Page 46 of Pride and Privilege

Roscoe thought for a moment. “Bees and honey… Money? China plate… Mate?”

“Yeah. Mate. Friend.” She finished her apple, got up and dropped the core in the bin. “Anyway, it was my grandad who was the real Cockney. He taught me it all. He loved wordplay and puns.”

“So you’re not a Cockney?”

“Just East End. Born in Peckham.”

“Is that where your mum lives?”

“No. Lewisham now. And my brothers.”

“And your dad?”

She leant back against the counter and shrugged. “No idea.”

“Do you…” Roscoe gave the sizzling frying pan a careful stir. “Do you see him?”

“Never met him.”

Roscoe flashed her a look, surprise softening to sympathy as she spoke.

“He was fifteen when they… When my mum got pregnant. So was she. From what I’ve been told, the minute his parents knew my mum was pregnant, they moved away. Don’t even know where. My mum was sixteen when I was born. Missed her GCSE year. But she went back to school after she had me and did them then. My grandparents basically raised me.”

Ugh. Why was she saying all this? Was it all part of Roscoe’seducation—helping him understand her life? Or did she justwanthim to know? Why? It wasn’t like it painted her in a flattering light. Butfriendsdidn’t need to be flattered.

She put the kettle on. They spoke about her grandparents while Roscoe finished cooking, a conversation which, for Poppy, was equal parts pleasure and pain. How she missed them. An unfillable gap in the middle of her life.

When Roscoe passed her a plate, she made an appreciative noise. As she’d guessed, it was a frittata. Roscoe admitted it was about the only thing he knew how to make.

“Thank you,” she said. “I am Hank Marvin like you wouldn’t Adam and Eve.”

Roscoe winked. “Time to fill your Chevy Chase.”

Of course. Because if there was going to be anyone in the world fluent in both LatinandCockney rhyming slang, it was Roscoe Blackton.

“How’s it going then? In Team Blackton Jnr?” asked Adjoa as she queued with Poppy for lunch in the staff cafe. It wasn’t quite lunchout,but it was definitely a treat compared to Poppy’s usual peanut butter sandwich—cheaper per calorie than cheese.

“Busy. Really busy.”

“Ah, so that’s why we haven’t seen you. I thought you were just too busy drawing love hearts on your stationery and sighing.”

“Please. A month working for him has well and truly rubbed away the Roscoe Blackton mystique.”

A ferocious lie.

Or rather…it had rubbed away the mystique, but what had been revealed in its place was something surprising. And infinitely better. Devastatingly so.

“Oh no,” said Adjoa, shaking her head as she picked through the pre-made sandwiches on offer. “Don’t go ruining the fantasy of RB Goldy for me. If he makes you collect his hemorrhoidcream on your lunch break, or you catch him watching chipmunk porn, I do not want to know.”

“Gross. No.”

“There’s got to be something though? Some gossip. Please, I need something. It’s been all doom and gloom on the exec floor for weeks.”

“But George is back now.”

Adjoa gave a wan cheer. “I am glad, though. I guess it was serious, whatever it was. They said stomach flu, but I don’t buy it. Don’t suppose you got any hints from Roscoe?”

“No. Seriously, life with Golden Boy is very dull. Tell me your news.”

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