Page 2 of Oz (Finding Home #1)

“Hey,” I say crossly but he carries on staunchly.

That’s the only way to describe Shaun. Staunch.

He’d have made a good corporal in one of those old black and white war films. Honest and loyal and completely oblivious to social cues like your best friend grimacing at you like a gargoyle.

“He must have done something, Oz. This is the first one you’ve moved in with.

You usually tire of men pretty quickly.”

“I do not,” I say crossly, and he shakes his head dolefully.

“Used to be if you were still talking after clean-up, it was practically wedding bells.”

“Well, there won’t be any wedding bells with James,” I say snippily. “I just discovered him giving my replacement at work a good dicking in our bed.”

“What the hell?” he breathes, his expression turning pink with rage. “What did you do?”

“I like the way you know I did something,” I say slowly.

He grimaces. “You’d never let anyone stand on you, let alone some rich plonker boss.”

“Well, if he has any second thoughts while he’s away, I think they’ll be killed stone dead when he gets home. Along with his sense of smell,” I mutter.

“Do I want to know?” he asks cautiously, and I pat his hand.

“No. You’d only disapprove.” It’s true. Shaun is the softest, most gentle person I’ve ever met. I love him fiercely and sort of think of him as my brother. A six-foot-seven gentle giant sibling who has always been my conscience.

“I only disapprove of the fact that you never loved him and moved in with him because according to you he was good at sex at first.”

“Well, there’s a reason for that,” I say glumly. “He was obviously getting a lot of practice.” I shake my head and rub my eyes. “I don’t even know what I was thinking of. That wasn’t me, letting someone move me in after a few weeks.”

“You want to be loved,” he says stoutly.

“No, I don’t,” I scoff but he shakes his head.

“Yes, you do, and Oz, you should be. You’re the best. You’re funny and clever and really, really kind.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are,” he says doggedly. “You just cover the kindness up with that sharp tongue of yours. You should stop that and let someone see you.”

I shake his arm gently. “You’re the only one to get my soft side,” I say affectionately. “Because I love you.”

“I love you too,” he says happily. “But I didn’t like him. Particularly not for you.”

“Why?” I sigh.

“Because he saw the outside of you.” He flaps a hand up and down by my face.

“You’re bloody gorgeous. All that black hair and those cheekbones I could use to cut paper and those big eyes.

And you’re so small and cute.” I shake my head in awe at the diarrhoea of the mouth currently going on.

“I mean at first you don’t notice because of your height, but you’re actually really fierce and James should have seen underneath all that.

” He shakes his head in a very doom-laden way.

“He should have seen enough to be bloody wary, because you might be small, Ozzy, but you’re like a piranha with fucking sharp teeth. ”

I laugh, something I didn’t think was possible a few minutes ago. “All the better to eat him with.”

“I hope not,” he says primly. “With that behaviour he doesn’t deserve you munching on any areas of his anatomy.”

We laugh but then I slump and rub my hands down my face. “What the fuck am I going to do now? I’m out of a job, a home, and a boyfriend. It’s like some sort of backwards bingo.”

He laughs but sobers quickly. “You can kip on my sofa as long as you want.”

“No, I can’t,” I say patiently. “Because in the end Richard is going to get cross at that.”

“We’ve been friends since we were kids. My boyfriend understands that.”

“I don’t think he’s quite so understanding about the fact that our behaviour is still the same as when we were twelve. Richard’s lovely and you should never jeopardise what the two of you have for anyone.”

“You’re not anyone. You’re Oz.”

I grab him and kiss the side of his head. “I’m an Oz who needs to sort himself out. Find something I can see through, rather than flitting from one thing to another.”

“You’ll stop flitting when you find the right thing,” he says loyally. “You just need to find your right thing.”

“Well, it’s not going to be around here,” I say sourly, looking out on the dirty and dusty London street.

“Fuck, I’m so tired of here,” I sigh. “Always the same faces, the same conversations, the same jobs. I just want something a bit different to wake me up. Are you okay?” I pause and say curiously as he sits up straight and gestures wildly at me. “Have you sat on a drawing pin again?”

“Shut up,” he gasps. “Oh my God. Perfect. Can’t believe it. Just read it. Here you are and hmm. Perfect.”

“Vowels,” I say slowly. “Verbs and connections. They help sentences come together. Like a barn dance for words.”

