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“Uncle Roy,” says Phoebe. “Are you dating Keeley or Jamie?”
Uncle Roy’s eyebrows jerk, once. Slowly he puts down his princess cup. “What.”
“Well, you spend a lot of time with them both,” says Phoebe. “And you talk about them both a lot. I’m just trying to work out which one is your girlfriend or boyfriend.”
“Keeley or,” Roy says, and then nothing else. Maybe he’s confused.
“Two boys can date, Uncle Roy,” Phoebe says. “I learned all about it in school.” Maybe he doesn’t know that. He is quite old; maybe he wasn’t taught about it in school like Phoebe currently is, like how Uncle Roy also said he wasn’t taught spellings, but Mummy says that’s just Roy trying to excuse his bad spelling because she was taught spellings and she’s only two years younger than him.
“Really,” Roy says.
“Oh, I get it,” Phoebe says. “You’re being sarcastic.”
Roy does their hand-sign, which is two fists bumped against each other, top and bottom, like the sign language for G, which Phoebe learned in school last year and thought was super cool, definitely her favourite sign language letter of the alphabet (but she kind of also likes L M N too because she can do them quickly, like saying elemenopee). It’s also their sarcasm hand-sign because Mummy said once that Roy needed a sarcasm tell if he was going to be allowed out in public, and Roy said something like I’ve survived forty fucking years and been fine and then Mummy said well how many friends do you have Roy and Roy drank his whole coffee in one go. And then Phoebe said can the tell be the sign language sign for G.
“Well, I’m not,” Roy says. “Dating them.”
“Which one?”
“Either.”
Oh. That’s a bit sad. Phoebe has been privately hoping that Roy and Keeley will get back together. She still sees Keeley because Keeley makes sure to take her out for lunch at least once every two weeks, but she misses when they were together because Roy was so happy. Plus she got to hang out in Keeley’s house with Roy which meant that they’d get to do facemasks together, the three of them, and Keeley would always give Roy the glittery pink ones.
But also—they have been spending more time together recently. Not facemask level, not yet, but they went for lunch the other day, the three of them, and Keeley bought Phoebe a yummy hot chocolate that came with little sugar stars sprinkled on top.
Phoebe says as much, and Roy’s eyebrows jump again. “We’re just… hanging out.”
“Okay,” Phoebe says. “And what about Jamie?”
“What about Jamie.” This is said immediately and a bit hostilely, which is a word Phoebe just learned in school and got a gold star for.
“Well, we hang out with him sometimes too,” Phoebe says.
“Uncle Day doesn’t count,” Roy says, “cos you were the one who fucking invited him.” He passes her a pound as he speaks, because he’s learning the swear toll.
“We also got ice cream with him last week.”
His eyebrows jump again, but downwards this time. The opposite of jump. Fall? “That also doesn’t count. My car broke down. He was giving me a lift to pick you up.”
“But we got ice cream.”
“You asked him to do that.”
“He bought you one too.”
Roy lifts his princess cup like he’s going to drink the entire thing in one go before remembering that it’s empty. Phoebe is in the process of convincing Mummy to elevate her tea parties by letting her use actual tea; it’s a work in progress. “I didn’t ask him to do that.”
But he had, which is the important thing. Phoebe got a Fab because they’re the yummiest lollies and she likes picking off all the sprinkles at the top and eating them one by one, and Jamie asked Roy if he was allowed an ice cream and Roy said no and then Jamie bought one anyway, a Mr Whippy with not one but two flakes, and then gave it to Roy and told him to describe it as he ate it so it could be like he was the one eating it. And Roy said fuck you no and then ate the whole thing and said that was dogshit and Jamie said fuck you I paid for that and Roy licked his lips and said I know.
“Well, I think you should think about it,” says Phoebe.
“Think about what.”
“Dating Keeley or Jamie.”
Roy just looks at her, really looks at her. “Why do you think I want to date Keeley or Jamie?”
“Because you dated Keeley and you’re still in love with Keeley,” says Phoebe, and Roy nods, like, fair enough. “And because you like Jamie and he buys me ice cream.”
“I don’t fucking like Jamie,” Roy says, and slides her another pound before she can say anything.
“That’s why I said you should think about it,” says Phoebe.
“Hm,” says Roy. He looks quite pensive, which is another word Phoebe just learned and got two gold stars for, and means he is thinking about it, but also they are in the middle of a tea party and Phoebe can see Mr Snuggles basically dying of thirst across the circle, so she prompts, “Roy, Mr Snuggles.”
“Right,” Roy says, and passes his tea cup over, and that’s that.
*
It’s Girls Day today, which means Keeley takes Phoebe out for lunch and Roy’s not invited. Normally Roy being not invited was something that existed even not on Girls Day since they broke up, but Keeley’s started enforcing it again now which means there will be outings where Roy is invited which makes Phoebe tremendously happy. Maybe facemask nights can come back.
So anyway, it’s Girls Day, and Keeley has taken Phoebe out to high tea, which is basically just tea parties but fancy. Phoebe is wearing her nicest clothes, the summer dress with the pink flowers and the collar, and her buckle shoes with nice white socks, and she’s munching on shortbread and mini cucumber sandwiches and sipping pink lemonade and listening to Keeley tell her a story about a lady Barbara she works with when suddenly she spots a familiar face over Keeley’s shoulder.
