I snort as I take it. Kids. Never going to hold back to save your pride, are they? I restrain myself on pointing out that I’m no slouch at chemistry (the bomb making part of it, anyway), and physics (bullet trajectory is a specialist subject) and that his Mum is primarily good at biology (trees, and yes, she’s an expert on making babies). Instead I say, “Sure, show me.”
We work together for over an hour. After I’ve read the assignment and explained it to him in a way he understands, he does the questions on his own, sitting at my desk beside me while I read the report on a tablet. Angled away from his curious eyes.
The scent of onions and garlic fried in oil wafting into the room makes us look at each other. Thank god for Janet, our housekeeper, who ensures everyone eats when Wyn and I are distracted by work. Or each other—that’s a thing that happens too, just as often now as ten years ago when Henry was conceived.
“Dinner,” I tell Henry. “Go and set the table please, and see if Janet needs any help with serving up please, and let her know I’ll be there in a minute with the girls.”
Henry nods eagerly, always happy with a task and responsibility and bounds away. I go to find Molly first. She’s playing a computer game that Wyn sometimes plays with her. Zelda something, I think.
“Hey Dad.” She doesn’t look up from where she’s focussed on the blond boy–elf?—on screen. I wait a minute while she tries to solve a puzzle, leaning over the back of her sofa to watch my daughter. A sofa in her room? I shake my head internally. We really are indulgent parents.
She growls with frustration as she fails again.
I muss her hair as she pouts and tosses the controller onto the cushion.
“Save it, and come and have dinner.”
“Dad!” she whines.
“Molly!” I mimic back at her. “You’ll figure it out better with some brain food.”
She huffs and follows me out. With her on her way to the dining room, I head to the lounge where I suspect I’ll find my wife and youngest.
I do. In our jungle-like lounge, Elizabeth is watching a cartoon, curled against Wyn who is leaned into the squashy sofa, asleep. There are work papers in her lap, and her blonde hair is spilled over her shoulders. She’s wearing a cute knitted jumper and a pair of jeans and looks so adorable and good I want to hold her, unpeel her, and gobble her up like sweet apple pie.
Elizabeth’s eyes light as I approach, reaching out her arms with a big smile, anticipating being picked up.
I nod. “Mummy first.”
“Ben?” Wyn stirs as I kiss her forehead, but struggles to open her eyes.
“I think there’s something you’ll want to tell me, right?” I tease as I stroke her cheek. “It’s okay. Stay here. I’ll bring you some food in a bit.”
“Mmm, ‘anks,” she slurs and flops deeper into the cushions. The first part of her pregnancy is always tiring. She needs her rest, and she knows I’ll take care of everything. No need for her to get up if she needs to sleep.
I scoop Elizabeth into my arms. I’ll have dinner with the kids and come and wake up my wife to eat later. And if she is pregnant again, as I suspect, I have the ideal way to make her comfortable.
I have just the idea to keep her warm and happy.
* * *
