V 02 - Domino Men, The by Barnes-Jonathan

you are.”
    “This is too much,” I protested, feeling a blush start somewhere at the bottom of my neck and gradually stain my whole face.
    “I wasn’t sure of your size.  I’ve kept the receipt if it’s not right.”
    I tore open the paper to reveal an irredeemably hideous V-neck sweater, precisely the shade of lemon curd.
    “It’s fantastic,” I lied, then lied again:  “I’ve always wanted one of these.”  Frankly, at that moment, Abbey looked so rapturously beautiful that she could have wrapped me a dead weasel for my birthday and I’d have thanked her for it.
    She beamed, I thanked her for a second and third time and there followed a bungling couple of seconds in which I tried to kiss her on the cheek only to chicken out and offer her my hand instead.
    “Aren’t you going to try it on?” she asked.
    I flinched.  A lurch of panic in my stomach.  “What?”
    A smile, almost sly.  “The sweater…”
    As I struggled into my birthday present, Abbey cut us both a generous slice of cake.
    “Made this myself,” she said.  “Could be interesting.”
    “What do you think?” I asked once I had squirmed inside the pullover.
    “Very nice,” Abbey said.  “Very tasty.”
    I think I must have blushed again.  Certainly I didn’t say anything further, and as we sat in silence on the sofa eating cake, Abbey wriggled a bit closer.
    “Thanks for the cake,” I said.  “Thank you for my present.”
    She sighed with what seemed like frustration.  “Henry?”
    “What?”
    “You can kiss me now.”
    Like an idiot, I just stared, crumbs of cake cascading from my mouth.
    My mobile began to buzz.  Abbey said later that she wished I’d turned it off and just leapt on her but I think some pusillanimous part of me was grateful for the distraction.
    “Hello?” I said, a little wearily.
    “Darling!  Happy birthday!”
    “Thanks,” I said.  “Thanks very much.”
    “Sorry I’ve not got you anything this year.  I’ll give you some money when I get back.  I know you used to like something to open but you’re a big boy now.  You’d prefer the cash, wouldn’t you?”
    “Of course.  Sounds nice.”
    “Are you having a good evening?  Doing anything special?”  She stopped, suddenly suspicious.  “You’re not at the hospital, are you?  Not with the old bastard?”
    “Actually, I’m in the flat.  With a…  friend.”  I turned to Abbey to check that the description was OK and she smiled impatiently back.
    “I’d better go, Mum.”
    “Many happy returns, darling.”  At the other end of the line I heard the bass rumble of male laughter.
    “Bye then,” I said softly.
    “Bye-bye, sweetheart.”
    I switched off the phone and flung it into the corner of the room.  Abbey was watching with an amused look.  “Your mum?”
    “Yes.”
    “She OK?”
    “Sounded fine.”
    “Good.”  Abbey stretched herself out and leaned back into the sofa.
    “Listen,” I said, as calmly as I could.  “Before the phone rang…  Does that offer still stand?  Would it be possible—”
    Abbey lunged.  In a glorious moment, I felt her mouth pressed hard against mine, the honeyed warmth of her breath, the moist intrusion of her tongue.  We came up for air and sat gazing at one another, stupid sloppy grins on both our faces.  No one spoke.
    Then the phone rang, the landline this time.
    Abbey shook her head in silent, irritated warning.
    I’m afraid I’m the kind of person who gets superstitious about ignoring the telephone.  I can’t walk past a ringing phone booth without feeling an irrational stab of guilt.  So of course I got up, walked across the room and tried not to sound too out of breath.
    “Hello?”
    “Henry Lamb?”  The voice sounded aggravatingly familiar.
    “Speaking.”
    “I’m calling on behalf of Gadarene Glass.”
    I felt myself begin to simmer.  “I thought I’d told you to stop bothering me.”
    “So you did.  But I felt I really owed it to you to try one