Short Stack

by Lily Morton

  I nod and then grunt as the pain spreads down the back of my skull.

  “On second thoughts,” Oz says sharply. “Tell the ambulance to stay. Silas hit his head really hard. I want him checked out.”

  “Oh, no,” I protest. “God, that’s so embarrassing.”

  “It’s either here or Casualty later on,” Oz says sternly. “Don’t fuck with me, Silas. Your head made a terrible sound.”

  “Must have been his brains rattling around,” Niall says. “What with all that stripping off and fucking in a public area.”

  “Who told you?” I groan.

  “June,” he says cheerfully. “I must say, Silas. I wouldn’t want to be you when you have your little chat with her later on.” He laughs and strides off to intercept the fire engine.

  Oz leans in. “Put it this way,” he whispers conspiratorially. “If you go and get in the ambulance, June can’t talk to you there.”

  I brighten. “Really?”

  He nods. “As a gesture of my affection for you, I will talk to her instead.”

  “You really love me?” I say wonderingly and then clutch my head as the headache flares.

  “Into the ambulance,” he says quickly, worry clouding his eyes.

  An hour later, I sit on the bed in the ambulance watching the few people that are left in the forecourt. It’s twilight now, and the lilac-coloured sky provides a fitting accompaniment to the lights from the ambulance. Oz comes towards me from where he’s been filling in the paperwork from the fire brigade confirming that it was a false alarm.

  He hops up next to me and hugs me. “How are you?” he asks anxiously. “You look a better colour, baby.”

  The paramedic claps me gently on my shoulder. “He’s fine,” he says. “His vision is good, and I can’t see any signs of a concussion. He won’t go to the hospital, but he says the pain is less after he’s had some tablets. I’ll give you a list of what to look out for tonight if he won’t go and get checked over by a doctor.”

  Oz opens his mouth, and I shake my head gently, relieved that the pain has gone a little. “No,” I say firmly. “I have plans tonight. We have plans.”

  “We do?” He looks unsure.

  “Not anything you’re going to be doing for a bit,” the paramedic says. “I want you to sit still while we pack up.” He climbs down and goes over to speak to his partner who’s standing by the fire engine.

  Oz leans into me, his weight familiar and warm, and his warm ginger aftershave weaves around me. Tension leaves my body, his scent making me peaceful and happy. A bat swoops over us and a breeze kicks up wafting the scent of lavender from the garden towards us. I inhale and look around.

  “Chaos, eh?” he says, and I can hear the smile in his voice. He sighs happily. “But even chaos with you is still good.” He rests his head against my shoulder, the waves of his hair tickling my nose, and I smile.

  “I give up,” I say softly and start to laugh. “I’ve tried the romantic route, but so far I’ve had to wait on tables and nearly had public sex in front of a group of octogenarians. I nearly knocked myself out getting back in my jeans. I just give up.”

  He looks bewildered, but his lip twitches at my laughter, and he starts to laugh himself. I grin at his animated face and turn to him.

  “Oz Gallagher,” I say. It’s a bit too loud and his laughter dies away. “Will you marry me?”

  “What?”

  I nod and grab his hand. “Will you marry me?” I bite my lip. “I love you,” I say simply. “I want to spend my whole life with you coping with chaos, eating late meals, and managing bills and eccentric members of staff.”

  “You could do all that without a ring,” he says. He sounds almost breathless.

  Love swamps me. “Yes, I could. But I want to laugh with you, sleep with you, and eat and talk late at night, and I want to do all that with rings on our fingers.” I pause and then say steadily, “I want you protected, darling. If I die–”

  “Oh, don’t,” he chokes out.

  I hug him tight. “If I died tomorrow, I’d be happy because I’ve had you, but hopefully we have many more years together. But if it happens, I want you looked after the way you look after me.” I look at him. His pretty eyes are full of tears, but his gaze is steadfast, and my worries calm instantly because this is my Oz, and he’s perfect for me. “Well?” I ask.

