Spun! (Shamwell Tales Book 4) by JL Merrow

Author:JL Merrow [Merrow, JL]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Riptide Publishing
Published: 2017-06-30T18:30:00+00:00

Neither Rory nor David could work out whose turn it was to cook, and the kids wanted to help anyway, so in the end they all mucked in together. Lucy asked for fish fingers, and her eyes nearly dropped out of her head when David said he’d never eaten them.

“What, never?”

“Never.”

“Never ever?”

“Never ever ever.”

“What did you have for tea when you were little?”

David’s face went dreamy. “Hen—that’s my mother—used to do some yummy black bean and avocado quesadillas. And I used to love her quinoa bites with salsa. But they were only for a treat, obviously.”

Rory and the kids exchanged blank looks. “So . . .” Rory said slowly. “Is that the sort of thing you used to cook before you moved in here?”

“Oh, God, no. I lived on Lean Cuisine and smoothies. Hen did try to teach me to cook, bless her, but we ended up not speaking for a week. She’s really more into acquiring knowledge than passing it on.”

“Uh-huh. Right. Moving on . . .”

Then David had to ask why they weren’t having custard with the fish fingers, cos he’d seen that episode of Doctor Who, and the kids started on at him too, and before Rory knew it, he was opening a can of custard and bunging it in a saucepan.

That Moffat bloke’s got a lot to answer for, Rory thought darkly as he struggled not to gag on his dinner. He felt a bit better when he realised how green David’s face was, and that even Lucy was scraping off as much of the custard as she could and eating it separately.

Leo flippin’ loved it, asking for seconds in actual words and everything. Okay, he whispered in Rory’s ear, but it still counted. Rory felt a bit better after that.

Then they played games until bedtime. Rory showed the kids a bath—they didn’t look that dirty, or whiff or nothing, so he didn’t reckon they needed more than a quick dunk—and got them into their jim-jams and back downstairs with a couple of pillows and some fluffy blankets.

“Leo wants David to read to us,” Lucy announced.

“Love, you can’t ask him to—”

“It’s no trouble,” David cut him off, letting Mr. Willis catch the long pheasant feather he’d been teasing him with and disappear under the coffee table to mangle it at his leisure. “I’d be delighted to. What literary treats are in store for us tonight?”

“Francesca the Football Fairy.” Lucy scrabbled around in her backpack and brought out the book, which was a bit worse for wear these days. “It’s our favourite.”

Rory gave him a commiserating look. “There’s a whole series of them. Football, painting, kitten, even musical flippin’ instruments. You name it, they got a fairy for it.”

“Sounds like a place in Soho I used to frequent.” David hoisted a happily squirming Leo onto his lap and opened the book. “Now, children, are you sitting comfortably? Then I’ll begin.”

Rory listened, bemused, as David’s animated voice brought life back to words he could have recited backwards in his sleep.

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