“Jamie!” she says.
Keeley stops talking, eyes going quite wide, and then Jamie comes over, holding a little white box. He looks a bit out of place here, in joggers and a bumbag across his chest, clutching the white box like a shield across his face. “Hey,” he says, cautiously.
“Jamie,” Keeley says.
“Hey, Keeleh.” Jamie’s from Manchester, Phoebe reminds herself, so he’s actually saying Keeley. They speak funny in Manchester. “Uh, hey, Phoebeh.”
Which means Phoebe. Phoebe kinda likes the way he says it. “Hello, Jamie.”
“What are you doing here?” Keeley says. “Don’t tell me you’re here for high tea too.”
“Uh, we’re on the ground floor, Keeleh,” Jamie says. “Not exactly high.” Keeley raises an eyebrow. “This place just does good cheese scones. Come here every now and then to pick some up.”
“Huh,” Keeley says.
“Is that what’s in the box?” says Phoebe.
“Yeah,” Jamie says. He hesitates, looking awkward. “Um. You want one?”
“Yes, please,” says Phoebe, because she loves cheese scones and Mummy only ever buys the fruit ones for special occasions, so, missing the perturbed look on Jamie’s face like he was only offering to be polite, she eagerly dives in and takes two. “Thank you, Jamie.”
“…No worries,” Jamie says. For some reason he’s looking down at his box a little morosely, and all of a sudden Phoebe feels a bit bad.
“Do you want to join us?” she says. “You can have one of my cucumber sandwiches.”
“Nah, I don’t mess with cucumbers,” Jamie says. “They’re like crunchy water.”
“You eat celery,” Keeley says.
“Yeah, ‘cos you drank celery juice and I wanted to be there for you, and stuff,” Jamie says, and then they both look awkward. Phoebe glances between the two of them, but they’re now both stoutly avoiding eye contact, so she says, “Well, I also have fairy cakes.”
“Oh, go on, then,” Jamie says, and takes one, unpeeling the wrapper and putting it in his mouth all at once, like one of those pythons that Phoebe sees on the National Geographic videos her teacher puts on whenever they finish their Maths brain teasers quickly. It’s kind of impressive.
Phoebe also decides now is a better time than any to say, “Jamie, do you like Uncle Roy?”
Jamie chokes on his fairy cake. Keeley’s hands starfish in the air, panicked. “Are you choking? Do you need the Heimlich?”
“Nah, I’m good,” Jamie manages, and then chokes two or three more times. His face has gone a bit red and splotchy. “Uh. He’s all right, I guess. Why?”
“Hm,” Phoebe says.
Now Keeley’s looking at her, too. “Has Roy said something, Phoebe?”
“No,” says Phoebe. “I’m just seeing.”
“It’s complicated,” Jamie says, even though he’d already answered. “He’s a good guy. But he’s also a git. But he’s also okay. But he’s also a dick. You know?”
Jamie has dabs of icing around his mouth, Phoebe notes. “Not really.”
“Yeah,” Jamie says, and rubs at the side of his jaw like he’s itchy or something. “Yeah, okay.”
He’s beginning to look a little uncomfortable, shifting from foot to foot like Phoebe’s seem him do on the telly when the football is on, like he’s about to sprint away from them, and she feels bad again for making him choke and nearly killing him so she says, “Do you want another fairy cake?”
“You ain’t gonna ask me any more about Roy when I’m eating it, are you?” Jamie says.
“No,” Phoebe says. “I think he likes you, though.”
Keeley looks at her. Jamie’s hand pauses on its way to the little cake tower. “He said that?”
“Well, no,” Phoebe says, “but I inferred it.” That’s another special vocab word. Miss Bowen says that if they can use the special vocab word of the week in a sentence and then tell her about it they get one of the cool pencil-toppers from her desk drawer of treats. Phoebe already has one shaped like a monster but Rahim P who sits next to her on Blue Table got one shaped like an alien last time so she’s really trying to use the vocab word right.
“What did he say?” Keeley says.
“He said I don’t like Jamie,” Phoebe says. “Plus a swear word.” She’s not allowed to say them any more since Miss Bowen tattled to Mummy.
Keeley’s eyebrows disappear into her fringe. She told Phoebe that it was a clip-on and Phoebe’s been a little nervous that it’s going to fall off ever since because her clips never stay in her hair. “Oh, wow.”
Jamie just kicks his foot against the ground. “Whatever,” he says, but he’s not looking at any of them. “Can I still have the faireh cake?”
That means fairy in Manchesterish , Phoebe reminds herself. “Yes. But leave the one with the butterfly on it, I want that one.”
Jamie takes a fairy cake with little round silver sprinkles, the pair of which is sitting half-eaten on Keeley’s plate. He eats it whole again, and Phoebe finds her own mouth dropping open a bit like she’s gauging whether she can do that too. “Thanks,” he says, afterwards, wiping his mouth on his sleeve, and the icing around the side of his mouth finally disappears. “Uh, nice to see you again, Phoebeh.” He glances quickly at Keeley. “Keeleh.”