  He wipes his fingers frantically under his eyes and shakes his head. “Of course I will,” he says, and I let out my breath in relief. “I never thought I’d get married, but then I never knew you’d come along, and I would love to be married to you. Not for security but because you make me so bloody happy, Silas. I never knew anyone could mean as much to me as you do.”

  “I’m sorry it isn’t more romantic,” I sigh, but he shakes his head.

  “I find with you that romance is relative to the people concerned. With you, romance is being together, smelling your scent, hearing your voice and feeling your body against mine. It’s false-alarm fire engines and sitting in the lavender garden.” His voice lowers. “It’s sometimes fucking all night and sometimes making love and cuddling in the mornings.”

  Heedless of anyone watching, I take his lips in a long, slow kiss and when I close my eyes, the darkness is lit with the lights from the fire engine and the ambulance.

  When we separate, I smile at him. “Reach in my back pocket.”

  “I suppose I can do that now,” he says demurely. “We are engaged, after all.” He reaches in, finds the envelope, and glances up at me.

  “Open it,” I encourage.

  He slides his finger under the flap and upends it, and two platinum rings fall out onto his palm. He gazes into my eyes and swallows hard. “They’re gorgeous.”

  “Look inside,” I say hoarsely. “I had them engraved.”

  He turns them so he can read by the glare of the lights and I see a tear slip down his cheek. “Fuck, Silas,” he says.

  I grin. “I am maybe the master of romance,” I say smugly.

  He chuckles. “I actually think you are.” He traces the words and reads them aloud. “‘Wherever you are is my home – my only home.’”

  He leans into my side, and I cover his clenched fist holding the rings and bring it up to my lips to drop a kiss on it. “It’s from Jane Eyre. I thought it was appropriate, as that too had a house with mad people in it.” He laughs, and I kiss his head. “I actually had a romantic proposal planned,” I confess, watching the firemen leave and nodding my thanks to the paramedics as they pack away. “I was going to whisk you over to the cliffs at Boscastle and propose over a picnic and champagne.”

  “What was in the picnic?”

  “Bits from Lester Deli,” I whisper.

  He groans. “Is the champagne cold?” I nod, and he grins. “Let’s drink it in bed. And if you’re good, I’ll let you propose again.” He leans close. “I promise to put out.”

  “Let’s lock the door first,” I say faintly, and when he laughs, I glare at him. “And make sure no tours are around.” He grins, and I shake my head. “You think it’s funny. I think it’s scarred me.”

  His laughter floats around us as we wander back to the house lit against the darkening sky. The dogs snuffle about and pad next to us, and I draw him close. Romance might be relative, but so is happiness, and right now at this moment, I can’t believe that anyone could ever be happier than me.

  Merry Ozzy Christmas

  Oz

  The back door opens, letting in the cold, fresh air as I pull the last tray of mince pies out of the oven. I look around and smile at the sight of Silas. This smile seems to be a disgustingly regular occurrence, but who could blame me? Have you seen him? You’d smile too.

  He grins happily at me as he unravels his long scarf and chucks his navy peacoat over one of the chairs. His eyes slide to the tray on the counter, and I swear they nearly cross in pleasure.

  “Ooh, mince pies. And hot too. Lovely!”

  Silas has an addiction to mince pies that’s quite
frankly incomprehensible considering the amount that his tenants and customers give him over Christmas. I’m surprised he isn’t the size of a house, but he never puts on any weight despite eating his own body weight in pastries.

  I smile helplessly as he grabs and hugs me, pushing his face into my neck and making me yell out loud when his cold nose finds my exposed skin.

  “Fuck off, Silas, you wanker. Your nose is cold.”

  He looks me up and down and laughs. “I’m surprised my nose managed to penetrate those layers you’ve got on. If anyone tries to arrange a last-minute trip up Mount Everest, you’ll be set.”

  I look down at my outfit of skinny jeans, fleece-lined boots, and one of Silas’s old jumpers that absolutely swamps me. They’re keeping me warm along with the huge pashmina scarf I have wrapped around my shoulders which I’m sure used to belong to his mother. “I’m sure I would be ready,” I say tartly. “Given the nosebleed coldness of your house.”

