The party was loud, which he hated, and everyone was drinking, which wasn't as bad. Kyle walked around with a glass of stout, so people smiled to see him with a drink and no-one cared that he only wet his lips with it. He needed to stay sharp.
Christa had come with a set of her friends, as she often did when her father was in the country. Her laugh bubbled over the crowd, ramped up by the alcopop in her hand and the two that had preceded it. She did look like an angel, a little, with the overhead lights making her dark curls glow. If he'd been Jack, he could have got away with it, he was certain, but he wasn't Jack, didn't have the magic.
His chance came when she went back to the bar for an ill-considered fourth drink. He ditched his glass at a side table to make an excuse to get a fresh one, and sidled up to her.
"Hi!" she said, with a diamond gleam. All sparkles, from the glitter paint drawn in an abstract, swirled design from her wrist to her elbow, to the brush of sparkling dust on her red heels.
"Hi," he managed. "You're Christa, yeah?"
"Yeah," she said, and giggled. "I like your accent."
He just kept the blush down. "Really? I've been trying to lose it for years."
"Don't. It's sexy." Suddenly Kyle wondered who was picking up whom, as she said, "You're Kyle, right?"
"You're good."
"Not according to rumour," she said, and laughed again, and yes, she was trying to pick him up. Isabelle had told him she'd heard Christa fancied him, but Kyle had figured she was teasing him. Now what? Jack's lines went through his head and out again. He wasn't cut out for that kind of thing.
Something Callie suggested sprung to mind:
"I like your shoes."
Christa grinned.
Christmas was exactly as painful as planned, and Kyle found himself wishing he hadn't floated the suggestion. Isabelle started things in the car on the way there, needling Kyle while staying polite to Christa. That at least he was used to.
When they pulled up in front of the house, the real act began. Callie greeted them at the door, flinging her arms around Isabelle and barely acknowledging Kyle. Mum was warmer, even kissing him on the cheek, but Dad stayed in the sitting room, only rose from his chair to shake Christa's hand politely before sweeping Isabelle into another hug.
After Christa had been introduced around, Kyle played his own part. "Where's Himself?" he asked, annoyed but avoiding an outright sneer.
"Jack's at work," said Mum. "You know how things are over Christmas."
Christa said, "If it's Christmas, it must be an alien invasion." Isabelle snorted. She'd come to enjoy Christa's company lately.
Callie said, "Aliens aren't always invaders. We're on good terms with a number of extraterrestrial species."
Dad said, "Yes, the ones who aren't shooting at us, eating us, or trying to usurp the planet for resources."
"When we're shooting first, we don't get to take the moral high ground."
"As long as we're not supper for a blowfish, I'm fine with that."
"Blowfish are vegetarians, Papa."
Kyle took Christa's bags. "Let me show you where you're sleeping." He led her upstairs amid annoyed grumbles from the sitting room. At least he wasn't the only one arguing with their parents this trip.
The guest room was ostensibly Jack's bedroom, but he didn't need to keep up that pretence at least, not on a visit where they were flaunting the whole arrangement instead of carefully sidestepping it. Kyle set the bags on the bed while Christa shut the door and then snaked her arms around him. He tensed and then relaxed.
"I was hoping to see your room," she said against the back of his neck.
"My sisters have informed me that shelves full of action figures and comic books are dead last on the list of decorations my girlfriend wants to see."
Christa chuckled against him. "Any rocket ships?"
"A few." All of them had been appropriately modified to resemble real spaceships because there were times when even Jack needed to eat his M&Ms in the proper order.
"Show me your nerdy room."
He took her to his room and let her peek inside, but blocked the way. "Don't walk in there. I think my bed is made up with Thomas the Tank Engine sheets again."
"We could ruin them."
Kyle sighed inwardly, then gave her a quick kiss. "Tempting, but no."
Christa gave him that look, the one she always wore when he broke away from kissing her or holding her, when he made an excuse to leave before he spent the night with her. She was patient with his insistence that they not sleep together, but that patience was wearing thin.
