Page 21 of Mercury Rising
“Actually, I’m worried for you,” Bobby said. “If you lose the channel, you’ll regret it.”
Mercury reached out and took Bobby’s hand. “I know that really. I’m sorry. It’s just a lot at the moment. I’ll do a post this weekend although fuck knows what about. At home with Mercury?”
“Make something of it,” Jeannie said. “Do some movie nights or bake frigging bread. It’s only the same as lockdown.”
She had a point. It might be a good distraction too. He would give it some serious consideration.
Bobby drained his glass.
“Are we having another?” Mercury asked.
“Sorry,” Bobby said. “I’m out tonight and need to commence the laborious process of getting ready.”
“Jeannie?”
She shook her head. “My driver is coming at five in the morning. I’m going to bed. The last time I did a show for these bastards, Lorenzo said I had bags under my eyes. I might sleep in an ice bath tonight.”
Mercury tried to fight the stab of jealousy. He was pleased that his friends were taking life by the balls. Yet he wanted to be doing that too. What the fuck did one do home alone on a Saturday night?
“I wonder if they’ll package the rest of these cakes to go.”
A rivulet of sweat trickled down Mercury’s side and dripped off him. Ever since childhood he had loved the heat. His father’s mother had said it was the Syrian in him. That might be true.
When he’d realised he would be stuck in the UK for most of the summer, he had assumed lying underneath warm rays would have to wait until he had the chance for a winter break somewhere lovely.
Yet London had been enjoying a spell of nice weather. Not as warm as the previous summer when everyone had practically melted. Still, he was more than happy to seize the moment.
As usual when the sun came out, Madeline took to the shade like a vampire with bad timekeeping skills. She operated in a world where female ageing remained a cardinal sin. Even a wintery sunny day had her grasping for the high SPF cream.
Today she sat under a parasol in a cerise maxi dress. Such a contrast to Mercury who lay flat out on a lounger in a skimpy pair of striped shorts.
“How was your lunch?” she asked, dropping the copy ofVogueshe’d been reading.
“Fine,” he replied. “Although I prefer dinner.”
“I’m sure you do. That’s off the menu for a little while.”
Mercury raised his head. “Did you make a pun, Mother?”
“Maybe.”
“Good job you have an army of scriptwriters at your disposal.”
She took an olive from a little bowl and threw it at Mercury. It ricocheted off his chest.
“Hey,” he said, wiping the residue.
“Oh, please,” Madeline said. “You have more oil on than any of these olives. Honestly, Mercury. You’ll be crying when you’re old and look like a raisin.”
Mercury grinned. “I’ll ring your surgeon when that day comes.”
She threw another olive. “You know I only have a little Botox.”
Madeline had had two facelifts, a brow lift, liposuction and a Brazilian bum lift. All procedures were banned topics of conversation.
Mercury settled down to enjoy the afternoon. Madeline sighed, causing him to sit up again.
“All right,” he said. “What’s the matter?”