“Jamie,” Keeley says, looking a bit amused.
Jamie ducks his head, and then turns on his heel and disappears.
“He’s funny,” Phoebe says.
“He’s something,” Keeley says, but her eyes are pensive too, the way Roy’s had been when Phoebe brought the topic up to him, and she’s still looking in the direction of the front door Jamie exited through.
“You and Jamie used to date, right, Keeley?”
Keeley finally looks away from the door to her. “A long time ago, yeah,” she says. “Before Roy. Why?”
“Do you want to get back together with him?”
“What?”
“Or Roy?”
“Phoebe,” Keeley squawks.
“Because I think you should,” Phoebe says. “Either, but I want to do facemask night again.”
“You should eat the rest of your sandwich, is what you should do,” Keeley says, and Phoebe does as she’s told, but only because the sandwich is very yummy. Mm, this one is strawberry jam. “What’s with all these questions, mm?”
“Well, you and Roy are hanging out a lot,” Phoebe says. “So I was just wondering.”
Keeley goes as pink as her bow. “We’re not—we’re just friends.”
“Okay,” says Phoebe.
“We’re not back together.”
“Okay.”
“I mean, we did have sex once. But it was totally a one-off thing.”
“What about Jamie?”
“Jamie is,” Keeley says, and then nothing else for a moment. Maybe it’s a thing with Roy and Keeley that words fail, about Jamie. “Jamie is history.”
“History like Egyptians?” says Phoebe. “Or history like World War 2?” Because the Egyptians didn’t even have toothbrushes or cars.
Keeley smiles, a little. “Just history,” she says. “It’s all the same.”
“Not really,” says Phoebe. “In World War 2 they still had phones.” The kind you could bend in half and had to use buttons to press. Phoebe learned that because Mummy bought her a lipgloss set shaped like that and the package said gloss in a phone! and Phoebe said Mummy that’s not a phone and Mummy said yes Phoebe it is back in the day before smartphones this is how we dialled people and Phoebe was quite dismayed because what if you wanted to phone your very very best friend but you got tired of pressing all the buttons. Anyway Mummy’s old so Phoebe’s pretty sure that’s what they had in World War 2.
Keeley’s eyes are distant, like she’s thinking. “I guess you’re right,” she says, half to herself. “And a lot has changed...”
“Like phones don’t have buttons anymore,” says Phoebe.
Keeley’s gaze clears and she smiles at Phoebe across the table. “Yeah, Pheebs, exactly,” she says. “Go on, then, do you want to split the last fairy cake?”
Phoebe sits up eagerly because she’s been eyeing it since Jamie left and she was trying to find the politest time and way to ask if she could have it. “Yes please!”
“Hold on, let me just finish this one, first,” and Keeley quickly crams the last of the cake already on her plate—the one with the round shiny silver sprinkles—in her mouth, like Jamie had. When she catches Phoebe watching her in amazement, they both break into giggles, and Keeley sets about cutting the last cake in half so they can share it.
*
Phoebe was meant to be dropped at Uncle Roy’s after school, but Mummy got called into work early at the very last minute, so by the time Phoebe’s dressed in her uniform and standing on Roy’s doorstep as Mummy rings the bell it’s just past seven in the morning.
“What,” Roy savages as he opens the door, and then sees who it is. “Oh.”
“Morning, Roy,” Mummy says. “Sorry to be an imposition.”
“You never mean that,” says Roy. “Hey, Phoebe.”
“Hi, Uncle Roy,” says Phoebe.
Mummy starts explaining that the hospital asked if she could come in a few hours early because they were short-staffed so she hopes it’s okay that she’s dropping Phoebe for the morning and whether Roy can drive her to school and also make her breakfast. Roy sighs like this is very inconveniencing but says anyway, “Yeah, sure” which makes Phoebe excited because she loves when Roy drops her to school, she gets to ride in his big truck-y car.
“You’re the best,” Mummy says, and kisses his cheek. “Be good for Uncle Roy, Pheebs.”
“Yes, Mummy,” says Phoebe.
“Love you both!” says Mummy, and waves them goodbye as she hurries back down the steps and gets into the car. They both stand there and watch as it takes off down the street, and then Roy says, “Well, come in, then.”
Phoebe doesn’t take her shoes off because she never does in Uncle Roy’s house, and also Roy is still wearing shoes—trainers, like he’s been running—and follows him into the kitchen. “Your options for breakfast are toast and toast,” Roy says, and Phoebe stops a little in the doorway because sat at his kitchen counter also wearing trainers and drinking a smoothie is Jamie.
“Oh, no,” Jamie says, when he sees her. “You’re not gonna make me choke on my food again, are you?”
“Well, you’re not eating, you’re drinking,” Phoebe says, as she climbs into the side across the island from him. She has to take Roy’s hand to get in because it’s a bit tall for her, and Roy winds the seat down a little so her feet are closer to the ground and the counter comes up to her shoulders. “Good morning, Jamie.”
“…Morning,” Jamie says. “Roy, what’s she doing here?”
“Her mum got called into work early,” Roy says. “I’m dropping her at school.”
Phoebe perks up. “Can Jamie come?”