"As much as I'd like to spend the next three days up here," he said, "we should go back downstairs."
"All right." She took his hand. Until they left, and his mother hugged him goodbye, it was the only time anyone touched him for the rest of the visit.
The rest of their trip was deeply uncomfortable. Everyone stayed in her or his role perfectly, and Jack helped by spending most of the three days at the Hub, but coming home just enough to glare at Kyle and overplay his "obnoxious American" act.
Kyle found himself depressed the whole time, missing the easy banter and physical affection he normally indulged in whilst back among his family; home was where the hugs were. Instead, there were cold silences and tight conversations of the type usually reserved for when Uncle Douglas was in town. The others were careful to treat Christa civilly, but as the two of them drove back to London, she told him she was glad he rarely spoke to the rest of his family because she couldn't imagine coming to visit again.
Isabelle stayed an extra day and took the train back. When he picked her up from the station, they went back to her small room and she hugged him for an hour as they talked about stupid things. They both cried a little, though neither would ever admit it.
A week later, he turned her in for espionage.
The General's secretary let him in, and Kyle stood at attention until he was allowed a seat. General Ncube smiled at him from across his expansive desk.
"You asked to see me, sir?"
"I did. I wanted to see how you're doing. This has been a stressful time, and you're at the centre of it."
"Yes, sir. I'm fine, sir." He tried not to think about what was coming next, despite practising every day for it out on the firing range, over and over until his muscles cramped.
"No problems from home?"
Kyle allowed himself a squirm. "I made my decision, sir. I knew my family would be unhappy."
"You should know I'm very proud of your decision. So is Christa."
Kyle smiled tightly. He'd come to like her, which hadn't been part of the original plan. She was smarter than she let on: the alcopops she drank when they went out were always watered down heavily with sparkling water or juice, she could hold her own in talks about politics and books, and while she was concentrating on art in uni, she was studying the history and theory, and wanted to work in a museum.
"I like people underestimating me," she'd told him once, as they'd gone for a coffee after some deep French film she made him take her to see.
"You like surprising them," Kyle had replied, but he'd thought that he knew what she meant. Had they met under different circumstances, had he not set out from the beginning to use her, he'd think she was, if not a perfect match for him, at least someone he wouldn't mind spending his life with, someone who could understand him. It wasn't romantic, not in the sweeping fashion of the stories he'd learned as a child, but he thought he could have been content.
To her father, now, he said, "I'm glad to have her with me. She's been very supportive."
The General smiled. "She, ah, told me about the trip the two of you took back home over the holidays."
He shifted in his chair again. "Sir."
"You know, I've been in UNIT for over thirty years. It's been like a second family to me."
"Yes, sir. Christa has told me as much." He kept his face stilled, a trick his father had shown him years ago. The General didn't need to know she'd added that her own father loved his second family much more than his first.
The General's features softened. "About Christa. May I talk with you with the ranks aside?"
Kyle swallowed. "Sir, if you are asking my intentions toward your daughter … "
"I am, actually. The two of you have been seeing each other for several months now."
"Eleven, sir. I have been informed that I'm taking her somewhere nice for our anniversary."
General Ncube smiled. "Her mother informs me of the same thing on a regular basis."
"If you are worried, sir, you should know that I have attempted to be a gentleman at all times around her. She's a very special girl." Whose purpose was to tell her dad just how miserable Kyle's home life was even before he squealed on Isabelle. She deserved so much more than this charade he'd given her.
"I think so as well, obviously. But I have to ask. You're a healthy young man. Yet Christa tells me … " he faded off leadingly.
"We haven't, sir. I don't believe in that sort of thing prior to marriage."
The General's jaw dropped. He collected himself rapidly. "I'm sorry. I expected, given your background … " Again, he didn't continue.
Kyle finished for him, "That I was raised to think people should be having sex every ten minutes?"
The General spread his hands. "Captain Harkness has a reputation."
