Harm swallowed as he watched his mother's smile stiffen. Though she crinkled her eyes and responded graciously, he could tell she hadn't liked Trick's comment. Her hospitality had been called into question, which was a cardinal sin in the circles his mother moved in. Harm only had himself to blame because Trick was reacting to what he'd said. The butterflies started to turn into rocks in his gut.
"Of course!" Fiona exclaimed brightly, stepping back and holding the door open to encourage the two men into the house. Her former fast-paced commentary resumed as she ushered them over the threshold, closed the door behind them and began hurrying down the hallway ahead of them. "Come in, both of you! Everything’s pretty much ready but I’ve got no idea where your brothers and Cassie are, they should’ve been here twenty minutes ago. I haven't had a text or a call, so something must’ve held them up at practice. Your father’s already carved the pork and everything.”
“Is it absolutely marvellous?” Harm snickered, following after his mother but turning to let Trick in on the family joke. He was very aware of Trick keeping his hands to himself as he followed slightly after him and his guilt over his lie dissuaded him from initiating contact with the water nymph. He missed it, though. “My dad always calls his roast pork ‘absolutely marvellous’ when it’s done, without fail,” he explained with a small smile.
“You know it is,” Fiona answered Harm drolly, ignoring the fact he'd spoken to Trick and not including him in the conversation as she kept walking blithely, just ahead of her son. “I think it’s probably time he got onto the prawns, though. I mean, they’ll only take a few minutes and the others aren’t here but it’s already six thirty and we can’t wait forever. Everything else is done and on the table getting cold! Do you want to get them out of the fridge and take them out to him for me, when you introduce Trick?” she asked.
The whole time she and Harm talked, they were leading Trick down a long, straight hallway that was twice as wide as most. The floor tiles were large and white with grey streaks through them that gave the impression they were made of marble. Family portraits and framed certificates coated the pale blue-grey walls either side of them, all hanging above a dark, antique-looking sideboard and entry table holding a bowl of keys and a vase of fresh flowers. They passed open doorways that led to a formal lounge on the left and a formal dining room on the right, both rooms shrouded in darkness but their signature furniture hulking close enough to the doorways for Trick to identify the rooms' purposes.
The large, open area they arrived in at the end of the corridor was brightly lit and filled with an array of delicious smells and cosily warm air. To the left was a huge stone-topped island bench that stood as an L-shaped barrier between them and the expansive kitchen. The bench held a large, deep double brass sink and the debris generally left in the wake of a huge cooking event. Though they were stacked neatly across the stone expanse, waiting for their turn in the dishwasher or the sink, there was a large collection of knives, cutting boards, strainers, soaking baking dishes and trays on the bench, attesting to the hours of effort Fiona had put into creating their dinner.
Said meal was situated on their right, atop a long dining table with seven places set (one at each end, three on one side, two on the other, the exact amount of tall-backed dining chairs in front of each plate, even though the table could've seated ten). Linen placemats sat on the vibrant blue tablecloth, topped with a dinner plate, soup bowl, shiny silver cutlery and poised linen napkins (that matched the tablecloth) in front of each place setting. Nearly every bit of space in between the plates was filled with dishes on potholders, all with condensation-lined lids and many with steam rising from them.
Harm recognised his mother’s mashed potato (nowhere near as good as Trick’s dad’s), peas, corn and carrots mix, baked sweet potato and pumpkin, her onion, tomato and parmesan cheese bake, a creamy potato bake, two gravy boats, a container for the pork crackling and one holding the sliced pork itself as well as slices of rolled roast lamb and two spaces he knew would be given to the soup tureen (his mother usually made a delicious creamy chicken soup) and the garlic prawns that were yet to be barbecued.
Ahead of them was a living area, with a long low-backed leather couch in front of a wall-mounted television. It had a cabinet beneath it reminiscent of Harm’s place, though with no gaming consoles or back lighting. There was a stereo inside the cabinet and someone's phone was docked beside it so that it would pump out a playlist of easy-listening music. The Eagles were currently crooning about something or other into the large, empty space. A set of darkened, carpeted stairs was situated to the left, between the kitchen and living room.
Most of the wall to the right was glass, made either of huge windows or sliding doors. The dining area was in front of the windows and the living area lined up with the sliding glass doors. Beyond all the glass was a softly lit outdoor entertaining area being patrolled by Harm's father. The lights in the swimming pool were on, their intense glow casting rippled light around the whole outdoor space because he’d obviously been scooping leaves out of the water. It was still wavering animatedly, though Harm could see his dad had moved back past the outdoor dining setting to the barbecue in the outdoor kitchen by now.
"They're in the fridge, Harm," Fiona prompted, drawing Harm's attention from looking around in an effort to imagine what Trick might think about their home. He glanced at his boyfriend reflexively, moving towards the huge steel refrigerator as his mother described the marinating dish he'd find the uncooked prawns in. Once he pulled the fridge door open, however, he dug into the messenger bag he still had looped over his shoulder, withdrawing a long, paper-wrapped object and placing it inside before he carefully withdrew the container holding the prawns.
"What was that?" Fiona asked sharply, not missing the rustle of paper as he'd place it inside the fridge - even though she was fiddling with the running tap and loading the dishwasher loudly.
"It's just a raw bone for Trick's dog," Harm mumbled, annoyed that his mother had forced the information out of him. It had been a surprise for Dood (and Trick, really), an inside joke he'd bought before he went to wait for Trick to finish work - a thank you reward, for the dog that had 'fetched him a boyfriend'. Under his mother's scrutiny, it just seemed lame and also risked exposing his lie - because buying such a gift one night after the fact was a lot different to buying it two weeks after he and Trick had got together. He sighed impatiently but, thankfully, his mother moved on.
"Oh! You have a dog? How lovely," she smiled at Trick, though it clearly wasn't her priority because she frowned as she asked him another question she seemed to find more pertinent. "Do you have any dietary requirements or food allergies I should know about, by the way? We had a child at school have a reaction to a peanut just this week - he went into anaphylactic shock and his epipen had to be administered and an ambulance was called and everything!" she exclaimed, a hand drifting to clutch her apron over her heart, reinforcing her horror. "It was terrible. I don't want to take any risk that that might happen here!" she finished with large eyes.
Harm, who was hovering with the dish he was supposed to be taking out to his father while he waited for Trick to answer his mother, couldn't help but comment. "Wow, one kid going into anaphylactic shock and needing treatment, imagine that," he muttered sarcastically beneath his breath.
His mother heard him and her head whipped in his direction, her countenance darkening as she completely overrode Trick's opportunity to speak. "Well, excuse me, mister smartass, some of us don't run across these things every day and find them very scary!" she snapped. She glared at him until his head was hanging and he was staring at the dish in his hands, silently acknowledging that her medical emergency warranted such cautious responses as asking people about their allergies at every opportunity from now on. Much more relevant than, say, his work in a hospital. As a nurse.
Her son appropriately mollified, Fiona turned back to smile at Trick once more, waiting for his answer.