  He grins. “You’ll get used to it.” His smile fades out, and he glares at me. “And it’s your house too, Oz. I keep telling you this.”

  I wrap my arms around his waist, burrowing under his jumper to run my fingers across the silky skin of his lower back. “Sorry, I forgot.”

  “Well, you shouldn’t. Don’t forget you’re hosting Christmas with me.”

  “How could I possibly forget? I have a list to prove it.”

  “You’ve got a list for everything,” he says fondly. He looks less fond when he pulls the list out from under the tea canister. “Jesus Christ, this isn’t a list, it’s a fucking dissertation.” He looks at me in a worried fashion. “I’m sorry you’ve been left with so much of this. We’ve just been so busy.”

  “Oh, shut up and have a mince pie,” I say, shoving one at him and watching as he practically inhales it.

  “Lovely,” he pronounces, spraying crumbs everywhere.

  “Did you not go to finishing school?” I smirk.

  He grins and snatches another one. “No, I went to boarding school where I learnt to fall on my food as if a pack of hungry dogs were going to take it away from me at any second.”

  “And that cost all that money? I grew up in a tower block where I took for granted the luxury of chewing before I swallowed.”

  Silas smirks at me. “You certainly do well with swallowing, love.”

  I shake my head. “Perv.”

  “You know it.” He hoists himself up to sit on the counter, swinging his legs and looking like a five-year-old. He grabs another mince pie and chews it while glancing down the list. I know when he spots it because his whole body stiffens. He looks up at me. “Oz, what does this say?”

  “What?” I ask innocently, putting the mince pies onto a cooling rack.

  “This list.” He brandishes the paper at me. “And more particularly item number fifteen. What does this say?”

  I put the tray in the dishwasher. “Oh, I don’t know,” I make myself say carelessly although my half-hidden smile must give me away. “There are so many items on there, it all blends into one.”

  “Well, let me refresh your memory. I’m looking at item fifteen which says ‘make time to fuck Silas.’”

  I bite my lip to stop myself laughing. “And you have a problem with that? Oh,” I say innocently. “Should I have put ‘make love’?”

  “You can say it any way you like as long as it’s not item bloody fifteen. It should be at the top.” He opens the junk drawer and rummages through it before coming out with a biro. He scribbles on the list triumphantly.

  I watch him as I lean against the oven with my arms crossed. “What are you writing? That’s my master list.”

  “I’ve moved item number fifteen up to number one where it belongs.” He nabs another mince pie and jumps down from the counter. Grabbing my hand, he starts to tow me out of the room. “Come on.”

  “Where are we going and why do you need a mince pie to take with you?”

  “I need sustenance because I’m going to very forcibly knock one of the items off your list.”

  “Did that sound sexier in your head?” I ask, fighting laughter.

  “Come on. You can scrub my back in the shower.” He looks me up and down. “If we’ve got time to remove the twenty-seven layers of clothing that you appear to be wearing.”

  “Okay, we’ll do it in the shower, and then I can clean the grout when we’re done and knock item number ten off the list.”

  “Why is that even on your list? I’ve had some strange Christmases in my time, but I’ve never had one where the guests ate their dinner in my shower.”

  “You might mock, but what if a shower breaks and a guest has to use our bathroom?”

  “Then they’ll use it, but we’ll just make sure that we’re first in the queue given how quickly the hot water runs out. I’m a good host, but I’m not a great host if you know what I mean.” He stops and pulls me to him. “Listen, they’re friends and family, not Kim Woodburn. They won’t care if the grout is clean or not. They just want to see us.”

  I run my foot across the worn carpet. “I just want things to be right. This is our first Christmas together, and I want everyone to enjoy it and know that we’re happy.”

  Silas hugs me tight, kissing my forehead. “Sweetheart, they’ll only have to spend twenty seconds with us, and they’ll know that. It must shine out of me.”

  I burrow my head into his chest, taking in the clean, sweet scent of his cologne mixed with fabric softener. It never fails to relax me. “I love you,” I whisper, “and I’m the same.”