"Yes, sir. And my parents have been enjoying the benefits since I was a child. However, that is their decision, and this is mine." He frowned. "Christa's unhappy with me, isn't she?"
"I don't believe so. Just confused."
"As I told her, sir, I'm left-handed."
"Pardon me?"
He wet his lips. "I have a perfectly serviceable hand, sir. I wouldn't dream of dishonouring your daughter by forgetting that."
"I see," said the General, a flush of his own appearing. "Well, then. The confusion is not going to be an issue."
"No, sir. I can explain it to her again if you'd like, sir."
"I wouldn't presume to give you advice on the matter," said the General.
"Of course not, sir." In a way, Kyle wished this had gone differently. If the General had forbade him from dating his daughter, that would have been a perfect ending to the relationship. Instead, he was left with the unenviable task of extricating himself. He'd avoided sleeping with her to keep from hurting her, and now it appeared he'd have to hurt her anyway. "She deserves better than me," he said aloud.
"My father told me once that a happy marriage is made of two people who believe they each don't deserve the other."
Marriage? Who'd mentioned … Oh yes. It had been Kyle. Definitely time to extricate himself before she started planning their wedding. Besides, he didn't want Christa to be there for the next part. More selfishly, he did because he hadn't a single person to lean on now that Isabelle was gone, but he didn't want to embroil Christa further. Kyle hated lying, even as his whole life was a lie. Kissing her felt like more lies, like he was an actor, and she needed more than that.
"Yes, sir," he said softly, and wondered if he should steal one more kiss before the end.
Kyle sat alone in the mess and tried not to think about anything as he mouthed his food.
The worst thing about the whole situation was the quiet. He never had mates, not really. He'd talk with the other soldiers, even go to the pub now and then with them, but he wasn't given to small talk, didn't joke around, and frankly, didn't want to make friends whom he'd betray later. Christa had paraded him around to her friends, and he'd managed "charming" as much as he could with the few in-depth lessons he could squeeze in the last time he was home and safe, but she hadn't needed charming after the very beginning.
And now she was seeing a handsome young Lieutenant under her father's command who wasn't Kyle, and he tried to hope she was happy, but he was also certain she'd started the rumour floating around that he was gay, so he felt less charitable than he could.
The other blokes didn't care if he was gay or not; half their squad was gay or bi. The whispers and stares, and the occasional cut-off laugh, only a handful were about whether or not he'd shag a man. ("Like his dads. Did you hear?") He liked those better than the other reasons.
Callie had looked him in the eye when he'd squeezed the trigger. She'd worn a red halter top that day, showing off her lithe arms, and she'd put on a little half-smile. "Play for the cheap seats," Jack had always told them, "but stay in character." He wasn't sure if the smile was in character, or if she'd been encouraging him.
Her boyfriend Michael stood next to her, a hand on her other shoulder. Kyle'd read his lips: "Don't antagonise them." And she'd kept walking.
He hadn't heard the screaming, not at first, not with the blood pounding in his ears and the echo of the shot deafening him. Aunt Gwen. Their new doctor, Bridget, she hadn't screamed, but she'd run from the crash to come to Callie's side, and that was the last thing Kyle saw before his commander seized his weapon.
"I take full responsibility, sir," Kyle had said. "I gave her three warnings."
"You did. You followed procedure. I still need to take your weapon until we've made a report." His commander looked over at the tableau, as Bridget applied pressure to Callie's wound, as chaos broke out amongst the volunteers at the Good Neighbours protest, demanding that "bloody Torchwood" stay away from her.
"Yes, sir. Excuse me, sir."
"Soldier, you will remain here … "
"Sir, I just shot my sister. I'm going to go vomit over there. When I return, I will be happy to continue to discuss the matter."
As he'd heaved the weak breakfast he'd managed earlier, he'd heard Jack shouting, panic in his voice: "Bridget, talk to me. How is she?" and louder, "Dammit, who took the shot?! Us or them?"