“No,” Roy says immediately, at the same time as Jamie, “Oh, I wouldn’t want to impose.” Then Jamie frowns and says, “What the fuck, why did you say no?”
“You just said no too.”
“I said I wouldn’t want to impose.”
“That’s the same fucking thing.”
“I was just being polite about it! Why don’t you want me to come?”
“Because I don’t want you to.”
“Fuck you, I’d be a great addition,” Jamie says. Phoebe is quietly keeping count in her head. “In fact it’d be safer if I was the one driving because I ain’t the one with dying grampa eyes.”
“I’ll have you know,” Roy says, “my vision is perfectly fucking adequate for men my age.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve got 21/21 vision.”
“Don’t talk shit, that’s not a thing.”
“Yeah, it is, the eye doctor said I should be the one giving them glasses ‘cos it was so good.” Roy frowns at him. “C’mon, let me come. Phoebe wants me there.”
“No she doesn’t.”
“Yes I do,” Phoebe says. “Also you both owe me ten pounds each.”
“Add it to my tab,” Roy snarls. “Fine. Jamie can come. Phoebe, you’re getting wholegrain.”
Phoebe happily swings her feet.
“I ain’t got any cash on me,” Jamie says. “You got Mastercard?”
“I’m eight.”
“Right, duh. PayPal?”
Ten minutes later, and a slice of Marmite toast in one hand, Phoebe climbs into the back of Roy’s car. She’d never tell Mummy this, but she much prefers Roy’s car, because it’s so big and spacious and she has room to kick her feet around. Plus she complained to Roy about how scratchy his seatbelts are so he crocheted her a little seatbelt cover, black and yellow stripes to look like a bumblebee, and today she tugs on it happily, arranging it so it falls over her shoulder. Jamie gets to sit in the passenger seat, because Roy won’t let her sit there until she’s thirteen, but he casts a look into the backseat anyway. “Nice cover,” he says. “Is that a bee?”
“Thanks,” Phoebe says. “Uncle Roy made it for me.”
“Made?” Jamie looks at Roy, who slams his car door shut hard. He’s grinning. “You knit?”
“Crochet, actually,” Roy says, “and it’s good for arthritis prevention so mind your fucking business. Do your seatbelt.”
“Yes, Dad,” Jamie says, but does what he’s told. “You have arthritis?”
“I said arthritis prevention.”
“So you do.”
“So I don’t, because I fucking crochet.”
Phoebe says, “Roy, I already did my seatbelt.”
“Yeah, good job,” Roy says. “Eat your toast.”
“You put too much Marmite on it,” Phoebe complains, but also does what she’s told. Roy has a very rule-following air about him, like a teacher or something. She gets crumbs all over herself and brushes them off, and she sees Roy’s eyebrows jump a little bit in the front mirror. He’s probably just proud that she’s behaving.
“Yeah, there’s a ratio,” Jamie says, as Roy starts driving. “Butter to Marmite. You gotta go heavy on the butter.”
“You’re a freak,” Roy says. “Why would you eat Marmite on toast if you were just gonna dull down the taste of Marmite?”
“Cos it’s about the implications of Marmite, innit.”
“What?”
“Cos you can’t just eat Marmite by itself, it’s too strong. Like, think about me, right? I’m literally a god. But I can’t let girls know that or they’ll get intimidated so I gotta tone it down. So twenty per cent of me pretends to be you.”
“…What,” Roy says again.
“Yeah,” Jamie says. “You know, to water down the me.”
“Because you’re so unbearable?”
“Yeah, exactly—wait, no—”
“What you’re saying, is pretending to be me helps you get girls.”
“That’s not what I’m saying, if you turned your hearing aids up even a crack and actually listened, I actually said the opposite—”
“No, no, that’s what you said—”
“That’s not what I said—”
“You both dated Keeley,” Phoebe chimes up, which has both Roy and Jamie falling dead quiet. “So I think it worked.”
She’s only saying what actually happened so she’s not sure what the issue is, but the car is very silent for the next minute and a half. She just shrugs to herself and munches on her toast, which is too Marmitey, Jamie’s right, Roy needed to add some more butter, and then Roy says, a little strangled, “Radio.”
“I love the radio,” Jamie says immediately, and then the car starts playing classical music. Phoebe hums a long, kicking her feet in time to all the trumpets, and has another bite of her Marmite toast.
They arrive at school fifteen minutes later, and Roy parks and says, “C’mon, Phoebe” and doesn’t look at Jamie. Phoebe still has half her toast left but she can’t walk and eat, so she leans forward in between the two front seats and offers it to Jamie. “Do you want the rest?” she says. “It’s not very nice.”
“Hey,” Roy says mildly.
“Not enough butter,” Jamie agrees. He says butter like boo-tah, like a polite ghost. “Uh, thanks, Phoebe.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Phoebe,” Roy says, a little more firmly, so Phoebe undoes her seatbelt and slides out of the car. Roy has to help her with that, too, because it’s got big wheels so it’s very high up off the ground, like a carriage. “You got everything?”
“Yes, Uncle Roy,” Phoebe says, and Roy nods, and holds out his hand, which she takes, and they walk into school. “Why isn’t Jamie coming in with us?”
