turn it off. She had a stiff drink, I had a cup of tea, and we swore weâd never have sex again.â
âYouâve had sex with Helen Foster?â
I managed a chuckle. âNot recently.â
âThatâs better. Arenât you going to open your Christmas present?â
âI have a Christmas present?â
âAn early one.â He grubbed around in his pocket, pulling out a huge red and gold striped rugby sock, which he dangled in front of me.
âThank you, I said, wondering why, out of the two of us, I was always the one who was reckoned to be slightly odd. âAm I supposed to wear it?â
âItâs your Christmas stocking.â
âItâs an old rugby sock.â
âNot today it isnât. Here. Merry Christmas. Sorry I didnât have time for tangerines or nuts.â
I took the sock. âThank you.â
âYouâre welcome.â
I regarded the sock.
âGet a move on,â he said, grinning.
âWhat?â
âOpen your present.â
The sock wasnât as empty as I thought. There was something in the toe. I rummaged around, pulling out a small box, which, according to the picture on the front, should be full of paperclips. If heâd been an historian, I would have suspected a surfeit of Christmas punch. Or possible concussion.
âWell, go on. Open it.â
âNow?â
âI donât think there will ever be a better time. Iâm sorry itâs not wrapped, but I didnât think youâd mind.â
I opened the box carefully and stared.
âWell? Donât you like it?â
Nestling on a bed of cotton wool was a wedding ring. My wedding ring.
Iâm not often stuck for words but on this occasion, I just sat and stared, too afraid even to reach out and take it. Eventually, I dragged my eyes away to his face.
âHow did you know?â
âBecause Iâm the dogâs bollocks,â he said modestly. âObserving the big white mark on your finger, your guilty expression, and remembering Bashford and Greyâs recent jump, I leaped, gazelle-like, to the correct conclusion. Easy for a man of my talents.â
âYou mean you checked your pod logs.â
âAnd that as well.â
âYou went back for it?â
âI did. I simply retraced your jump and followed you following them. I made your stallholder an offer he couldnât refuse and retrieved your ring.â
Wild thoughts ran through my mind. What had he done? Had we substituted the problem of the gun for something even worse? What had we left behind now?
âOh my God. Leon, what did you offer him?â
He smirked. âThree rolls of toilet paper.â
The afternoon began to take on a slightly surreal quality. âWhat?â
He repeated it patiently. âThree rolls of toilet paper. You know â âProperty of St Maryâsâ stamped on each sheet. Although God knows why. Itâs not as if anyone has ever queried ownership. Either before or after use. I donât know why on earth you didnât think of it. A clear demonstration of the superiority of the technical mind I think even you must admit. Anyway, he was delighted. When I left, he was pulling off the individual sheets, one by one, to the huge admiration of those around him.â
Toilet rolls â enough of a novelty to be valuable and attractive and very biodegradable.
âLeon, you are â¦â I stopped, unable to go on.
âYes? Donât stop there.â
I shook my head.
âYouâre not going to cry again, are you?â
I shook my head.
âGive me your hand.â
I stretched out my hand.
He slid it on to my finger. âMax, I give you this ring â again â because I love you. You are all the world to me and thereâs nothing I wouldnât do for you.â
âLeon, I take this ring â again â because I love you and â¦â
I couldnât go on. More
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