A laugh caught Kyle's attention from across the mess, and shook the memory. He always assumed any laughs were directed at him, but none of the men or women at that table looked his way. This time. The centre of attention was some fellow Kyle didn't recognise, blond-edging-on-ginger type, probably one of the recruits who'd just completed officer training last week. The new guy laughed again, and it carried. Tosser.
Kyle looked down at his plate and noticed most of his food was gone. He couldn't say what it'd tasted like. He could say what the coffee tasted like, but he'd chosen tea for that same reason.
He wanted Isabelle there to talk with. She always knew what to do, although to be fair, her suggestions ran from the absurd to the obscene. If he didn't know for a fact that Jack hadn't met Mum until after Isabelle's birth, he'd guess Jack was her biological dad. It was funny, he thought sometimes. Their parents each had their little clones, and their favourites, even if they insisted otherwise. Isabelle was just like Jack without the damage or the time-travel (yet), and she was Dad's pet. Kyle knew how much like his father he was, and knew that Mum quietly but firmly held him highest in her heart. And Callie …
"Hullo," said a new voice. Kyle looked up. The not-quite-ginger bloke had his tray.
Kyle sighed. "Look. I don't know what your friends told you, but it's probably wrong. I didn't want to hurt my sister, but Regulations say no-one crosses the line. I didn't want to turn in my other sister, but she was spying. And I don't fancy blokes."
The man sat down. "My mates didn't say a thing about any of that, but thanks for letting me know." He smiled kindly. "Oh, sorry. Is this seat taken?"
Kyle glanced around his empty table. "No."
"I was just saying to Harmon over there that you looked like you could use a friend. He said something, no idea what, wasn't really paying attention." Not-quite-ginger shoved mash into his mouth with every sign of enjoyment.
Lt. Harmon had a number of opinions about Kyle. If Kyle had noticed him at not-quite-ginger's table, he'd have been on guard. Now he had a stranger sitting with him. Kyle poked at his own food, not hungry, and settled for finishing his tea.
"I'm fine, thanks," Kyle said. "I like eating alone, Gives me a chance to catch up on my reading." He indicated the book he'd brought with him mostly as a prop against the stares.
"I see." Not-quite-ginger took another bite of food. "This restaurant has an unusual flair, don't you agree? I've seen scallops paired with glazed carrots and artichokes before, but the sauce on the wild rice really brings out the flavours in the rest." He took a tasting sip of the wretched coffee. "And the body on this merlot is striking." His eyes sparked, letting Kyle in on the joke.
Kyle's lips twitched. "I'm just here for the ambience."
"Mum always said," the bloke said, then paused. "Well, Mum actually always used to say, 'Rose, make that husband of yours fix the bloody dishwasher. He's taken it apart again!' But when she wasn't yelling at my brother-in-law, she said, 'Never eat alone. Go out with a mate, have someone in. Alone's no good.' And she'd know. She was alone for a long time, my mum."
Kyle hid his startle at the name. Not-quite-ginger couldn't know how many of Kyle's childhood stories began with: "So this one time, the Doctor and Rose and I … " It was better than "Once upon a time" because these stories were always true, if embellished madly and then bowdlerised quickly whenever Dad cleared his throat.
"It's not an issue," said Kyle, and to prove it, he opened his book, completely unaware of what page he'd been on or even what this particular trashy space novel was about. Didn't matter.
"Anyway, my mates and I were headed to the pub tonight and wanted to know if you'd like to come with."
"I don't … " Harmon was setting him up for something. "No."
"Teetotaller?"
"I don't socialise. Much. Thank you," he added, and went back to not really reading his novel.
"Oh, there's no time like the present. Tick-tock, time's a wastin', sort of thing."
Kyle froze. "Sorry. I didn't catch your name."
Not-quite-ginger held out his hand. "Tyler. I'm new." His eyes laughed, brown as his sister's.
And that was how Kyle met Tony.
