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Corrie ignores suck—a word she has complained about before. A sadness takes over her whole face. It would be childish to drop that I’d give anything to have these two kids call me Papa, tell their asshole bully classmate where to shove his meanness. So I only say what hopefully will put a colourful bandage over the wound I can’t heal.

‘It does suck.’ Then I turn to Ada. ‘But I’m your friend already, papa or no papa.’

They nod.

Corrie pushes back her chair to take her plate to the sink. ‘You’ll have to start preparing for bed soon. So if you want to show Luuk your toys or drawings, there’s still a bit of time.’

‘Are there baby plants in de afwastuin?’ Otto asks, stretching to take a peek. “We want to show Luuk.’

‘Not yet,’ his mom replies.

‘You have a garden in your sink?’

‘Sort of…’ Corrie explains. ‘Sometimes, tomato seeds fall in that little grate on the side, and they sprout. They found it fascinating, so it was decided to be a garden.’

‘I mean, if there are plants…’

Witnessing their everyday life is a gift I rarely enjoy. Now that I have the chance, I feel like the luckiest man to be part of their routine, to be welcome in their home, their life, from knowing about their days at school to seeing their drawings and toys, their little world. I’m only too happy to follow them to their room, when Corrie reminds them they have fifteen minutes.

They start complaining about not needing to go to bed but are also in a hurry to give me a tour of their room, where I’m shown all their drawings and told the names of all the princesses and cars and unicorns and spaceships. Right when I’m sure they’ll be excited enough to stay up all night, Ada lets out a yawn and Otto follows suit.

‘Shall I call your mom to tuck you in?’

‘Will you read to us?’ Otto asks.

‘Sing us one of your songs? Mama’s favorite, the one about whistling?’ Ada continues.

Aha, so Corrie does sing the first song I wrote for her, one of many, but I don’t want to have her summoned to the school again.

‘Why don’t I make one, especially for you?’

Chapter fourteen

Corrie

Before I interfere to stop my kids from using Luuk as their personal playlist, I hear his laugh.

‘Why don’t I make one, especially for you?’

Squeals follow, and now I’m as impatient as my five-year-olds, hiding in the hallway like a proper eavesdropper.

‘How about you go under the covers while I sit here, so you can see me?’ he suggests.

It’s one of the few times I hear them hurry to do something not fun, as they call anything they don’t want to do, and getting to bed when the days get longer is one of those things, because, ‘The sun isn’t asleep yet.’

A chair is pulled up and a throat is cleared. I don’t need to be in the room in order to know how the corners of Luuk’s mouth tilt upwards to form a dazzling smile. Or how his eyes half close, partly hiding their hazel.

Luuk starts singing in that voice that makes his fans swoon and fill stadiums. But the music isn’t his; he’s chosen Bah-bah little sheep’s melody.

I’m struggling to stifle my chuckling, but also about to melt into a puddle at his calm, tender voice singing to my babies, like he did whenever he held them at the hospital after they were born. Only now they’ll remember that they giggled, and maybe brag that the Luuk Meiers sang to them to sleep with a knock-knock song.

Knock-knock-knock boots, who is there?

Two little feet that need to go to bed.

They’ve been running right and left

Now it’s time to dream and rest