Page 59 of The Game

"Yes you do," answered both of us. The Lion pulled open the rear passenger door and inside was a red trimmed booster. "I'm always prepared."

My mouth hung open, but I couldn't think of anything to say.

He navigated the car down the lanes of the village. It was a smooth ride, that's all I'm going to say. How he'd suffered to be in my old shitmobile the last couple of months was beyond me. "Where are we going?" I asked, as we passed onto the main highway towards London.

I should have asked before we’d pulled off the driveway at home.

"You'll see."

We drove largely in silence, the little guy in the back oblivious to the tension stretching between the two front seats as he sang along to the radio. Finally, when we'd been in the car for about forty-five minutes—and that was with the car dodging the build of the traffic on its trip—we drew to a stop outside a towering block of flats.

Silently, the Lion got out of the car and headed for my door. It was ridiculous that his opening the door and holding his hand out for me to jump down from his SUV made my heart beat an odd march. Ridiculous, but the truth all the same. After I was safely on the ground, without shaking my face into the pavement, he got the little guy out. I was sure I saw him give him an extra squeeze as he lifted him down.

Don't look, Lys, it's the work of the devil, and you know it.

I looked all the same.

Without speaking, we followed him into a stairwell that assaulted our noses with a hundred different layers of bad. His shoulders were relaxed and for the first time since I’d known him, his body wasn’t showing any outward signs of tension.

On the fourth floor, he led us down an open balcony walkway and stood outside a white PVC door identified with the number three hundred and three. "What is this?" I asked.

His fingers caught and entwined with mine like it was the most natural thing in the world. "This is me."

He slid a key into the lock and called out, "Dad?" as he stepped inside.

My feet froze on the threshold. Dad? What was this?

"In here, son," a gruff voice called back.

By our joined hands the Lion pulled me down a darkened hallway. A red patterned carpet was under foot and a dim light hung from the ceiling. Entering what must have been a main living area; the walls shades of brown and dominated by a corduroy, faded chocolate sofa; the Lion's face lifted into one of those beautiful grins. One of those ones that said he should be on a mountain in Olympus somewhere with the other gods and not here on earth holding my hand. Along the far wall was an array of silver prize ware and more pictures than I would be able to count. "Cool," the little guy shouted and started forward. I went to follow but was held back but the pull of the Lion's hand on mine.

"Dad, this is Alyssa, who I told you about." He nudged me forward with his shoulder towards the man in the chair. Facially he looked much like the Lion, but his hair was grey, and his body was thin and frail compared to that of his son.

I didn't know what fact was blowing my mind more, the fact that he was introducing me to his dad, or the fact he had already told him about me. Either way there was considerable brain explosion build up going on. The Lion didn't let go of my fingers and I reached forward and shook the bony hand of his father. "Hi," I said, casting a low gaze towards the Lion who was stood looking like this was totally normal.

"Shall I make tea?" he said and let go of my fingers, moving away into a small kitchen area through a doorway off the living room.

The Lion's dad looked up at me and smiled, "Sorry I haven't got up to greet you. This damn arthritis is slowly turning me into stone." He rubbed his knees, and my eyes were drawn to the fact that bony nobles were visible under the material of his trousers.

I sat on the sofa next to him. "My grandad had arthritis badly," I told him. "He used to curse about it every day."

"Curse. Hell, I'd lop my legs off if I thought it would make them any better." When he smiled, he looked so much like his son—who was currently bashing teaspoons around a mug—that it was quite startling.

"Did it start in your knees?" I asked, keen to keep a conversation going until his son returned.

"No, no." He rotated his shoulder, and I knew what he was going to say before he did, "My shoulder."

"Did you used to play too?" I asked.

He nodded, his eyes glancing out of the window where a puff of dense white cloud was floating past. "Yep, on days like this, I miss it."

"When did you stop?" This was fast turning into question time, but I was beginning to realise why the Lion had brought me here. He was trying to explain himself without actually doing any explaining at all. Clever.

"When Jonathan's mother died."

The teaspoon in the kitchen clattered.

"I'm sorry." I smoothed my jeans, my cheeks heating. I don't know why I was surprised the Lion had kept this a secret, although it stung a little bit that we'd stood in my bedroom and talked about Anthony and Vanessa dying. That would have been the moment to announce something like that.