Scowling at myself in the mirror, I mutter under my breath all kinds of things I won't repeat to you now because none of them are nice—not that I necessarily care about being nice, as you may have noticed. But petty and borderline insecure are a whole different thing for a man to admit to. I take my time in the shower, hoping the game of ‘bonding with the bodyguard’ will end before I dry off.
By the time I'm out of the shower, I feel slightly calmer, if not a little sheepish about my overreaction. It's perfectly natural that Tessa would want to connect with the babies, and it doesn'treallymatter whose voice it is.
Although, it would be much, much better if it were my voice instead of his.
But no matter, I’m home for a whole week, so I'm going to make the most of it. By the time I leave for Barcelona, I'm sure my children will be as excited to hear my voice as they are to hear that muscle-bound buffoon’s.
Oh, Christ. That wasn't very ‘I am feeling completely secure’, was it? But honestly, why does he get ‘guarding for three’ and I only get ‘waiting for two’? I mean, seriously, he's doing something manly—guardingthe babies, whilst I am doing something that could not be more passive—waiting. How lame is a person who onlywaitsfor something? How about some credit for the fact that those babies are in there in the first place? I’m not sure how you’d put that on a T-shirt without being completely crass, but with some thought, I’m sure I could come up with something clever. ‘Aimed for one. Made Two.’ No, that’s dreadful. ‘Her Babies’ Daddy?’
Oh forget it, Arthur. You’re not designing your own T-shirt.
When I finish dressing in jeans and my new shirt, dinner is just being brought into our apartment. Lucky for me, Xavier is nowhere to be found. A lovely meal for two (well, technically four) has been set at the table. Tessa chats away, telling me about all of the online shopping she and her mother have been doing for clothing for the babies whilst I've been away. I try my best to concentrate on what she's saying, but my mind keeps returning to Xavier crouched in front of her. I stand and walk to the beverage centre for some wine, pouring myself a glass of red, then offering to get something for Tessa.
"No, thanks. I'm fine with my disgusting glass of milk."
On my way back to the table, I notice Chester swimming around in his bowl. I take a swig of wine, then walk over and pop a few flakes into his bowl.
“He already ate today, Arthur."
I wonder who fed him. Mr. No Neck? Oh, stop it, Arthur. That'll be enough of that."He looked hungry."
Tessa sighs, and when I turn back to the table, she’s shaking her head in mock irritation. "Honestly, the way you spoil that fish makes me concerned for how you're going to be with these babies."
"I'm not going to be overly indulgent just because I won't let a poor, helpless fish starve to death.” Leaning down to Tessa’s belly, I say, “Not to worry, babies. Daddy won’t kill the fish, and he’s not going to spoil you either. He knows exactly what he’s doing.”
“He better, or Mum will be very cross with him in a very permanent way.”
***
OH, FUCKITY FUCK.
Chester is dead.
Maybe not...maybe he’s just...oh no, he’s definitely dead.
Belly up.
Finito.
Gone.
Prince Arthur in the living room with the fish food.
Death by fish flakes.
Son of a bitch.
Standing perfectly still for a moment, I listen for the sound of the shower. Still on.
Dexter wanders over and stares at the bowl, then at me.
“Oh, stop judging me. Likeyoucould’ve predicted this would happen.”
Bugger. Now what do I do? I’ve got a very pregnant wife who’s about to overreact in a most spectacular way when she finds out I’ve fed her fish to death.
I chew on my thumbnail for a moment whilst I try to think of the best course of action. Glancing at the clock, I see it’s just before nine p.m. “I can fix this,” I tell Dexter.
Hurrying to the kitchen, I grab a large spoon from the drawer and rush to Chester’s bowl, take a deep breath, then use it to pick up the fish. Holding one hand under the spoon, I make my way to one of the guest toilets and drop Chester into the bowl.