“Look.” He reaches into his jacket, pulls out a magazine and points excitedly at a box in what I see quickly are the job vacancy pages in …

I turn the magazine over. “This is The Lady ,” I say slowly. “Is there something you’re not telling me, Shaun?”

“Like what?” He’s instantly and easily diverted. However, this time he snaps back quickly. “It was on the table when I sat down, so I read it while I waited for you.” He taps the shiny pages. “It’s actually got some really interesting articles and recipes.”

I grin at him. “It’s like I don’t even know you anymore. You’ve changed so much.”

He growls at me and taps the page menacingly.

I shake my head. “I can’t imagine what ad I’d be any good for in The Lady ,” I say idly, pulling the magazine towards me. “I’m not nanny or new mistress material.”

“They actually advertise that?” he gasps, looking like he’s thinking of grabbing the magazine back.

“They might as well because that’s what normally happens.

It would be refreshingly honest.” I pause before saying in a very posh voice, “I am advertising for someone to take the position of my wife. Lavinia has been a good breeder, but her hips are too wide now and she no longer has the time to pretend to be interested in my boring conversation about stocks and shares and shooting weekends with men like Albert and Wills. I am therefore looking for a younger filly who hasn’t let herself go.

Live-in position. Job requirements are the ability to fake orgasms to a high level and look good on my arm.

Job tenure is probably short term because second wives don’t last long. ”

Shaun stares at me. “You’ve actually got cynicism down to degree level.”

“Thank you,” I say, bowing slightly and making us both laugh. I tap the magazine. “The only job advert in there for me would be one asking for someone who is PhD level stupid enough to move in with their boss.” I laugh. “No references given.”

We both stop and think before he shakes himself like a big dog. “Just read it.”

I obediently look down at the box and read out loud.

“A vacancy has arisen for a House and Collections Manager for a manor house in Cornwall. You will need to have excellent management skills and experience of managing a team. A degree level qualification in Fine Art or the History of Art would be desirable but is not essential. Experience in overseeing house renovation is necessary.”

I look slowly up at Shaun who grins with happiness. “See? It’s perfect.”

“What about this job says a perfect fit for me?” I say slowly.

“This is obviously some sort of country house full of history and very rich, upper-class people. How is an Irish boy from a tower block in Tottenham going to help? They’ll have heritage going back hundreds of years.

I can only name my mum and auntie because my dad didn’t exactly stick around long enough to give my mum his pedigree. ”

He shakes his head stubbornly. “You’re bossy enough that you can tell people that it’s good management skills. You have a degree in Fine Art and History of Art.”

“Which has qualified me for nothing,” I argue.

He lets it go, but when I stand up to leave he tucks the magazine under my arm.

“Just think about it,” he says softly. “It’s perfect.

It’s a six-month contract so you won’t be there long.

It’s away from London and all the old, well-worn paths.

Maybe this is what you need.” I look up at him and he smiles.

“An adventure, Oz. You need that because you’re bored enough to make stupid decisions at the moment. ”

An hour later I look at the lift in the block of flats I grew up in and sigh. A big sign saying ‘Out of Order’ sways gently in the breeze from the door. “Fucking lifts.”

A chuckle sounds behind me and I turn to see my mum’s friend, Mr Pearson, behind me, his arms full of carrier bags. “Took the words out of my mouth, Oz. How are you?”

“I’m fine,” I say glumly. “I think at this point I’d be lightheaded if they put up a sign saying the lifts actually worked.”

He laughs and moves towards the stairs. I shake my head and jump after him. “You’re not carrying those,” I say firmly. “Hand them over.”

“You’re a good boy,” he says affectionately. “I said to your mum the other day what a wonderful son she’d raised.”

“You’re a bit biased,” I say softly, taking the bags laden with groceries from him. “You’ve known me since I was twelve.”

“Your mother showed me your childhood photos the other day. An uglier baby I’ve never seen,” he says solemnly.

I burst into laughter. “Thank you. Don’t be giving me a big head.”

He laughs but then by common accord we both shut up and stick to inhaling through our noses shallowly, so the smell of urine doesn’t go too deep.

By the time I’ve dropped him off at his door and made my way to my mum’s flat, I’m panting like I’ve run the London Marathon and my legs don’t feel like they work properly. I ring the bell and breathe deeply in an attempt not to throw up.

Quick footsteps sound and I smile as my mum flings the door open. She’s tiny, but her Irish heritage shows in her hair, which is still black, and her bright blue eyes.