Page 82 of Special Delivery
Oh well, it had been fun while it lasted. Summoning the energy for the non-Dani phase of the night, Poppy turned to April and puffed out her chest. ‘I’ll sort out this music,’ she yelled, and staggered across the dancefloor to the middle-aged man pressing keys on a laptop.
‘Can you play some Taylor Swift?’ she yelled.
‘What?’ he yelled back.
‘Taylor Swift!’ she hollered, squinting to read the playlist on his screen. She’d find the songs herself if only the words would stop moving.
‘Heyyyyy!’ shouted a voice behind her as two arms reached around to grab her wrists. ‘Easy there, tiger. Are you requesting Taylor Swift again?’
‘Yesssss,’ she sighed, leaning into the familiar torso. ‘I love her.’
‘Knew it,’ said Henry, spinning her around to face him. ‘Please never change, Pops,’ he said as he smoothed her hair back. ‘I’ve missed you.’
‘I see you nearly every day, Henry.’
‘Not like this, though.’
‘No,’ Poppy admitted. ‘Not like this.’ She looked down at herself, her chest sheened with sweat, Dani’s dress sticking to her body way too provocatively. She gave a pitiful whine and fell into Henry’s chest. ‘Oh, Henry, I’m druuuunk.’
‘I can tell,’ said Henry, wrapping his arms around her. His pores smelled of rum and his stubble was scratching her bare shoulder. ‘Should we get out of here?’
Poppy looked over and saw April being lifted into the air by someone she recognised from the tent. Next thing she knew Henry was holding her hand and guiding her out of the pub. The deja vu from the early 2010s was uncanny.
‘N-needed th-this,’ stuttered Poppy, standing near the taxi rank, her body temperature falling rapidly. ‘Air. Cold. Z’good.’
Henry stood next to her in his blue-and-white-striped shirt; his jacket was draped over Poppy’s shoulders. She turned to him. His blue eyes were level with hers. ‘I forgot about your eyes!’ she cackled.
Henry put his arm around her and Poppy tried ineffectually to shake him off. ‘Ya know the good thing about your eyes, Henry? Your eyes are at eye level.’
‘Eye level?’
‘Yesssss, Henry. Eye level! I don’ have to tilt my head to look at ’em. Tall guys are sahhh annoying like that.’
‘You calling me short, McKellar?’
‘Youareshort, Henry.’
‘I’m taller than you.’
‘Ha! As if that counts. I’m basically a pea. Poppy the pea, thassss meee!’
Henry snickered. ‘You’re a real poet, Pops.’
Poppy elbowed him. ‘And you suck, Henry.’ She was suddenly starving. ‘Can we get a kebab?’
Henry chuckled. ‘Yes, Pops, and we can get extra hummus, just how you like it.’
Poppy leaned into his shoulder as thanks, enjoying the warmth of him. It was bloody cold out here. Willa would understand that.
They traipsed up to the neon-lit kebab shop. Poppy was wobbly on her heels and Henry seemed to be zigzagging as much as she was, which had a pleasantly neutralising effect.
Back at the taxi rank with two half-eaten kebabs, the air was saturated with freezing mist and the pungent smell of garlic.
‘You’re gross,’ said Poppy, picking a shred of chicken out of her kebab. ‘I can’t believe you asked for extra garlic sauce.’
‘Says the girl fingering her kebab.’
‘See? You are gross, Henry.’