“Because he’ll slow us down chatting up the mums,” Roy says. “He’ll be fine, probably. I left a window open.”
“Why don’t you want him chatting up the mums?”
Roy looks caught. “I don’t—that’s not—he can do what the fuck he likes.”
“Okay,” Phoebe says. “Because I thought it might be because you liked him.”
Roy makes that frustrated zombie grunt-exhale noise that he makes whenever they play Disney Trivial Pursuit and he’s losing. Mummy makes the same noise whenever she’s trying to imitate him. “I don’t like Jamie.”
“But he was at your house this morning,” Phoebe says.
“I’m training him.”
“Because you’re his coach?” Roy nods. “Do you train the others?”
Roy looks like how Phoebe feels whenever she has to take one of her yucky lemon vitamin pills. “Uh.”
“I think you might like him, Uncle Roy,” Phoebe says, but Roy is getting the cagey look again like he’s about to start punching people like she sometimes sees him do on telly right before Mummy quickly switches channels, so she says, “Can we see Keeley again soon?”
She was hoping to make him look friendlier, but he gets even tenser. “Why.”
“Because we like Keeley,” Phoebe says. “She said she was going to do my makeup next time.”
“Then you and Keeley can see each other.”
“But I want you there.” Roy grunts something, and Phoebe stops walking. Because Roy’s holding her hand he has to stop too, and he turns and gives her a look. “I thought you and Keeley were friends. She said exactly that, we’re just friends.”
Roy looks pinched even though he always says the same thing. “Things between me and Keeley are a bit complicated at the moment, Pheebs.”
Phoebe brightens. “That’s what Jamie said about you.”
“Jesus Christ,” Roy says, and rubs his forehead. “Fine, okay, we can see Keeley, if you stop talking to me about Jamie.”
“But you do like him,” Phoebe pushes.
Roy’s shoulders get very close to his ears. “He’s.”
Phoebe swings their joined hands patiently.
Finally, Roy sighs, and lets go of her hand. Phoebe frowns at him, because they never let go hands on the school playground, that’s like their golden rule, but then Roy says, “I fucking hate Jamie” and then bumps his two fists against each other, top-to-bottom, the sign language G.
Phoebe smiles. “You owe me five pounds.”
*
Phoebe loooooves Keeley’s house.
It’s all pink and sparkly and exactly the sort of house Phoebe wants when she’s older. She knows Uncle Roy lived here for a bit when he and Keeley were dating but he moved out when they broke up which means the house got even pinker and more sparkly because all his stuff was gone, which is the only upside to them breaking up. Phoebe loves Uncle Roy but also loves pink and sparkles and Keeley.
She also loooves being in Keeley’s house with Roy, who steps inside like he’s not sure he’s allowed, like he’s wearing muddy shoes or something even though Phoebe knows he’s wearing his new boots that Mummy thwapped him over the head with a magazine for because no reasonable person spends eight hundred pounds on shoes Roy and Roy said in response well I did and she says well you’re not reasonable then because that’s obscene and he said at least it’s not drugs and she got quiet and said well that is true. And that was a week ago. Anyway, he’s in good company because Phoebe is also wearing her special occasion shoes, the ones with the fancy buckles, because, well, it’s a special occasion. Her shoes only cost twenty pounds though.
“Well, hello there, Miss Phoebe!” says Keeley, and gives her a big hug. Keeley is wearing her funny animal slippers, the ones that make her feet look giant. She lets Phoebe wear them whenever they have sleepovers together. “You look fabulous.”
Phoebe preens, and points her toe so she can show off her shoes. “Do you like my shoes, Keeley?”
“Like them? I fucking love them. I think I have a similar pair.”
“Really?”
“Yeah! Mine have got a bit of a heel on, though—you can try them on later.” Phoebe smiles: she loves when she gets to try on Keeley’s high heels. Keeley straightens, then, standing up to her full height, so she can look Roy in the eye. Or the chest. She’s a bit shorter than Roy. “Hi, Roy.”
“Hi, Keeley,” says Roy.
They kind of just stand there looking at each other. Phoebe quickly gets bored. “Can we play a board game, Keeley?”
Keeley jerks a little. “Yes, come this way! A round of Rummikub and then homemade pizza?”
Phoebe cheers.
Roy is very bad at Rummikub so Phoebe wins first and then Keeley wins, and then they move on to make pizzas, which isn’t so much homemade as it is Keeley bought pizza dough that they have to roll out and then top accordingly. Phoebe likes hers with ham and cheese, it’s the yummiest topping, but Keeley has a whole spread so Phoebe experimentally sniffs at the anchovies and the artichoke hearts and the brussels, yuck, but is intrigued by the olives and mushrooms so puts a teeny handful of each on the very corners of her pizza to try. She’s so involved with her decorating that she nearly misses the way Keeley leans over and shapes Roy’s pizza into a heart, and Roy sighs and rolls his eyes about but when Keeley leans back, satisfied with her work, he doesn’t change it, just resignedly goes about putting his toppings on. Then when Keeley’s back is turned he flicks an olive at her, and full on belly-laughs when Keeley exclaims in outrage and throws a handful of flour at him that blows right back in her face.