Interlude: The Comedy of Edward Rhys Williams and Isabelle Victoire Jones, in Three Parts
Everyone always assumed that Eddie and Isabelle were a couple. They played together as children, hung out together as teenagers, and worked together as adults. He met all her sweethearts almost as soon as she did, and she was responsible for introducing him to most of his girlfriends. (Except Megan. They didn't talk about Megan.) But for all of that, they'd only ever given it a go once, when they were sixteen and horny as hell, and Isabelle had told him later it was like French-kissing Kyle, and that was that. Isabelle was his best, oldest and dearest friend, and the rare times she wandered into his fantasies at night could be dismissed with the notion that every other woman he'd ever met and wasn't related to spent time there, too.
If someone had asked Eddie when he was three who his best friend was, he'd have said Isabelle's brother. (To be honest, he'd probably have said "sock," as language and Eddie didn't come together properly for some time.) When they were kids, Eddie and Kyle and Isabelle played together whenever time and Torchwood allowed. But while Kyle found out quickly that he'd rather curl up on the nearest sofa with a book, Eddie still wanted to play soldiers and action heroes and aliens, and Isabelle loved those games. She took the lead, assigning him toys to move with his pudgy fingers and telling him, "Now this is the game where we're shootin' the bad aliens with the new guns, and you're the bad alien and the Bruce" -- their heroes were always named Bruce for a reason known only to Isabelle -- "and I'm the good alien and the other Bruce."
When they were in the throes of adolescence, Kyle had already adopted his permanent scowl and so Eddie spent his time with Isabelle, who was in his year at school, trudging behind her as she found places for them to break into and explore, standing shamefaced with her when they were caught yet again, and chuckling afterwards as they made up crazy stories about what they'd found. Their favourite hideout was in the sprawling branches of a tree in Eddie's yard, and they'd sit for hours counting the few stars they could see among the streetlights, and reading comic books with their torches.
"You can tell her no," Mam said one night, a headache clearly forming as she drove him home from the police station. Isabelle had already been bundled into Jack's car, and Eddie had just caught the beginnings of "Where the hell do you keep your brain?" before the slam of the door had cut him off mid-shout.
"I know," said Eddie, gazing out his window at the passing streets. But for the life of him, he couldn't imagine why he would.
At twenty, Isabelle called Eddie to tell him she was finishing up her classes at uni and enlisting with UNIT. Only her immediate follow up of: "Don't you bloody dare, Eddie Williams," kept him from doing the same.
"Keep my spot warm," she said.
At twenty-two, Isabelle was up on charges of espionage and more, and Eddie knew the only way she managed to escape prison was because of who her parents were. Funny thing was, as far as Mam said, Torchwood never received any of the things she was accused of finding out, and anyway, Auntie Toshiko had hacked the UNIT systems years ago, giving them any intel they needed. Isabelle refused to talk about it, but she did tell him what they were doing next.
"Eddie, we're goin' to hunt ghosts."
"I need a favour, and you can't tell anyone."
"Good morning to you, too," Eddie said around a yawn. "How's your dad?"
"Better. Favour."
"Fine, fine," Eddie said, stumbling out of bed. Oh God, was it even morning yet? He grasped around the floor for his trousers.
"At ten AM, I need you at the intersection before the hospital. Bring a lorry."
He laughed. "Oh, how'm I gonna do that, then?" The line went dead. "Isabelle?"
Eddie looked at his alarm clock. Not quite seven. He could crawl back into bed and get some sleep, or he could go downstairs before Da woke up, see if Mam left any coffee in the pot, and nick Da's keys. Living with his parents was temporary. He told himself so every morning.
The coffee had gone cold. He made some tea, popped it into a travel mug, and went to steal a lorry.
The engine ran as Eddie tapped his fingers unhappily on the steering column to the rhythm of the only music station the battered old radio could find. When Isabelle tapped on the window, he unlocked her door.
"Go two blocks that way," she said. "There's a car park."
