AllFreeNovel
Share Us
‘Well, little fella,’ Sam says to his baby son, whose eyes are as dark and deep and blue as he remembered. Such unblinking trust! It is… it’s quite scary actually. The physical safety of this tiny being is his responsibility – at least for the coming hours – and that’s not all. The other thing he must protect at all costs is this little human’s psychological welfare. His precious head. His innocent heart.
In the kitchen, Joyce claps her hands and leans forward, face etched with glee. She takes the baby from Sam and holds him to her chest, her eyes closing. She lifts him up and down, sing-songing her words to him as she moves him expertly onto her good hip and walks, limping a little, around the room.
‘Hello there, my love. Hello there. Say hello to your great… to your nonna. Say hello, Nonna Joyce, say Nonna Joyce. Non. A. Joyce. Hello! Hello, hello, hello.’
Tommy reaches up and pulls at her nose. Emits a small cooing sound.
‘Did you see that?’ Joyce cries. ‘Need to clip his fingernails though – he’ll cut me to ribbons. Yes, you will, little one, yes you will.’ She nuzzles Tommy’s nose and makes abrrrsound. She gasps, pulls back, goes in again:
‘Ah – brrrrr.’
Tommy giggles.
‘He laughed!’ Sam can barely contain himself. ‘You made him laugh! Do it again!’
Later, and with Joyce’s help, Sam figures out the sling that Naomi has left so he can walk about with Tommy strapped to his chest and keep his hands free. He is heavy though! Sam makes a mental note to buy a larger baby carrier, one to go on his back so he can take Tommy hiking. For practice, he and Joyce wander out into the back garden. It is so vast that there is no need to venture to the park for now. They walk up to the dense copse of firs at the very end of Joyce’s land, then back and round to the front of the house, to the low bay hedge, the sea a live and ever-changing panorama. Then back for another lap to allow Joyce to achieve her step count for the day.
‘These are bluebells,’ Sam says, pointing as they stroll. ‘And these little fellas are red campions. You’ve got your black bamboo over there, your hydrangeas, daphnes, pennisetum; that’s wild garlic over there, the one that looks a bit like rhubarb is your mighty gunnera, then these chaps over here will blow like fireworks come summer. Echiums. Ech-ee-ums. Echiums.’ He turns to Joyce. ‘Do you think he’ll remember all that?’
Joyce nods. ‘We’ll soon make a horticulturist of him. He needs some Moore family culture to water down the Harper blood.’
‘Joyce! Don’t be a snob.’
She huffs. ‘You know what I mean.’
Sam lets it go. As long as Joyce is polite to Naomi’s face, that’s the best he can hope for, at least for now.
The day passes more easily than either of them has anticipated. Tommy has his mid-morning milk and nap, eats his lunch, has his afternoon nap, all at the exact times Naomi stipulated. Sam is keen to stick to her rules. She is his mother, after all, and knows best. The baby’s needs are not hard or demanding, but they are constant. By the time Naomi arrives, Sam realises he is really tired. At the sight of her, Tommy begins to cry and squirm.
‘Toms! Mate! You’re making me look bad.’ Disappointed, and fighting a feeling of mild betrayal, Sam meets Naomi’s eye. ‘Honestly, he’s not cried once all day, I swear.’ He is expecting Naomi to ask what the hell he’s done to the child, but as she has done so many times lately, she merely laughs.
‘Hey, baby!’ She folds him into her arms and kisses his head. ‘Hey, baby-boo, have you had a good day? Mummy’s boy, aren’t you? Are you a mummy’s boy?’
‘Are you… are you coming in for a bit?’ On the doorstep, Sam shuffles from foot to foot, hoping she’ll say yes.
But she shakes her head. ‘I’ll get him back now. He needs his bath and story time, don’t you, darling? Hey?’ She kisses Tommy again and returns her gaze to Sam’s. ‘How’s he been?’
‘As good as gold.’
‘Good. That’s really good.’
‘It’s hard work though. Nice work. I mean, I loved having him.’ He blows at his hair then, just in case there’s any room for misunderstanding, adds: ‘I’m already looking forward to next week.’
‘That’s great! It was nice knowing he was with his dad. The childminder’s lovely and everything, but it’s… it was just nice.’
He nods, smiles. ‘I know what you mean. It was nice for me too.’
She moves to go.
‘What’s her name by the way, the childminder?’
Naomi blushes and looks at her shoes. ‘Cheryl.’
‘Ah,’ he replies, understanding. ‘Cheryl.’
She raises her head. Her eyes are screwed up in apparent mortification. ‘Sorry.’
‘Don’t be. You’ve already apologised for that.’
