In which Millie is in desperate need of cheering


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“Are you still moping?” Alicia asked, flipping the lock and the ‘Closed’ sign at the front door.

Millicent growled something unintelligible and slammed the register shut.

“Honestly, Millie, it wasn’t that bad,” Alicia went on.

Millie flashed her a dark scowl before stomping down the small mammal isle, heading back towards the stockroom.

Flicking the light switch with a sigh, Alicia started after her. She stopped at a flurry of knocking, though, and turned around to shout, “We’re closed.” But it was only Angie, illuminated in the spill of neon light from the front sign, grin wide, both hands waving.

Alicia rolled her eyes and plodded back to the door. “What’re you doing here?” she asked as Angie slipped inside.

“Miles is working late. He sent me to walk you home,” Angie offered, still grinning. “How’s the baby?” Stepping forward, she pressed her palms to Alicia’s rounded stomach. “How’s my ickle niece?” she cooed.

“Ang, Axel’s a boy.”

Angelina arched her brows. “We’ll see.” She paused. “Axel?”

“Come on,” Alicia ignored the implied insult – she liked the name – and hooked an arm through Angie’s, urging her along, “Millie’s in the back and in desperate need of cheering.”

“What’s happened to Millie?”

“Disastrous lunch with a boy,” Alicia said conspiratorially, although her voice always carried well and Millie peeked out from the end of the row, lips pursed and eyes narrowed.

“I heard that,” she groused.

Alicia gave her a half-sheepish smile. “Yes, well, it isn’t exactly a secret, is it?”

“If it makes you feel any better, Mills,” Angie said brightly as they passed into the storeroom, “I haven’t made any progress at all with Miss Luna.”

“That’s because Luna Lovegood’s a notorious space case. Her father’s one of those UFO nutters, you know. Says her mum hasn’t really passed, but’s been,” Alicia made a zooming hand motion, “whisked away on an interstellar journey beyond the galaxy. Quite sad, really.”

Angelina shrugged, eyes sparkling. “I think she’s sweet.”

“You would,” Millicent said gruffly.

“Now,” Angie grabbed Millie’s arm and tugged her towards the small table at the side of the room, “we’re not going anywhere ‘til you spill about this disastrous boy-lunch.”

Millie dropped down into a chair and buried her head in her hands. “Nothing happened,” she said, voice muffled.

“She brought me and Colin,” Alicia offered cheerily, Millie’s death glare rolling off her like water on a duck’s back. She waggled her brows.

“Pregnancy has made you ten times more annoying,” Millie said darkly

“No, no,” Angie protested, “she’s always been like this. We’ve just got to tolerate it with smiles, now, since she’s roughly the size of a baby whale.”

Alicia patted her stomach. “Fat jokes will get you nowhere.”

“Anyway,” Angie drew out, “we’re not talking about the broodmare, here.” A fond glance at Alicia softened the jab, then she turned dark, incredulous eyes on Millie. “Why in all that is holy did you bring Colin with you on a date?”

“It wasn’t a date!” she exclaimed.

“No?”

“No!”

Alicia leant over. “It was a date,” she whispered to Angie, only again. Millicent heard her loud and clear.

“It was your bloody idea to come along,” Mille ground out, crossing her arms and slumping further into her seat.

“Well, yes,” she conceded, “but only after you’d already dragged Colin into the mix, and you can’t honestly say you’d have rather it just been the three of you now, can you? Also,” she added, “steak.”

Millie scowled. “You had chicken.”

“Yes, but I could smell the steak. And it was delicious.”

Angelina chuckled, then leant forward onto her elbows. “Who was the date with, then?”

“Ernie Macmillan,” Alicia said before Millie could even open her mouth, “of Dirty Trousers fame. He’s adorable.”

“Oooo, I heard him sing Sister Christian once. You’ve got to admire a man who can pull off a power ballad without looking like an idiot with large hair.”

“Ernie doesn’t have large hair,” Alicia said, brow crinkled.

“Right. My point.” Angie nodded. “He doesn’t wear tight trousers and ungodly amounts of makeup, either.”

“Oh, but that wouldn’t be bad, would it?”

“The tight trousers may—”

“Please,” Millie cut in, massaging her temples, face pained, “can we just.” She squared her shoulders and gave the girls across from her a hard look. “The lunch wasn’t disastrous. He’s just not interested, all right? He was polite and funny and maybe if you hadn’t kicked me every time he glanced my way, Al, he wouldn’t have thought I had a nervous twitch, and he wouldn’t have started eyeing me like a wary dog. So can we just not talk about this anymore?”

Angie reached over and patted her hand sympathetically. “Nervous twitches aren’t so bad. At least Colin wasn’t waxing poetic about your eyebrows or something, right? At least the little bloke behaved himself.”

“Er,” Alicia shifted in her seat, “I wouldn’t say behaved, actually. I mean, it’s Colin. He’s barely paper-trained.”

Millicent grimaced.

“Really, though, everything was going fine until he made the napkin puppets.”

Sagging forward, Millie rapped her forehead onto the chipped formica tabletop.

“The other patrons seemed to enjoy the show,” Alicia offered weakly, hands spread.

Millicent rocked her head back and forth, a low, pained croon slipping from her mouth.

“You know, Al,” Angie said, frowning, “you’re not all that good at cheering people up.”

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