They play another game of Rummikub while the pizzas are cooking that Phoebe wins—“this game is fuckin’ rigged,” Roy mutters, and Keeley pats his hand sympathetically and says, “Are the scary colourful blocks stumping you, Roy?”—and then the pizzas come out and Phoebe waits with her chin on the counter as Roy carefully takes them all out the oven wearing Keeley’s heart-patterned oven mitts and puts them on a cooling rack.
Then he takes the last pizza out and his face flattens. “What is this,” he says, and Keeley, on the other side of the counter next to Phoebe, happily dumps her chin in her hand.
“It’s my pizza,” she says. “Do you like it?”
“Why’s it look like that.”
“’Cos it’s you,” she says, and Phoebe cranes on her tip-toes to see, and starts giggling when she sees Keeley’s pizza is decorated to look like a face, with lots of anchovies and spinach for the hair and beard, a string of salami slices for the frowny mouth and two olive coins for the dark eyes. “Pretty good, yeah? I’m an artist.”
“You’re something,” Roy says, and Phoebe’s heart jumps a bit when she sees he’s trying not to smile. When he notices her noticing he immediately schools his face but it’s too late because she saw and he and Keeley are totally getting back together. “You’re the one who has to eat that many anchovies.”
“Not a problem,” Keeley says easily. “I love anchovies.”
“There’s something so wrong with you,” Roy says, but he doesn’t sound upset; more like he’s being sarcastic, like under his oven mitts he’s doing the sign language G, like when he said you’re a freak to Jamie. “Right, cut up your fucking pizza then, Picasso, I’m going grey here.”
“You’re going grey anyway, Uncle Roy,” Phoebe says, and Keeley starts giggling as she merrily runs a pizza roller through Pizza Roy’s face. Roy throws a piece of cheese at Phoebe, and Phoebe ducks, giggling too.
“Hey, hey, don’t make a mess of my kitchen,” Keeley says. “Roy, take a note from your pizza. Peace and love.”
“I’ll kill you,” Roy says. And then, like it pains him, “Pizza and love.”
Phoebe is already looking at Keeley when she pops back up from her cheese missile duck, resting her head on her arm on the counter, so Keeley will cut her pizza for her after she’s done slicing hers, which is the only reason she sees Keeley’s face grow all soft and happy and mushy at that, eyes shining, and she just kind of just smiles at Roy. Except Phoebe is also really hungry and Keeley’s hand has slowed on the pizza roller so she nudges her a little and says, “Can you do mine next, Keeley?”
“Shit, yes, of course,” Keeley says, and quickly finishes hers before moving onto Phoebe’s.
*
Phoebe’s favourite place in the world away from home is Keeley’s house, but her second-favourite place is her bedroom in Uncle Roy’s house.
Roy has a nice big house with two cars in the front and lots of bedrooms, Mummy calls them spare rooms, but one of the bedrooms has basically been turned into Phoebe’s second bedroom because she sleeps in there once a week while Mummy and her new boyfriend go on date night. It first started out as all of Roy’s spare bedrooms did, which is just white with a bed, but then Roy started slowly buying her things so now Phoebe has a pony duvet cover and so many pink fluffy pillows and fairy lights and even a lava lamp. She’s currently trying to get Roy to buy her one of those huge unicorn stuffies; it’ll just complete the room.
Anyway, it’s date night tonight, so Mummy and her boyfriend Paul drop her at Roy’s house and Roy tells them to have a good night and then asks Phoebe how she feels about Indian. And Phoebe says I’ve never had Indian because whenever they do family takeout night they always get Chinese or Vietnamese and Roy stares at her for a bit and says, “Well, we’re fucking fixing that.”
“I don’t suppose we could get a fraction of that swear toll,” Mummy says. “I want to splurge on antipasti.”
“You have a job,” Roy says. “She’s saving up for a turtle.”
Mummy looks at Phoebe. Phoebe nods. “I have the name picked up already,” she says. “Martin Scorsese.”
“You’re such a weird kid,” Roy says.
“I hope the turtle is staying with Uncle Roy,” says Mummy.
“She’s not my kid.”
“You gave her the weird.”
They have a stare-off. Paul says, “Sofia, our reservation is at seven.”
“We’ll talk about Martin Scorsese later,” Mummy says, and kisses Phoebe’s head. “Have a good night, chick. Be good.”
“Yes, Mummy.”
“Love you!” Mummy says, and Paul waves as they descend the steps and get into the car.
“Uncle Roy,” Phoebe says, and Roy looks at her. “If Martin Scorsese lives at home can you get a turtle as well so they can be friends?”
“Absolutely fucking not,” Roy says. “Come on, we have a shit-tonne of Indian food to order.”
As it turns out, their delivery driver watches football, because when Roy opens the door his mouth drops open and he says, “Holy shit you’re Roy Kent” and Roy says, “Can I have my tikka” and the driver gives them three extra naans and attempts to also give Roy the shirt off his back before Roy says, “Get the fuck off my property” and the driver yelps a little and runs back towards his moped. Phoebe doesn’t mind so much because as it also turns out she loves naan bread, like so much better than regular sandwich bread. She also loves the chicken pakora and vegetable samosas and especially the onion bhaji but she isn’t so sure about the sag aloo so Roy eats hers, and then she has a mouthful of his beef madras and is glad she ordered the chicken tikka instead because it’s much yummier.
