Page 100 of The Good Neighbour

“I think it’s time I stopped trying to protect people who won’t return the favour.”

Josh shifted so he could see Hugh. “Are you serious about that?”

“It would be a pretty poor joke. Why?”

“I might be able to help.”

“You’ve done quite a lot already.”

“That’s because I love you,” Josh said, kissing the top of Hugh’s head.

“I love you too.”

Nothing could have been more perfect than that moment in a grotty hotel room on the outskirts of Newcastle.

“I’ve been thinking,” Josh said.

“Should I be worried?”

“No. I’d like to make Tuck official. Fifty-fifty shares.”

Hugh sat up. “Are you joking? That might end up being a lot of money.”

Josh took his hand. “I can’t marry you until I’m divorced. This is the next best thing.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

It was London show night. Josh stood in the foyer of the theatre, shifting from one foot to the other. He’d been the most nervous backstage. To the point where Hugh and Michael had banished him to the front of house.

Josh had a suspicion the staff were now starting to get annoyed with him too. He seemed to be under everyone’s feet.

Then his face lit up as some familiar faces came through the doors. Mrs Wimpole, the Professor and Suzanne were waving at him.

“Where’s Madeline?” he asked when they reached him.

“Giving it a few minutes,” Mrs Wimpole said, drily. “She wanted to enter on her own.”

The expression on her face told Josh all he needed to know about what she felt about that. However, Madeline had been playing the fame game for decades. He was grateful to her for lending her star power to the event in the first place.

“How is Hugh?” the Professor asked.

“Remarkably calm,” Josh replied. “This is the big one though.”

Mrs Wimpole took his arm. “I’m glad that interview worked.”

Jessica, his editor friend, had come good on her offer of an exclusive. She had even rushed it through so it made the stands a week after Hugh and Michael had opened.

“’Our homophobic hell’,” the Professor said. “Quite the headline. A pity you couldn’t name the nasty little cretin.”

Hugh had put his foot down about that. Whilst he despised his stepfamily, he refused to put his mother through public judgement.

Flashbulbs from outside lit up the reception.

“I suspect Ms Morrison is arriving,” Mrs Wimpole said.

It appeared the delicate truce had disappeared.

Madeline came through the doors to gasps from other people milling around the foyer. She looked incredible in a gold beaded dress, her dark curls falling around her shoulders.