"I'm fine, thank you. And you're quite welcome for the lorry, no trouble at all."
"Now, Eddie."
He drove them to the spot, grumbling as he went. When they parked, she looked at him. "Dad's a little better. Uncle Jack got him a private room for reasons of national security."
Eddie grinned. "So he's feeling much better then?"
"Not for that," Isabelle said, but she smirked. "Here they come." A car, a rental by the look, parked beside them. It took Eddie a full two seconds to recognise Kyle with some other bloke he didn't know.
"Oh no," he said, locking the doors again. "I'm not gettin' involved with this."
Isabelle unlocked the doors and got out. She pulled Kyle into a big hug. Eddie frowned. The last time he'd seen the two of them together, it had been right after Isabelle's trial. Hugging hadn't been on the plate then.
In the mirror, he watched as Isabelle helped the two of them into the back.
"All right," she said. "Hospital. Loading zone in the back."
Eddie held still. "You mind telling me what's going on?"
"Kyle's goin' to see Dad."
"That'll give him another heart attack."
"No, it won't. They both really need this." Isabelle's face was drawn in hurt, and he wanted to give her a quick squeeze.
"If Jack finds out, he'll only yell at you. He'll murder me. And then Mam will go spare."
"He won't. Eddie, you've got to trust me. We don't have much time."
He sighed, and then as he knew he would, he drove the lorry to the hospital's backside where the deliveries came.
"Stay here," she said, pecking him on the cheek. "You can turn off the engine. We'll be back soon, but not that soon."
Eddie watched as she got out, and Kyle and the other bloke got out of the back. Isabelle led Kyle to the back door, which swung open just as they got there. Eddie's heart stopped: he saw the coat before Jack's face came into view. Dammit!
But the door stayed open, and Isabelle and her brother went inside, and Eddie was certain that before the door closed completely, he saw Jack draw Kyle into a hug.
The passenger side door opened and the other bloke slipped inside the van.
"Hi," he said with a smile. "You must be Eddie."
He must. No one else would be crazy enough to listen to Isabelle all the damned time. He loved her, though. Kind of in the way he loved his baby sister, and a little too much in the way he hoped he'd love his wife someday. He loved the way that she ran madly headfirst into trouble. He loved that he could count three pints in and know for a fact she was about to start belting out a disturbingly Sapphic rendition of "Jessie's Girl" into the nearest microphone. He loved that she never, ever left him behind, even though sometimes he suspected that boring old Eddie Williams was the least-exciting thing she saw in any given day, and that included her breakfast.
"Yeah. And you are?"
"Tony." They shook hands.
"You work with Kyle?"
"Sometimes. He's my best mate."
"He used to be mine. When we were little. We don't talk much now." Well, he'd broken with his family, and he'd shot poor Callie, hadn't he? "Jack's going to kill him. And us for helping."
"Family's complicated," said Tony, staring out the window at the hospital. "My Mum always said if you're not tempted to murder someone you're related to, you're not putting in enough effort."
Eddie snorted. "I guess so."
"She said it while she was considering shooting my brother-in-law."
"Did she?"
"Not that time."
"What did he do?"
Tony waved his hand. "Who knows? They were always badgering each other." His face slid into a smile. "John had a habit of taking things apart. The microwave. The car. He always put them back together again. Well, usually. And sometimes they still worked. He showed me what he did to our doorbell one day when he was bored." He shook his head and laughed. "My sister yelled at him for an hour after that one."
"What happened?"
"Let's just say that everyone within a square kilometre of our house was also unamused." They both laughed. Tony was easy to laugh with, bit like Jack.
"Where's your family live?"
"Far." He looked up at the hospital again. "When this is all done, I may get a chance to go home."
"When you and Kyle get back to London?"
Tony stared at him blankly. "Oh. Yes." He was silent for the rest of the wait.
"So, fancy an island holiday?"
Isabelle grinned at him, but it wasn't her usual mad grin that preceded fun and / or legal troubles. She was nervous, dancing up and down on her toes.