  He tilts my head and gives me a warm, lingering kiss. “Then relax.” He grins. “Anyway, Henry and Ivo grew up here. They’re well used to the fact that if you touch something around here, it’s likely to fall off.”

  “I hope not,” I say huskily, rubbing my hand over the front of his jeans. I smile as I feel him harden.

  “Never that,” he mutters. He looks around as if surprised to find that we’re still at the foot of the stairs. He looks at his watch and pulls me after him. “Come on. I promised you a fuck in the shower, and then we’ve got the Christmas carols to go to.” He smiles. “Then a nice meal and Christmas presents in the morning by the tree.”

  I grin. “It’s not exactly Pornhub, is it?”

  “No, but then that’s the site that gives people the impression that twinks seem to fall out of the sky fully lubed and ready to go.”

  “Is that bitterness I detect?”

  He grins. “Not likely. I like that you’re not self-lubricating. I enjoy taking care of that.”

  I wrinkle my nose as he pulls me down the long gallery towards our apartment. “That is the least sexy thing you’ve ever said to me.”

  Silas chuckles. “Stick around, baby. We’ve only been together a few months.”

  He glances up at the walls, and his steps stutter before he stops altogether.

  “You okay?” I ask.

  He shakes his head. “Oz, I’m having some sort of non-drink-induced hallucination.”

  “That sounds fun,” I say peaceably. “Why?”

  “Because I could swear that all my ancestral portraits have red noses stuck on them.”

  “Well, that’s not a hallucination.” He stares at me, and I smile happily. “I did it this morning.” I look up at the portraits. “Personally, I like it. It makes them look positively jaunty, which, let’s face it, is a massive step up from being on the brink of a homicidal rampage.”

  He glances at me again before walking down the long line of miserable gits. When he reaches the one on the end of his father, he stares up at it for a long enough time for me to start getting worried. Have I overdone it? Then he starts to laugh. Great breathless laughter that shakes his body and makes tears appear in his eyes.

  “Oh fuck,” he chokes, looking up at his father’s grim red face before giving another peal of laughter.

  I bite my lip, trying not to laugh because Silas is seriously contagious when he’s like this. Finally, he gets himself in con
trol and reaches into his pocket to draw out his phone.

  “What are you doing?” I ask curiously.

  He grins. “Taking a picture for Henry.” He looks at the phone and starts laughing again. “Fuck, that’s funny. I wish the old bastard had worn that all the time. It might have made him more approachable.”

  “Let’s not go too far. It’s a red nose, not a fucking miracle.”

  That sets him off again, and I shake my head, grabbing his arm and towing him after me. “Come on. Let’s get back on our schedule. We’ve got time to fit in a fuck if we minimise shower time and après-sex cuddling.”

  He lets me tow him along, his face alight with laughter. “It’s like being sexually ordered around by a sergeant major.” He winks at me, and I try not to laugh. “It’s actually very erotic.”

  “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Silas. There’s no room on my list for role-play.”

  The village church looks like it should be on the front of a Christmas card. It was built in Norman times and is utterly charming during the day, but tonight in the twilight it’s beautiful. It’s lit up with golden floodlights which shine on the old brick and make the snow around it glisten.

  We crunch up the torch-lit path, following a trail of villagers. From the open doorway, comes the sound of the excited chatter of children and an organ playing Christmas carols.

  The vicar waits at the door to greet people. After shaking his hand, I stand back slightly so he can speak to Silas. He does this with the accompaniment of a back-slapping hug and a thank you for Silas’s contribution to the fund for the church roof repair.

  I smile at the people moving past us and take the time to admire the sight of Silas dressed in an expensive-looking navy suit with a white shirt and red tie. He looks very fine indeed in the more formal clothes even though his hair is quite wild and needs a cut and I’m sure his beard is approaching biblical proportions.

  I look down at my own outfit of skinny black trousers and a white shirt with a thin black tie over which I’m wearing my black peacoat. I’ve even broken out my braces which brings back memories of my interview.