Threats that didn't exist. Or threats that did, and I was too tired to clock them.
"I know," I said.
I'd agreed to move to Surrey because when I looked at Mac, the math was simple. I couldn't be the woman hiding above a coffee shop anymore. Safety looked like Russian alphas with unlimited bank accounts and very long memories, and apparently I was the sort of mother now who chose safety over pride.
Still. Leaving hurt.
I'd scrubbed these floors while pregnant and nauseous. Argued with suppliers. Memorized the orders of pensioners whocame in every Tuesday and complained about the same things in the same sequence. I once cried into a sack of coffee beans because the boiler packed up and I had thirty-eight pounds in the business account and the repair quote was four hundred.
This place hadn't saved me. I saved myself here. There was a difference.
Mac made a snuffling sound against my chest.
"I know," I told him. "Very emotional. We'll make it quick."
Lena came round the counter and hugged me with the awkward, hovering reverence people reserve for newborns and unexploded bombs.
"You'll be brilliant," she said.
"I'm already brilliant. I'm just tired."
“Come on.” She laughed, but her eyes were wet. Mine were too, so I looked down and pretended to inspect Mac's hat. Mainly because it was, miraculously, still on.
We walked to the door of the cafe.
Fergus barked from somewhere outside. He was near Gregor's ankles, as usual he was impatient and full of self-importance in his travel harness. He'd appointed himself Gregor's partner sometime during the birth and hadn't resigned from the position.
"You'll look after her?" Lena called to Gregor.
Gregor's face didn't move. "With my life."
Lena blinked.
"He means yes," I said. "He's like that."
The jet was a flying living room with wings and a pilot who looked at Gregor as if he'd rather crash into the North Sea than disappoint him. Cream leather. Carpets thick enough to lose a shoe in. A bathroom bigger than my old flat's kitchen.
Gregor handled everything. He knew where the nappies were. Which bag had the spare clothes. The cabin temperature, the flight time, whether the bassinet straps met infant safety standards. He'd even produced tiny noise-cancelling headphones, which he fitted over Mac's ears before takeoff with the concentration of a bomb disposal expert.
Mac looked like a miniature astronaut. He didn't wake when the wheels left the ground.
The real surprise was Fergus.
My high-strung, deeply suspicious Yorkshire terrier had not left Gregor's side since the birth. At cruising altitude, I watched him trot over to the massive alpha, issue one demanding yip, and hop directly onto Gregor's lap.
Gregor didn't push him off. Didn't even look surprised. Just rested one scarred hand on Fergus's back and started scratching in slow, rhythmic passes. Fergus was snoring inside of thirty seconds.
"You're a dog person," I said.
Gregor gazed out the window. "He provides an adequate early-warning system."
"He doubles his weight when wet."
"He’s brave and persistent."
I smiled for the first time in days. "He thinks he's yours."
"He’s mistaken."