They’ve only just begun to make a dent on all the food Roy ordered when the doorbell rings, and Phoebe looks up from her plate. “Who’s that?” she says.
Roy makes his zombie grumble noise. “I’ll tell them to fuck off,” he says, and heaves himself up from his spinny stool to head towards the door.
Phoebe shrugs, turning back to her food—she’s just started on the sag paneer and it’s so good—when, from down the hallway, she hears Roy say, “What the fuck are you two doing here?” He doesn’t sound angry, just surprised, and she cranes her neck to try and see who it is but she can’t lean back far enough on her chair and it’s too high for her to get down by herself. “Did you get fucking mugged? Where are your clothes?”
“Hi, Roy,” says Keeley’s voice, and Phoebe starts trying to wiggle off the chair to go say hello. She sounds a bit weird. “Sorry to drop in like this.”
“Are you even wearing pants?”
“There weren’t time,” says another voice, which is definitely Jamie’s. “Free-willying it at the moment.”
“It takes five seconds to put on a pair of pants. I can literally see your whole cock.”
“Don’t be fucking dramatic, I’m literally wearing joggers.”
“They are a bit clingy, Jamie,” Keeley says. “See, I can see the head right there.”
There is a pause. Phoebe manages to slide successfully off the chair.
“Huh,” Jamie says, sounding surprised.
“You got a fucking banana dick, mate,” says Roy.
“Oh, yeah?” Jamie sounds suddenly defensive. “And what do you have, two shrivelled raisins? Does anything still come out or just sand?”
“Jamie,” says Keeley sharply, and Jamie falls quiet. “Don’t be rude. Remember why we’re here.”
Jamie sounds a bit surly when he says, “Oh, yeah.”
“That wasn’t an insult,” Roy says, after a pause. “By the way.”
“I know,” Jamie says. “Sorry. It’s just instinct now.” Another pause. “They’re not raisins. I’ve seen them in the showers.”
“What,” Roy says, and Keeley says, “Roy, we need to talk.”
This is when Phoebe rounds the corner, still holding half of her naan bread because it really is very yummy, and her eyes fall on Keeley and Jamie at the same time as their eyes fall on her. Keeley is wearing a very large jacket that she quickly wraps around herself before Phoebe can see what she’s wearing under it and Jamie is shirtless and only in a pair of jogging bottoms, and he hurriedly cups his hands over his private parts like he’s naked.
“Hi, Keeley,” Phoebe says, after a moment where Keeley and Jamie stare at her, a little horrified. “Hi, Jamie.”
“Uh,” Jamie says, after an extended pause. “…What’s up?”
“Phoebe’s here,” Keeley says faintly.
“Yes, she is,” Roy says. He sounds a little faint too. He keeps looking at them. His eyebrows have done their jump thing, perched in his forehead somewhere near his hairline which Mummy always jokes is receding and he says fuck you my hairline’s fine I’m not grey yet and Mummy says I didn’t even mention grey. “We’re doing Indian night.”
Keeley still looks a little horrified, but Jamie perks right up. “No way, I fucking love Indian,” he says. “Can we come in?”
“Were you,” Roy says to them, and the nothing else. Keeley is looking at him very intently like she’s trying to communicate through her eyebrows. “Um. Knock yourself out, I guess.”
“Cool,” Jamie says, and strides in. He’s wearing socks and sliders that he kicks off at the doormat and then tromps in, following the smell of food to the kitchen. “No way, you got vindaloo! That’s me favourite.”
“Don’t fucking touch the vindaloo, it’s mine,” Roy shouts, like instinct, even though he and Keeley are still looking at each other. Then he says, “You should probably come in too,” so Keeley does. She’s wearing flip-flops; her painted toenails are on display.
“Did you get butter chicken?” she says.
“Yeah,” Roy says.
“You hate butter chicken.”
Roy makes his zombie growl noise again, and Keeley smiles, a little.
“Man, this is delicious,” Jamie says, and Phoebe trails Keeley and Roy as they enter the kitchen. “Where’d you get this from?”
“Parvind’s,” Roy says. “On UberEats.”
“I’m a Deliveroo man,” Jamie says.
“This is the most bizarre day of my life,” Keeley says aloud though it sounds like she didn’t mean to, but she takes the seat next to Phoebe’s. Roy helps Phoebe back into her chair.
“Do you want to take your jacket off, Keeley?” says Phoebe. “Aren’t you hot?”
“Ah, um,” Keeley says. “I think I’ll keep it on for now.”
Phoebe shrugs.
“Also pass me that butter chicken,” Keeley says. “It literally smells so sexy, I need to consume the entire thing with my bare hands.”
Roy slides it her way as he and Jamie sit across from them. Jamie is eating Roy’s vindaloo; they wrestle over it for a moment before they ultimately settle, only elbowing each other occasionally, and share. Jamie makes a stab with his fork that Roy knocks off course and snags the chicken piece that Jamie was after.
“Mate,” Jamie says, affronted.
“Sharing is caring, Uncle Roy,” says Phoebe, which for some reason makes Keeley choke on her paneer.
