Page 53 of Shroom for Improvement

“I’ll be back,” I said. “I promise. I can’t lie, remember?”

Pinky Promises

Sonny

A proper vegetarian fry-up. Veggie bacon, veggie sausage, two organic free-range eggs from the hens in the gardens, hash browns, grilled tomato, beans, mushrooms, and a fuck-tonne of ketchup. Not an avocado, or slice of halloumi, or ramekin of cold wilted spinach in sight. Perfect. And I didn’t even need to ask them for it.

I’d arrived at the dining room, after following my nose like one of those cartoon dogs, and was promptly told by Oggy to take a seat. I chose the same place Claude and I had occupied last night because... I didn’t know why. It felt comfortable, and right.

The radio played in the kitchen. Folk music drifted through to the dining space. John sat in his usual chair, though there was no sign of Jasper or the infamous Helena. Thank gods.

I had planned to call on Claude on my way downstairs so that we might get breakfast together, but when I knocked on his door, he didn’t answer, and when I poked my head into hisroom, I was sure I heard the shower running, and I couldn’t wait. The smells had hypnotised me.

Last night, sharing a bed with him, talking about sprouts and antique cloches into the early hours of the morning felt like a fever dream. I felt giddy. Like we’d spent that time doing much more adult things than chatting about my allotment. I was smiling. I knew I was smiling, my cheeks were hurting, but I couldn’t seem to stop it.

Halfway through my second serving, Oggy placed a plate of what appeared to be eggs on toasted muffins with smoked salmon and hollandaise sauce on the other end of my table. Mere seconds later, Claude came into the breakfast room and dropped onto the seat opposite me.

He looked decidedly more dishevelled than I’d ever seen him. His copper curls were wild. His silver freckles shone brighter against his dark skin, like underneath them all he was blushing. His shirt didn’t seem as militantly pressed as it usually was, and he hadn’t shaved. Had he slept badly? Was it because I’d been next to him, farting all night? He was sound asleep when I’d left a couple of hours ago.

“Morning,” he said, smoothing down his jacket and scooping up his knife and fork. “You’re wearing the otter shirt today.”

It was such an unexpected statement that I had to look down and check. I chose not to comment on my T-shirt, or the way Claude had said “the otter shirt” like he had chronicled all my tees. “Good morning. Sleep alright?”

“Very well.”

Odd. Must be another reason for the rumpled vibes.

“I will try to find somewhere else to sleep tonight,” I said. “When I returned to my room this morning, my chair had returned. Perhaps I could sleep there.”

Claude’s hand hit the table, rattling the crockery. It took him a few seconds to form words. “I’m not letting any guest of mine sleep in a chair. Besides, I have a suspicion you could spend the next two months looking for somewhere to sleep that is not my bed and forces beyond our control will see that does not happen.”

“Okaaay,”I said, drawing out the word. I had no immediate objections to sharing his bed for a fortnight or so while we figured out this ritual together, so I didn’t offer any counterarguments. “Today, I thought perhaps we could look for the library again, or you could show me the ley lines. There’s a few folk stories about mushrooms we could explore. You know, experi—”

“Sonny, I need to tell you something,” he said, his brow pulled down into a deep V. He glanced around the dining room as though making sure no one was eavesdropping. John paused his fork halfway to his mouth, but he was human, and too far away to hear us over the kitchen ambiance and radio din.

“Why does this sound like I’m about to be told off?” I joked, but my smile dropped immediately when Claude didn’t reciprocate.

He closed his eyes for a few seconds, maybe finding the words, and my heart started knocking against my ribs. “I just want to make it clear you’ve done nothing wrong.”

There was a but coming. I braced myself. This was the moment Claude was going to say,“I’ve figured the ritual out on my own and you’re superfluous. Sorry, Sonny, but I’ll no longer be sharing my secrets with you. Good day.”

“But...” he began. Here we go. “Gods, how can I put this? Do you remember when I said the house was magical?”

I nodded.

“Well, it’s not only magical. It’s sentient. It …” He blew out a breath and closed his eyes again. “It likes to be calledJenny, and has independent thought and reasoning, and it’s perhaps a little scheming, and um...” Another breath. “It’s watching us.”

“Jenny? Okay,” I said again, because other words were failing me.

“Always watching us …”

“Okay.”

“Except here in the guest house. Apparently, it can’t see us well here, but in the main house... Jenny sees everything.”

Jenny sees everything.

“Oh.”

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