitha suddenly becomes shy, hiding herself away behind Chrissie’s long legs.
“Hi Bruce,” Tabby whispers.
“Hello, princess,” Bruce replies in a tone which suggests he’s talking to Tabby, but if I’m not mistaken, he’s looking directly into Chrissie’s eyes.
“She’s tired,” offers Chrissie, by way of explanation for Tabby’s sudden shyness.
“That’s because it’s her bedtime ,” I snap, surprising myself with the sternness in my voice. “I’m going to put her to bed now. I’ll leave you two to get acquainted.”
As I lead Tabby upstairs to bed, I wonder if the strange glint in Bruce’s eye when he saw Chrissie is something I should be worried about or whether I just imagined it.
What does it matter anyway? I remind myself. So what if Bruce wants to make a play for her. She’s nothing to you.
§
With Tabby safely tucked up in bed, I go back downstairs to find Bruce and Chrissie have moved through to the kitchen. They’re talking – and at first glance it looks innocent and relaxed. But something about the scene tells me that Chrissie is wary of him. She’s on guard, sitting bolt upright at the table, straight backed and alert, clasping her glass of water with two hands as if for protection. She’s nodding politely as Bruce explains American culture to her – all of the places he’s been, where to get the best tacos, the best burgers. As always, Bruce has to know everything.
“Enough of the cultural studies,” I say. “Chrissie’s not on the clock any more, old chap. I’m not paying her to be polite to you.”
“Oh, no,” she exclaims, politely but with a subtle
And I resolve in the morning to ask my assistant to look into moving her into one of the many other properties in my portfolio; somewhere smart, somewhere nearby so she’s available for Tabby, but still far enough away from me.
I’m simply not in the mood for conversation with her tonight. I have to ensure that we’re not in the house alone. So I call up Bruce and to my relief, he answers immediately.
“Hey buddy,” I say. “What are you up to tonight?”
“Not a lot,” he replies with a deep chuckle. “Unless I get lucky on Tinder in the next couple of hours!”
Typical Bruce.
“Drop all that,” I tell him. “Come to mine, play a game of pool with me in the old games room. It’s been months since I’ve used it – and it’s a crime for it to just sit there empty.”
“Okay, okay,” he laughs. “Unless I get a better offer of course.”
“Of course,” I say. “See you at seven?”
“See you at seven,” he replies.
§
I dawdle at the office long enough that I know Bruce will be practically waiting for me when I come in. And sure enough, no sooner have I dropped my bags in the hallway when the doorbell rings again. I turn to answer it, but as I do, Tabby comes running from down the stairs.
“Daddy!” she cries, full of excitement. “We played a number game! Do you want to hear all about my numbers?”
Chrissie follows down the stairs behind her, demurely dressed today in smartly pressed navy slacks and a flimsy cream blouse. She seems nervous, twisting her hair. She’s smiling but I can tell its put on, like she’s going to pretend that whole silly little charade never even happened.
Good , I think.
“Yes,” says Chrissie, “we’ve been learning all about numbers.”
She’s about to continue but I hold up one finger to cut her off. “Excuse me,” I say, turning to answer the door. “Good evening, old chap,” I say, ushering Bruce into the house.
Trust Bruce, he’s dressed like he’s come ready to pick up girls in a nightclub, rather than shoot a few games of pool with his old friend. He’s wearing a suit jacket and chinos, with a freshly ironed white shirt – unbuttoned at the neck as if to show he’s a smart guy but still ready to party.
Tabitha suddenly becomes shy, hiding herself away behind Chrissie’s long legs.
“Hi Bruce,” Tabby whispers.
“Hello, princess,” Bruce replies in a tone which suggests he’s talking to Tabby, but if I’m not mistaken, he’s looking directly into Chrissie’s eyes.
“She’s tired,” offers Chrissie, by way of explanation for Tabby’s sudden shyness.
“That’s because it’s her bedtime ,” I snap, surprising myself with the sternness in my voice. “I’m going to put her to bed now. I’ll leave you two to get acquainted.”
As I lead Tabby upstairs to bed, I wonder if the strange glint in Bruce’s eye when he saw Chrissie is something I should be worried about or whether I just imagined it.
What does it matter anyway? I remind myself. So what if Bruce wants to make a play for her. She’s nothing to you.
§
With Tabby safely tucked up in bed, I go back downstairs to find Bruce and Chrissie have moved through to the kitchen. They’re talking – and at first glance it looks innocent and relaxed. But something about the scene tells me that Chrissie is wary of him. She’s on guard, sitting bolt upright at the table, straight backed and alert, clasping her glass of water with two hands as if for protection. She’s nodding politely as Bruce explains American culture to her – all of the places he’s been, where to get the best tacos, the best burgers. As always, Bruce has to know everything.
“Enough of the cultural studies,” I say. “Chrissie’s not on the clock any more, old chap. I’m not paying her to be polite to you.”
“Oh, no,” she exclaims, politely but with a subtle
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