“Not my fucking vindaloo,” Roy says, and Jamie flicks a grain of rice at him that Roy flicks back. “Yes, Phoebe, I’ll bill you later.”
“I still owe you money,” Jamie realises. “How much? Ten quid?”
“Ten plus interest,” says Phoebe.
“Interest?”
“Twenty percent per month.”
“Christ on a stick,” says Jamie. “Okay. I ain’t done Maths since GCSE so you get back to me when you’ve worked that out.”
“Seventeen pounds twenty-eight pence.” Jamie gapes. “Uncle Roy is on three thousand and six pounds thirteen pence.”
Roy shrugs, unaffected.
“Phoebe, you’re, uh, staying here all night?” says Keeley.
Phoebe nods. “It’s Mummy’s date night so me and Uncle Roy are having a sleepover. We’re gonna watch Encanto.”
“Encanto’s shit,” Jamie says. “Frozen’s so much better.”
“What the fuck did you just say,” says Roy.
“Encanto’s just boring, innit. Frozen has so much better songs.”
“You’re sick in the head.”
“Well, you’re both wrong,” says Keeley. “The correct answer is Tangled.”
The real correct answer is Moana, that’s Phoebe’s favourite film, but she sits up. “Uncle Roy, we need to watch all of them.”
“That’s a great idea, Phoebe,” says Roy. “All three films.” And then he, Keeley and Jamie all look at each other, really look at each other, the kind where their eyebrows are doing all sorts of jumping and falling like they’re trying to do their secret talking. Phoebe thinks it would be much faster if they learned sign language like she can, she can say the alphabet and hello and goodbye and where is the bathroom please and I’m constipated. “You don’t have to stay.”
Phoebe frowns, because she wants Jamie and Keeley here, actually, but then Jamie sits up, uncomfortably. “No, we’ll stay,” he says, and then he looks at Keeley. “Right, Keeleh?”
Phoebe looks at Keeley too, and Keeley’s looking across the table at both Jamie and Roy with this look in her eyes Phoebe can’t quite place, but then she smiles, small but definitely there. “Yeah,” she says, and she’s looking at Roy right in the eyes when she says, “Of course. We’re staying.”
“Yay!” Phoebe says. “Like a four-person sleepover.”
“Oh, you have no idea,” says Jamie, and then yelps. “Who kicked me?”
“Right, well,” says Roy. “I’ll get you both some… clothes.”
He stiffly rises from the table and makes a beeline upstairs. Phoebe says, “Like pajamas? I’ll get changed too!”
Keeley helps her out her chair, and Phoebe takes her little unicorn backpack from the living room where she’d left it and goes upstairs to her room to get changed so the sleepover can begin. On the way she passes Uncle Roy’s room and through a crack in the door she can see him standing very close to a wall just staring at it, but Mummy says that sometimes men just have their off-switch moments so Phoebe reckons that’s what he’s doing and continues to her room.
She gets changed into her pajamas, her cool stripey ones with the matching top and bottom and hood with the cat ears on top, and then takes out her plaits and brushes through her hair the way Mummy always does before bed. By the time she gets back downstairs, Keeley and Jamie have gotten changed too, Jamie in a hoodie that’s a bit too big for him that says KENT on the back and Keeley in a pair of cut-off shorts and a T-shirt that also says KENT on the back.
“No offence,” Phoebe says, “but my pajamas are nicer than yours.”
“Agreed,” Jamie says. “I’ve got this fucking wanker’s name on me.”
Roy flips him off as he sits on the couch, but he hits his fists together afterwards, the sign-language G.
Phoebe likes sitting in Roy’s big recliner because she gets it all to herself and there’s a divot in one of the arms where she can put her cup filled with orange squash without spilling it like she’s done lots of times on Roy’s couch, oops, so Roy, Jamie and Keeley take the other couch, Keeley in the middle. Phoebe sees both Roy and Jamie swing their arms over her shoulder, and then wrestle each other from the elbow up like a slap fight trying to be the one to do it. Finally, Keeley just grabs both their hands around each of her shoulders and pulls them in so they’re both wrapped around her, and Jamie grumbles that Roy’s arm hair is tickling him and Roy growls that he’s not the one who drenched himself in Lynx, and Phoebe asks them to stop talking so she can hear the movie and they both fall quiet.
They’re watching Encanto first because that was their original plan, which is a movie Phoebe’s seen lots and lots of times before, so she sings along to all the songs and mouths along to all the words she knows. When the sisters sing What Else Can I Do? Phoebe looks at the couch because Roy always sings the Isabela part with her, but to her surprise Roy is fast asleep, his head on Keeley’s shoulder. On Keeley’s other side Jamie is also fast asleep with his head on Keeley’s shoulder, and their arms are on top of each other around the back of the couch.
Only Keeley between them is awake, sucking on a gummy worm and humming along to the lyrics. Like she can feel Phoebe’s eyes on her, she glances at her—and winks.
She turns back to the movie, and Phoebe settles back in her chair.
Roy should really pick which one he’s going to date soon, she thinks. Right now it’s like he’s dating them both, and they haven’t got to that lesson yet in PSHE.