Silence falls for a second until he stirs. “Well?” he says meditatively.
“Shit,” I mutter.
He looks at the disappearing car. “Yep, that’s what I wanted to say too.”
The next morning, I sit in the kitchen looking thoughtfully at Cora. She’s sitting in her high chair with a very stubborn look on her face. I look down at the breakfast of mashed-up Weetabix. “Look, I know it isn’t the best thing and you’d rather have milk, but you can’t have that forever and really, I think you’d be bored if you did.”
She yawns, and I seize the opportunity to stick the spoon full of the disgusting mixture in her mouth. For a second I think I’ve triumphed, but then she pokes her tongue out and the food neatly reappears. ‘Okay, I know you think you’ve won, but this is a battle that no child triumphs in. All babies are weaned.” I look at her. “Allbabies,” I emphasise.
For a second she stares at me, her little topknot bobbing and her eyes big and wide. Then she screws up her mouth and starts to cry.
“Oh dear,” I soothe, mopping her face. “I know how you’re feeling. I like strawberry Pop-Tarts and chocolate milkshakes, but I can’t eat that all the time.”
“I can’t believe you eat that at any time,” an amused voice comes from the door.
Cora immediately brightens. She’s a sunny child and easily distracted but no more than with Niall. She holds up her arms imploringly and I tut.
“You’d think I’d kept her captive on an island for fifteen years, not in a high chair for a few minutes.”
He looks at the bowl in front of me. “I’d have opted for the island myself,” he says with a moue of disgust. “Can’t you give her something else?”
“What, like bacon and eggs? Or maybe steak and chips?”
He shoots me a slightly startled look, the way he always does when I say something that isn’t meek and quiet. It irritates me like a splinter stuck in my skin. Makes me want to say more. Really push his buttons. I mentally shake my head at myself and reach out to try another spoonful as he moves to the counter where the coffee machine sits.
“Do you want one?” he asks.
I shake my head, my gaze focused on Cora’s tiny mouth which is squeezed up into a teeny pout. The coffee machine whirs and bangs as I push the spoon at her. “Come on, baby,” I croon. “Be good for me.”
Niall chuckles. “I’ve said that a few times in my life,” he announces, throwing himself down into the chair opposite me and next to Cora. He drops a kiss on her head and grabs the newspaper, unfolding it with a snap.
I shake my head. “You’re disgusting.”
He nods happily. “You know it.” He takes a sip of his coffee and looks at Cora. “Weetabix is very nice,” he informs her in a solemn tone. “And you are not winning with us. We may be cool uncles but by God, we’re going to wean you before your small and annoyingly know-it-all daddy gets back.”
I laugh. “That’s a mission statement if ever I heard one.”
He grins at me. “I do like a challenge.”
They’re innocuous words spoken with no subtext but for some reason, my head shoots up and our eyes lock.
I pull my gaze away. “You really do,” I say. Then I smile. “Do you remember when you tried to teach me how to ride a bike? Now, that was a real challenge. I ended up going backwards and breaking one of your toes.” I throw my head back and laugh atthe thought and it’s surprising. A deep, big laugh like the ones I used to give before Thomas.
He doesn’t laugh but instead looks at me for a long, stretching moment, and his brow creases almost in shock as if he’s seen a ghost. My laughter dies away, leaving us sitting in a strained silence that seems to linger and stretch like candyfloss unravelling in a string. He makes no attempt to break it but just looks at me with his eyes dark and mysterious.
I clear my throat awkwardly. “You okay?” I ask, and my voice is husky and sounds like I’ve never used it before.
I feel a blush starting up on my cheeks and he jerks as if I’ve wakened him from a dream. We stare at each other for long seconds and he has the most peculiar expression on his face. I can identify shock but nothing else. Then it clears and he laughs. It sounds slightly shaky to my ears, but I can’t detect anything other than a slight awkwardness when I look at him.
“I certainly am,” he says, his voice slightly deeper than normal. I swallow hard as he reaches across the table but he merely plucks the spoon from me. “Let’s have a go,” he says and turns to Cora.
Silence reigns for a moment, only broken by the radio in the background and the sound of Cora spitting every spoonful of food back. I get up and wander over to the teapot to pour myself some more tea. Once done, I lean against the counter and watch Niall as he tries to coax food into the truculent baby’s mouth. His hand looks massive on the tiny spoon and he towers over Cora, but the power is definitely reversed in this scenario as once again he removes the spoon from her mouth and, with a slightly triumphant air, Cora spits it straight back out. I turn and switch the kettle on.
He looks up and shakes his head when he sees the bottle I’m getting from the fridge. “Giving up already? For shame, Milo.”
I smile. “You will too because any minute she’s going to get really hungry and start crying at a decibel level that could be heard in Australia.” I shake my head. “Tiny battles, one at a time, and always do it when she’s hungry and not starving. That way she’ll get used to it quickly and mealtimes won’t be associated with suffering.”
“How do you know this stuff?”
