Page 83 of The Beginning and End of Everything
Brandon throws his head back against the sofa cushions. "We best have more whiskey in the house."
"Well, as always, he's a delight," Hope glares at Brandon and pulls out a long, black box from her purse.
I perch myself on Brandon's lap and run my fingers over the stubble on his jaw. "Be nice."
He scowls at me. "Fine. But we aren't keeping the cat."
"You know,” Kyan says, “People pay like two grand for those hairless cats. Larry said they sold the other kittens for eight-hundred quid each, and they're not even purebreds."
"Well, shit. Somebody hand the little bastard his balls and get him on it," Brandon mumbles.
Hope opens the box and glances at Brandon with a smile. "It's called the game for horrible people. Right up your alley.”
"Well, you are a soulless ginger. And you did bring it."
"You do realize if it's just pure fact, it's not an insult, you twat."
"The two of you are about to do my head in," I mumble. "Can we just play the game and have you two shut up?" I head to the kitchen and open the fridge while Hope explains the rules. I pop a few pizzas into the oven and pour myself another glass of champagne. By the time I get back into the living room, everyone is in a laughing fit.
"Okay.” Brandon holds up a card with a smile. "'And the Academy Award for firing a rifle into the air while balls deep in a squealing hog goes to Mr. Clean, right behind you.'" He tosses the cards onto the table. "That onehasto be the winner."
"Thank you," Kyan says, feigning a bow.
Brandon pats Finn on the shoulder. "Finn, 'Being a motherfucking sorcerer and mouth herpes' was a close second."
"What kind of game is this? Jesus."
Brandon glances up, smiling with Voldemort in his lap. "The game for horrible people, poss."
47
Poppy
August 2015
"I'll see you tomorrow, Doris."
Doris glances over the top of a patient file, her gaze drifting to Mr. Brighton, who is sitting on the other side of the room.
"I'm walking him down on my way out, don't worry."
"Mr. Grumpy.”
"He's not that bad," I whisper, swatting her on the shoulder.
By the time I get on my coat, Mr. Brighton is holding the door open for me. "After you, love," he says with a smile before he glances at Doris. "Have a lovely weekend, you old winch."
"Same affection to you, you wanker."
He chuckles, and we head toward the front entrance.
"Any big plans for the weekend?" he asks.
"Not really."
"Ah, come on now. Lover boy's not got plans for you?"
I shrug. “Maybe.” I’m the only nurse Mr. Brighton will see, and I don’t mind.
