No.
Come at 3.
Simple.
Not wanting a repeat of the previous day, I make sure Effie has a quiet morning at home. We eat a hearty lunch before we start our trek across London to Anders's home. He has a two-bedroom apartment in a fashionable industrial conversion in a trendy part of London, but Effie scarcely notices the artisanal bakeries or the chic bistros with their daily specials chalked on a blackboard as she skips along beside me. Her happiness is unmistakable.
I know she's read and re-read the section on bearded dragons in her reptile book in preparation for this day. She's also asked me to read the Wikipedia pages on the subject out to her.
Anders opens the door, and I am shocked. He is pretty informal at work in his black jeans, but I had never considered he could be even less formal at home. There's a pair ofsweatpants lying low on his hips, skimming a very enticing bulge, and his feet are bare: long toes, trim nails, as handsome a pair of feet as ever existed. I raise my eyes rapidly. His hair is unbrushed, even more tousled than normal, and he hasn't shaved. His jaw is covered in the most appealing scruff that frames his lips, already quirked up in a quizzical smile as he watches my apparent fascination with a point on his chest. I've decided this is the safest place to look.
“Anders!” Effie calls joyfully. This is the equivalent of any other child throwing their arms around a grown adult. “Where is she?” she adds.
Anders steps back. “Through here,” he says.
But I pull my daughter back. “Where are your manners?” I gently remind her. I’m aware that many people in this life will mistake her urgency for rudeness and therefore I am trying to instil in her behavioural traits that might make life easier as she grows older. She backs up a step and looks at the floor as she says, “Thank you for letting me come.”
“It’s an absolute pleasure I assure you.” Anders tilts his head.
He leads us along a corridor to an open door into what is clearly his office. A full bank of screens sits around a desk at one end, an ergonomic chair pushed back. My guess would be we’ve interrupted Anders working. In one corner is Anders’s full-sized suit of armour. But adjacent to the door is what we have come for: a large wooden cabinet with a glass front on the upper part, Smauglette’s vivarium.
Unfortunately, it’s too tall for Effie to see anything. Anders gives a quick excuse and returns with a dining chair. He helps Effie scramble up. The look on her face is awestruck. All I see is a brownish, ugly lizard, but Effie whispers, “She’s beautiful.”
She twists her head up to look directly at Anders. “How old is she?”
“Quite old now. She’s eight.”
“Thatisold.”
Wait till she learns Anders is thirty-five. I look about the room. There’s not much in here to interest me: some textbooks in a bookcase, a bank of computers in a rack, a couple of posters for Cerium games. As Effie and Anders continue to talk herpetology, I wander over to the window. Like the open-plan kitchen-lounge, it faces the river.
Outside, the sun sparkles on the water. A barge swishes by, scattering droplets of reflected light. In the distance, traffic crawls across a bridge like a myriad of millipedes. Idly, I watch the world go by while my daughter blossoms at having someone else who will listen to her enthusiasm, someone who appreciates this is her love language – the sharing of her greatest joy.
Minutes pass and I zone out. Then I feel a tap on my arm. Anders is standing beside me, the head of his lizard cradled in the palm of his large hand, her body and tail curled around his brawny forearm. Lucky lizard.
“Effie is going to feed her,” he says. “I thought it best to do it in the living room. There’s more space.”
Effie's big blue eyes are shining. She's brimming with barely suppressed joy. While Anders carries his pet, Effie clutches a small plastic box. With one hand at her back, I guide her into the lounge. At the far end, an L-shaped sofa sits around a gaudy rug, facing large patio doors that lead out onto a balcony. The doors are cracked a little to let in air. Anders slides them shut before crossing his legs and smoothly descending to the floor. Effie follows suit less elegantly and plumps down on the edge of the rug. With his free hand, palm out, Anders gestures an invitation for me to sit as well.
When I perch on the sofa, he shakes his head and points to the floor. I slide down, smoothing my dress out under me until I am sitting with my back to the sofa and my legs stretched out in front.
“Now?” Effie whispers.
Anders lowers his hand. Smauglette lifts her scaly leg and climbs off. She holds a pose. Effie is struggling with the lid of her plastic box. Anders takes it, loosens the lid, and hands it back to her.
She's beaming as she lifts the top to reveal — a cockroach. I slide back hard against the sofa, full of horror and disgust. But both of them are ignoring me. With their eyes fixed firmly on the lizard, Effie tips the box over, halfway between me and Smauglette.
Suddenly finding itself out in the open, the roach takes off, heading for the nearest piece of shadowy safety: the drape of my skirt. Attracted by the movement, Smauglette goes from languid to light-speed in a fraction of a second. My scream is only just reaching the correct pitch when both the roach and the lizard disappear under my dress.
I yank my skirt up to see what is happening. I don't care that I only shaved my legs to the knee or that Anders can see my ragged bikini line; I am terrified the roach will seek further safety in my knickers. I feel a million tiny pinpricks as spiky lizard claws clamber over my thigh. There's no sign of the roach.
I brace myself to spring up, but before I can move, Anders's voice commands: “Hold.” Such is his tone that despite my terror I freeze, although I continue to shriek. “Get it off me!”
Then Anders's warm hand is sliding down my thigh. It’s strangely calming. “She’s far more delicate than she looks,” he murmurs and I’m not sure if he’s referring to the lizard or me. With one swift motion, the bearded dragon is back on his forearm, and my cry has changed to: “Where is it? Where has it gone?” I'm still thrashing about when Effie pats my leg. She is choking back laughter.
“It's okay, Mummy. It's in her.” She points to the lizard, now looking smug on her muscular perch.
“She needs to rest now,” Anders says. “It helps her to digest.” His eyes find mine. “There's nothing to worry about.” He tries to reassure me. “We'll put her back now.”