"If I said yes?"
"I'd say hooray and thank you and all meals are provided and you can't tell anyone."
Eddie's eyes narrowed. "Where are we going?"
"Bit of an overnight. Flat Holm."
"I thought Flat Holm was off-limits." His Mam got weird when the name came up. Something about Torchwood, he was sure, but Eddie was kept firmly out of and away from Torchwood business.
"We're allowed tonight. And tomorrow. Maybe one day more." Still the nervous bouncing.
"Are there ghosts?"
All their parents had gone spare when Isabelle told them what she and Eddie were doing with their lives. Ghost-hunting wouldn't pay the rent, they said. No actual ghosts had ever been found, they said, with all so-called paranormal activity attributable to aliens or Rift activity. And Isabelle had grinned her "We're going to need bail money later" grin, and told them that just meant the two of them were miles ahead of everyone else in the field, then, and could look for the real ghosts. Which they had, admittedly, yet to find.
"If any place we've ever been has been or ought to be haunted by unquiet spirits, it's this one," she said in a voice so serious that he believed her instantly.
"What do I need to bring?"
Spending two days pretending to be a patient named Roy in a mid-Channel mental institution was not his idea of fun. It was small consolation to see Isabelle in the same predicament, pretending her name was Dale. The food was good, anyway, and he had some books to read, and it wasn't so bad except for the screams and the smells (shit and piss and puke and bleach and disinfectant, God he was ill from it).
A woman in a charcoal grey suit came the second day and looked in at him in his room, and all he had to do was nod and not talk. She asked the nurses questions about "Roy" and they answered mad things: he was born in 2180, he'd been living there four years. The woman smiled at him blankly and made notes on her datapad, and when she went to shake his hand, he did as instructed and he screamed like he was burned.
When the woman left and his room was locked, he spent just a moment panicking, wondering if he really was some man named Roy, lost in time and mad as a spoon, and all his memories were just insane fantasies he'd constructed. He told himself that was silly, he knew who he was, knew who his parents were
His door unlatched. Isabelle poked her head in. "You comin', then?"
Eddie followed her outside into the sunshine.
"Meet me at my house in half an hour."
"Most people know how to say hello, Isabelle."
"Eddie."
The sleeping form beside him stirred. "Who's that, then?" asked Mindy.
"Eddie, you got a girl at your place?" Disbelief and mirth mixed in her voice.
Eddie sighed. "Isabelle, Mindy. Mindy, Isabelle."
"HI MINDY!" shouted Isabelle through the phone. Unfortunately, it was up against Eddie's ear.
"Oh, is that Isabelle? HE TALKS ABOUT YOU ALL THE TIME."
"I KNOW!"
"STOP SHOUTING!" said Eddie.
Mindy blinked at him, and Isabelle said, "No need for yellin'. Now, give Mindy a kiss and tell her you'll see her in a bit."
Eddie bent over to kiss Mindy when he realised what he was doing. "I will not. Mindy and I are going to stay in bed for another hour, and then I'm goin' to cook her breakfast."
"Make her an egg and tell her you'll see her tomorrow. C'mon, Eddie."
Mindy grabbed the phone from him. Eddie tensed, expecting a row. Women did that sort of thing. "Oi," said Mindy. "What's all this, then?"
He could just make out Isabelle's side: "I need to borrow Eddie today. You can have him back tomorrow. I'll even feed him a steak so he's up for extra lovin'."
"You're not tryin' to come between us, right?"
"God, no. I'm glad he's finally gettin' some. Bit sad when he's not."
"All right." Mindy handed Eddie the phone. "Isabelle's going to borrow you today, pet. Be nice and take me someplace tomorrow."
Eddie said, "Isabelle?"
"Yeah? You comin'?"
"I'm comin'." Eddie was sure he'd been out-manoeuvred and just as sure that it wasn't nearly the last time. He sighed again. "Where're we goin'?"
"I'm gonna show you the end of the world."
