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‘You sound like an estate agent.’
There is something of the old Naomi in her words, but when he glances at her, her face is warm. She was only joking; he sees it now in a way he realises he didn’t before.I was only joking!she would say – constantly – when he was hurt by something she’d said.
Now, however, he joins her in the joke. ‘Lovely open aspect and finished to a high spec.’
He takes in the two dark grey sofas, the brightly coloured scatter cushions, one embroidered with a queen bee in gold thread. The coffee table looks like it might be walnut. It occurs to him that he can’t see anything from their old flat.
‘I sold all our stuff,’ she says as if she has read his thoughts, handing him a glass of Prosecco. ‘I suppose I didn’t want anything that reminded me of you.’
He shakes his head. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be. Come on – we’ve done our apologies.’ She chinks his glass with her own and stares so intently into his eyes he feels himself blush. ‘Here’s to us. To you, me and little Tommy.’
‘Can I see him?’
‘If you’re quiet.’
She asks him to take his shoes off, which he does, leaving them neatly by the front door. He follows her upstairs, both of them silent, their footsteps muted by a thick cream carpet. On the landing, she puts her finger to her lips and opens the door. He follows. Tommy is asleep in a large pine cot, arms up as if in triumph. He is so beautiful. A beautiful little chap.
‘Dead to the world,’ she whispers.
‘Angel,’ he whispers back, a little choked.
They are both leaning on the side of the cot, staring down at their boy. Like parents. Like a family. The room is warm and shadowy, Tommy’s night light a soft pinkish glow. He dares to lay a hand on her arm. She responds, turning towards him, raising herself on tiptoes to kiss him deeply on the mouth. A tingling sensation spreads up from his feet. He pulls her to him and kisses her again, kisses her cheek, her neck, the hollow at her collarbone.
‘We should eat,’ she whispers when they break apart. ‘I’m never up past ten these days.’ She strokes his cheek before creeping out of the room. He waits, hears her soft footfalls fade down the stairs.
Tommy sighs. His lips smack, as if he is dreaming of milk. Sam takes in the sight of his baby boy: his high, rounded forehead, which he thinks now is like Joyce’s; the golden brush of his eyelashes, his tiny mouth. He is too perfect. Sam feels the ache of it in his heart, an ache that is becoming more part of him every time he sees this little guy.
‘Goodnight, kid.’ He kisses his fingertips and touches them to Tommy’s soft head.
Downstairs, Naomi is lifting a casserole dish out of the oven. There are cooking implements stuck to a magnetised strip beneath the cupboards, a cream fifties-style kettle and matching toaster. A framed logo on the wall says:Home Is Where the Heart Is.
Naomi would have laughed at something like that before. But she is not laughing now. She is telling him to sit down, asking him if he’d like a glass of red or more fizz. He doesn’t want to admit that Joyce dropped him off at the end of the road, that he was half expecting he might stay, is still interpreting her remark about going to bed at ten. Does she mean with him? It didn’t seem like that’s what she meant. And sure enough, despite the delicious food and wine, their renewed pledges of love, the lazy trail of her fingertips down his arm, at half past nine she checks her watch and tells him she’s sorry to be such a square, but she’ll have to kick him out in half an hour.
‘Don’t you want me to stay?’ he asks.
She looks at him, her gaze hardening a fraction. ‘Is that what you thought?’
‘Sorry. Not to presume, just, you know, from wanting to. I want to, I mean. I want to be with you.’
She smiles, and his heart unclenches. ‘I want to be with you too. I do. But I can’t just flick myself on like a switch, you know? Not after everything. I need time. And I need… I need guarantees, I suppose. How do I know you’re not just nostalgic? Or just fancy the idea of having a family? Or just plain horny?’ She laughs, but the laughter dies quickly. ‘I know you love me. And I love you. I just… I’ve got to be so careful. Tommy and me… we’ve been through so much, and I can’t…’ She presses her fingertips to her eyes.
‘I’m so sorry. And I get it. I never met a single one of my mum’s boyfriends, didn’t know she even had any until Joyce told me. I do love the idea of a family, but only with you and Tommy and maybe one day another little one, who knows? And I am remembering all the good times, but only because we had them, didn’t we? We were good before we were bad, and I think we’ve both learnt to be good and stay good. Better. And I get you need guarantees. More than a nursery. More than… than an upcycled changing station.’
He is on his knees before he even realises what he’s doing. He takes both her hands in his. ‘Naomi Harper, will you marry me? Let’s do it, just you and me. No one needs to know. Nomes? Marry me. Please.’
She begins to laugh. Breaks one of her hands from his and strokes his hair.
‘Nutter,’ she says.
‘Is that a yes?’
‘It’s a… Sod it, it’s a yes.’
‘You don’t feel pressured?’
‘No.’
