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2
LIAM
The last timeI slept in a single bed I must’ve been around eleven. I grew too tall and nagged my parents until they bought me a double. Man, I felt grown up that day. Nowadays, I sleep in a king size in a bedroom as large as five of this tiny bedroom. I scoop up the flowery comforter and place it on the floor outside the room. Ella will need the bedding for sharingmybed with her mum.
Dumping my bag on the unmade bed, I huff and wander downstairs. Mum bangs around upstairs, fussing as she makes the other room up for the new sleeping arrangements. The TV plays loudly from the lounge room—irritating, squeaky voices from some crappy kids’ TV show.Fantastic…Has this child taken over?
A plate of sandwiches rests on the kitchen counter and I smile to myself as I pick them up. Peeking inside, I recognise my favourite cheese and ham filling and know Mum left them for me. Leaning against the counter, I take a huge bite and debate whether to tell the kid I want to watch TV.
Cerys comes into the kitchen. My mum always has the heating turned high and Cerys has taken off her jumper, revealing a tight cotton top stretching across her chest.
I can’t help myself, but I stare at her tits. So, I’m a tits man. As it’s a while since I saw natural, I look longer than I should.
“Do you mind not staring at my breasts?” she says, crossing her arms over her chest.
Breasts. The word makes me smirk.Whoops. “Sorry, couldn’t help myself. You’ve got nice...” I stop as her face darkens.
“You’re disgusting!” she retorts. “Is this how you look at all women? Like they’re objects?”
I blink at her immediate defensiveness.Wow.“No. Sorry, but at least I’m not denying my disgusting actions.”
“Leave the rock star attitude at the door,” she snaps.
“Hey, you’re sleeping in my bed, the least you could do is be nice to me.” I grin but her sour face remains. “Far out, sorry. Uptight much? It’s not like I touched you.”
“I’m a person, Liam, not a pair of tits.”
Fuck, I’m not having this conversation. “Tell your kid I want to watch TV.”
“You tell her.” Cerys pushes past me and I catch her subtle scent as her bare arm touches mine. I’m overwhelmed by the urge to take hold and apologise because behind her disgust I can see that I upset her. Louise’s words about how Cerys is having a hard time makes me guilty about my arrogance.
Still, I don’t apologise. Instead, I step away and into the lounge. Ella sits on the black, shaggy rug, nose practically touching the TV as she watches cartoon pigs at high volume. Grimacing, I sit behind her and pick up the remote.
“I want to watch something different,” I inform Ella.
Ella ignores me or is so transfixed on her show she doesn’t hear. I flick onto a different show and she twists around. The expression on her face matches the sour one her mum gave me several minutes before.
“I want my programme,” she says, and then adds, “Please?”
“No.” I turn back to the TV and keep flicking through the channels.
I expect Ella to scream like the kids in the shops who don’t get what they want. Instead, her face crumples and she stands, eyes brimming with tears. In her hand, Ella grips a ragged piece of cloth that I expect was once brightly striped, but is now dull and dirty. A tear crawls down her cheek and the quiet sadness cuts through my determination to do what I want in my parents’ house.
My hatred of women crying extends to tiny girls, and I hold out the TV remote to the rainy-faced child. Ella takes it and perches onto the sofa beside me, dropping her piece of blanket as she does. The pigs reappear on the screen and I stand to leave—no way am I staying around to watch this.
Ella is fixated on the programme again but patting the cushions on the chair around her as if looking for something. The blanket rag lies on the floor and I pick it up, handing the item to her. Ella’s face lights up and she sniffs loudly.
“Thank you,” she says.
I can’t help but grin at the little girl, as my gestures wipes away the guilt over making her cry. “You’re welcome, little lady.”
She giggles at my phrase and I wink at her. I catch sight of Cerys standing in the kitchen doorway with a cup of juice in her hand, staring at me. Embarrassed she saw me giving in to Ella, I straighten and drop the grin. Cerys’s brown eyes tear up too, confusing the hell out of me. Is crying over nothing a family thing?
I walk toward the doorway, ensuring I look at her face and not her tits this time.
Cerys steps to one side to allow me to pass. “Thank you,” she says softly.
“‘S’okay, don’t want her having a meltdown.” I pause, wishing for some crazy reason that she’d look at me the way she’s looking at her daughter.
“Ella isn’t that kind of child,” says Cerys. “She’s having a hard time and missing her dad, so I appreciate you being nice to her.”
Goldie pads past me and climbs onto the sofa next to Ella, resting his head on her leg. Cerys walks over and hands her daughter the bright blue cup before perching beside her. The little girl snuggles up to her mum, and Cerys strokes Ella’s hair as they watch the godawful TV show together.
I hover in the doorway, looking around the room adorned with the now-tatty Christmas garlands we had as a kid. The scent of pine from the Christmas tree, which is already dropping needles onto the gifts beneath, pulls me back to my own childhood. A stable, happy one.
Poor kid, not in her own house and without her dad at Christmas. I hope some of the brightly wrapped presents beneath the tree are for Ella.
