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“Six?”
“Exactly! Four nines are thirty-six!”
The girls all stare at him as the penny drops.
“Do this one,” he says. “Eight times nine.”
They all stare at their fingers and count to eight, which turns out to be the middle finger of their right hand. They fold it down, looking at each other to make sure they’ve got the right one.
“How many tens?” he asks.
“Seven!”
“And units?”
“Two!”
“So what are eight nines?”
“Seventy-two!” they all call, and laugh.
He grins. “Told you it was easy. Now it’s pool time! Go and get your togs on, and we’ll bring you some drinks and snacks down to the pool.”
They all run off giggling. He smiles at the rest of us who’ve been sitting enjoying the show.
“You should have been a teacher,” Mum tells him. “You have a lovely way with children.”
“Thank you,” he says graciously, pouring himself a Sprite Zero.
“His head’s big enough,” I scold. “Don’t give him any more compliments or he won’t be able to get in the door.”
“Credit where credit’s due,” Mum says. “He’s a great dad.”
“He’s very popular with all the girls’ mums,” Brandy says mischievously.
“Of course he is,” I reply. “I bet they all think he’s a DILF.”
He coughs and then reaches for a serviette. “You made Sprite go up my nose.”
I chuckle, then smile as a woman comes out of the house carrying a baby. Huxley has four sisters: Abigail, Chrissie, Evie, and Heidi. Abigail is the oldest, and she gave birth to baby Robin only three months ago.
He also has an older brother, Guy. He’s in the South Island. That’s all I know about him. The family never mentions him. When I asked Huxley about him, unusually for him, he replied that he’d rather not talk about it. It’s a strange blight on an otherwise idyllic family.
“Hello, Elizabeth!” Abigail—tall, athletic, pretty in a sporty kind of way—gives me a big smile, then turns to her brother, who’s still standing. “Can you hold Robin for a minute? I’ve fed him and he should doze off in a minute. I just need to visit the bathroom.”
“Yeah, give him here.” Huxley takes the baby from her and holds him up in the air. “Hello, my little ray of sunshine! Why don’t we go and watch those girls splashing in the pool? You never know, dude, you might pull, although they’re probably a year or two too old for you yet.” Still talking to the baby, he goes down the steps and walks across the lawn.
I blow out a breath.
“You all right?” Mum asks.
“Yeah. He makes my ovaries ache.”
They all chuckle, and Brandy giggles.
“Sorry,” I say to her, suddenly remembering she’s the mother of his child.
“No, you’re right,” she says cheerfully. “He’s a gorgeous daddy.”
