With the flat to himself, Dannel turned on the Hamilton cast album. He cleaned up the living room and kitchen while singing his heart out. It helped him clear his head.
Checking the calendar in the kitchen, Dannel realised they’d missed their day to sweep the stairs. He grabbed the broom in the corner. His uncle relied on them to help keep things tidy.
With the door open, Dannel could continue listening to music while sweeping their floor. He was grateful for neighbours who didn’t mind a bit of Hamilton and being in a small building. Two floors with a single flat on either side made cleaning up an easier task than a place like Wayne’s.
“Hello, duckie.”
Dannel peered down the stairs to find Adelle and Stanley waving up at him with their little Yorkie bouncing around their feet. “Off for Thames’s afternoon walk?”
“Are you boys still coming to the dinner in a few days?” Adelle asked. It was the couple’s turn to host their building meal this time around. They all took turns. “We’ve gone with a Greek theme this time around. I did mention to Ian that a toga was allowed if he promised to bring something other than red wine.”
“Greeks didn’t wear togas. They wore himations. Which did kind of look like bed sheets, to be fair.” Dannel couldn’t help grinning when Stanley winked at him. “Ossie and I can pick up baklava if you like.”
“Don’t worry about sweeping up our floor. I did it yesterday.” She waved before heading down the stairs.
Shaking his head, Dannel finished up their floor. Adelle and Stanley were a lovely retired couple in their sixties who’d lived in the building for as long as he could remember. They’d been the ones to come up with the idea of having a dinner party.
They’d been having them for years now. Everyone attended. They alternated the host and theme each time.
It had brought all of them closer. Ian tended to throw the most extravagant ones. He was the true definition of eccentric, often sashaying around in a luxurious dressing gown.
His toga would probably be made from the most expensive silk. Ian had lived a fascinating life. In his eighties, nothing seemed to be slowing him down, not even his close call with death a few months prior.
I want to be like Ian when I grow up. Maybe less boisterous and extroverted. And I’m not sure I can pull off his charismatic personality.
No one could possibly be as charmingly extroverted as Ian. The man was a force unto himself. Dannel gathered up his little pile of dust and jogged down the stairs to reach the ground floor entryway.
“Hello, darling.” Ian opened his front door with a flourish, his dressing gown draped around him. “Fancy a cup of coffee?”
Dannel leaned against the top of the broom handle. “Not really. Thanks.”
“Having a quiet day then? Hold on just a moment, darling.” Ian held a hand up before disappearing into his flat, then reappearing moments later with a box. “My lovely assistant brought lemon drizzle buns for me. I couldn’t possibly eat all of them. Here. Share them with your dreamy fiancé.”
Saying a quick thanks and goodbye, Dannel trudged upstairs to their flat. He held the broom under one arm with the box of treats in his other. It required a bit of juggling to get inside and lock the door behind him.
Will Ossie mind if I enjoy all of these by myself? He’ll never know if I do. Is true love sharing treats when he doesn’t even know we have them?
True love is definitely the sacrifice of sugary treats.
I should make tea. And have a bun. And clean the kitchen.
His mind kept throwing out tasks to accomplish. Dannel closed his eyes, trying to slow himself down. It occasionally felt as though his brain were a carousel careening into warp speed.
He was still staring at the box in his hands when the doorbell rang. He almost dropped the precious package in surprise. “Sodding sod it.”
Taking a few seconds to still his suddenly racing heart, Dannel went over to the door. He took a few more deep breathes. I am not up for dealing with conversation right now.
“Hello.” Myron stood with his hand raised to knock on the door when it opened. “Son?”
Dannel clutched the box in his hands, glowering at his father’s nose. “I need you to not add more noise right now.”
“Bad day?” Myron hesitated before stepping into the flat. “I can come by later. Do you need me to call Osian?”
Progress?
Maybe he can learn.
Of all the members of his family, his father had been the one who hadn’t approved of his relationship with Osian. His mum always claimed it was a personality conflict. Dannel never understood what she meant. He wasn’t the one dating Osian, after all. What did it matter if their personalities clashed? How did that even work?
“I’m fine.”
“So fine, you’re crushing the box?” Myron didn’t sound convinced. “You’re obviously not wanting to have a chat with anyone right now. I’ll come by later.”
To his surprise, Myron immediately turned and left the flat. Dannel stared at the closed door. He didn’t know what to do with himself; standing in the middle of the room wasn’t accomplishing anything.
Sitting on the sofa with the box of buns still in his head, Dannel had a massive headache brewing. He tilted his head back to rest against the cushion. Today was not his day.
“Dannel?”
He opened his eyes, peering up at Osian, who had gently shaken his shoulder. “What time is it?”
“Late afternoon. Your dad messaged me to suggest I give you some space.” Osian sat on the arm of the sofa. “I thought he was trying to get me to cancel the wedding at first. Instead, he was worried I might disrupt your much-needed quiet.”
“Odd.” Dannel scrubbed his fingers across his face, trying to wake himself up. “I expected him to push, but he left me in peace.”
“Maybe, just maybe, he’s trying to show you how serious he is about reconnecting.” Osian reached a hand out to help him sit up. “Did you have lunch? I brought pasta from my lunch date with Abs.”
“Did you find anything interesting out?” Dannel stood up, stretching and batting away Osian’s hand when he touched his exposed abdomen where his shirt rode up. “Ossie? About the judge?”
“Abs is going check in with her godmum. She did say Hamnet Allsop had a reputation amongst the clerks at the court for philandering ways and wandering hands.” Osian handed over the container of leftovers he’d brought. “A brilliant discovery if we were looking for his killer. There’s no end of suspects.”
“Unless the judge killed him to keep his secrets safe?” Dannel carried what appeared to be a massive piece of lasagne into the kitchen. “We know there was animosity between them.”
After reheating the lasagne, Dannel grabbed two forks and returned to the sofa. He offered one to Osian. It saved having to fend off him stealing food, despite him already having eaten with his best friend.
Osian twisted around to lie down and ignored the fork. “Go on. I’m sure you’re half starved.”
Dannel settled back on the sofa. “Can you message Rolly for me? See how Wayne’s doing. I don’t think I’m up for conversations with anyone at the moment.”
Aside from Ossie.
“Have you ever wanted a pet?” Osian asked. He shuffled down the sofa until his head rested on Dannel’s thigh. “And don’t say you have me.”
“You’re a person, Ossie. Not a pet.” Dannel grabbed the remote and started flipping channels on the telly. “We can’t even keep a plant alive.”
“We haven’t really tried.”
“We killed Olivia’s prize orchid when we plant-sat for a week. A week.” Dannel settled on a sport channel showing a recap of the football matches. He tossed the remote onto the coffee table. “Who murders a plant in seven days?”