Page 38 of Animal Instincts
“Oh, no you don’t, my boy. Do you think I’ve not seen you, peering through the curtains every five minutes, like some old busy body? Do you think I don’t know who your date is?”
“This isn’t a—”
Joss’ words were whipped away as Gran darted past him, surprisingly fast for a late vintage septuagenarian, and slung open the door.
“Dr. Strachan, do come in.” Gran stood aside and behind Oliver’s back fixed Joss with a grin that was pure, gleeful mischief.
“Thank you, Mrs. Faraday.”
“Be off with you, Doreen will do. And I’ll call you Oliver. Ooh, is that for me?” Her eyes lit up at the box of chocolates Oliver held.
Soft centre fruit creams, and denture friendly. Joss met Oliver’s eye, and the two of them shared a tiny, conspiratorial smile.
“Yes, it is.” He handed over the box. “Just a small thank you for all the—”
“Sorry, Gran, we’ve got to go.” Joss took hold of one of Oliver’s arms, to guide him back out and away from whatever cross examination Gran had in store for him. But Gran had other ideas, grabbing Oliver’s other arm and tugging him further into the hallway.
“You’ve got plenty of time for a drink before you go on your date.”
Joss squirmed. Date. They hadn’t called it that, but he had asked Oliver out, and Oliver had accepted, so…
Gran dragged Oliver towards the kitchen and all Joss could do was mouthsorry, as Oliver threw him a look of alarm over his shoulder.
Five minutes, that was all, then he’d insist they had to go…
“You sit yourself down, Oliver. Let me get you a barley wine.”
“No, really — Oh, thank you.”
A glass of deep brown sludge was thrust into Oliver’s hand. If Oliver ran for his life, Joss wouldn’t have blamed him.
“For god’s sake, Gran, not everybody likes that muck.” But Joss knew he might just as well be blowing in the wind for all the good it would do, as Gran glared back at him.
“It’s well known barley wine is packed with vitamins and health giving properties. I’ve been drinking it for years.” She held her arms wide as though she were the poster girl for the sweet, sickly, alcoholic brew that had more in common with cough medicine than beer. And who was Joss to argue? He couldn’t remember his gran ever having so much as a cold.
Oliver sniffed at the devil’s brew.
Joss cringed. “You really don’t have to…” Oliver took a small, tentative sip. His eyes widened and he — smiled.
“Hmm, this is rather good. Do they sell it in the Stop ’n’ Shop?”
Gran preened and threw Joss a victorious grin.
Whatever, old lady…
It was time to leave.
“We should be going, otherwise we won’t get a good seat.”
“Hmm, we’ve got plenty of time. Let me just finish this.”
Joss’ eyes almost popped out of his head as Oliver glugged back the rest of the barley wine. Oliver had made a good impression just by turning up with chocolates, but knocking back the lethal muck was a step too far. Oliver needed to be got out the house — and away from Gran — fast.
Joss ushered him out towards the front door.
“Very nice to meet you properly, Oliver,” Gran cooed, as she scuttled behind them.
“See you later—”
