His eyebrows shoot up. ‘Viral? Can I see it?’
‘Sure.’ I fish my phone out of my pocket and google upFenton Richmond Park. It’s a decade-old video of a guy screaming at his dog, but it still gets me every time, and by the time I’ve shown the kids, the four of us are shaking with laughter.
‘Let’s go to Richmond Park!’ Rollo shouts. ‘I want to see the deer!’
‘You’re a genius,’ Honor mouths at me. First battle survived.
HONOR
Noah enchants us all.
He plays with my kids in Richmond Park—rather, he runs them ragged between football and deer-spotting and using fallen tree trunks as hurdles. It’s been a late Autumn, and the ground is still a bed of vividly coloured leaves. I know the kids are taking today at face-value: just because they’ve had a good time running around with Noah, doesn’t mean they’re going to instantly accept him as a new father-figure in their lives, but it’s a great first step. I’ll take it.
I have no idea if anyone, professional or opportunistic passer-by, got footage of us in the park today. But we’ll deal with that tomorrow. For once, I’m relaxed. Noah and I need to go public at some point, especially given how cosy Jackson and Leila looked at theVetUK premiere a couple of weeks ago.
We’re quickly educating Noah on the gaping chasm between theoretical and real Family Sundays. Serena vetoes Classic FM in favour of a Spotify UK Hits playlist, and Rollo hasn’t yet practised his spellings for school tomorrow, so I help him with them while Noah peels potatoes (I wasn’t kidding about him doing the cooking).
As a dyslexic, Rollo finds spellings excruciatingly painful, and I’m right there with him, ricocheting between frustration and heartbreak and wondering why the hell the kid needs to learn to spell anyway, when everything his generation writes will be voice-led or auto-corrected. But there’s no point in trying to present some phoney, picture-perfect version of family life for Noah. He needs to know what he’s getting himself into.
Noah surpasses himself with the most delicious roast sirloin, which even the kids devour, and after they’ve scarpered, he and I linger at the table over our bottle of red. It’s so bloody fantastic having him here. His presence warms the entire house up. I beam at him and brush his leg with mine under the table.
‘I love having you in my home. You make everything better.’
‘I’m not sure anything or anyone could make this place better.’ He looks up at the light installation, which is hundreds of wisps of smoked glass. ‘It’s a palace. It’s stunning, and elegant, and stylish. Just like its owner.’
I twist around in my seat to face him. ‘Could you see yourself living here someday? When the dust has settled and the kids are fully on board? I mean, your flat is gorgeous, so I don’t want to assume anything.’ I finger the stem of my wineglass nervously. ‘I’m not saying this all has to be on my terms, obviously. And I know it’s further from Good Vibes than your flat.’
‘Darling.’ He’s grinning at me. ‘Stop overthinking. We’ll work it all out. And even if this wasn’t the most incredible home I’ve ever been in, hands down, I’d still want us to base ourselves wherever you and your kids are most comfortable. So chill.’
‘Okay.’ I let out a deep sigh.
‘Actually, there’s one caveat.’ He runs a couple of fingers up my thigh, over my jeans. ‘I may need to road-test your bed before I agree to anything long term with this place.’
Noah in my bed. Oh my God. I’ve wanted it so badly, and it’s going to happen. I practically jump out of my seat.
‘Let’s go.’
I abandon the idea of a family movie and leave the kids to it. They’re far happier watching YouTube on the giant screen in the basement, anyway. I give them bowls of popcorn and, having ascertained that they’re sufficiently disinterested in us, I lead Noah upstairs. I hope he doesn’t mind omitting a key part of his Family Sunday schedule.
When we walk into the master suite, which takes up most of the first floor, he lets out a low whistle.
‘Jesus Christ, darling. This puts every hotel we stayed in toshame.’ He circles and points at the rococo nude. ‘Thatis sensational.’
‘Glad you like it,’ I purr.
‘But she has nothing on you.’ He glances at the giant bed. ‘I’m going to focus very hard on ignoring the fact that this is your marital bed.’
‘Was. Bigwas. And we can get a new one, if it bothers you. But I’ll do my best to help you focus.’
‘Excellent. I intend to leave my mark in here.’
‘Please don’t lift your leg and piss down the curtains.’
‘I’ll try to control myself. I have other bodily fluids I can use.’
The reality of having Noah in my bedroom is so fucking amazing. He’s looked so gorgeous all day, in a beige cashmere sweater over a soft-looking shirt, and all I’ve wanted to do since he got here is take them both off. And his cords. And his boxers.
He strolls towards me, grinning lazily, those smile lines I adore bracketing his mouth. I love him so much. I’m in my home, with the three people I love the most in the world, and one of them is about to get me naked. Nothing else matters. Absolutely nothing.
