“I think he's probably hungry and tired.” Tasha paused a little too long between words, fighting against her own body's need to let go of everything inside. “Thank you, both.” Tasha glanced between a concerned looking Abby and the equally worried face of Sandra. “I'll take Connor upstairs, thanks again,” she said and left them all looking across at Jim questioningly.
“Don't even ask. I thought it was going to be some kind of request for help or cash and it turned into the mind fuck of all mind fucks before he lunged for Tasha and we left him with two real big prison guards pinning him to the floor. So, a bad day all in all, and on top of that I have no clue what Tasha was expecting from today, but it sure as hell wasn't what she got,” Jim said in way of an explanation.
“Bloody hell, Jim,” cried Sandra. “Just when you think she's been through enough something else happens. I'm done for today, and I got the impression that Tasha might need some space, so...”
“Yes, thanks Sandra. See you in the morning,” Jim replied before turning to his brother and sister-in-law. “I think I may have broken my father-in-law’s nose or something during the fracas.”
“Yeah?” Bobby sounded impressed, then turned more serious. “Well, if he attempts to press charges I doubt he’ll get far but I’ve got your back.” He grinned at the idea of Mr Bailey getting a taste of his own medicine. “Look, we're gonna shoot too, Jimbo, but you know where we are,” replied Bobby taking the hint Sandra had dropped before her departure.
“Thanks, and thanks for watching Connor.” Jim offered Abby a smile.
“He was okay until about ten minutes before you got home, I swear,” she replied with a grimace.
“Hey, it's cool, babies cry, especially when they're hungry and in Connor's case only Tasha has what he needs then and he really is a momma's boy, so thanks.”
The sound of the front door closing gave way to the sound of Jim's heavy breathing as he contemplated what might be waiting for him. Quietly, he made his way upstairs and initially headed for Connor's nursery, which was empty, but Tasha had been in there because the clothes his son had been wearing were now on the top of the laundry hamper. Moving swiftly to his and his wife's room Jim took a short detour via Connor's empty bathroom before he found them both lying on their marital bed; Tasha almost in the middle of the huge bed facing the door with her eyes shut, while Connor was positioned between his mother, whose breast he was suckling and a couple of pillows that ran along the edge of the bed.
One hand held him close to her, protectively, while the other ran through his hair, doing that thing where she spiked it up with her fingers. They'd both gotten changed he noticed; Connor was in a short sleeved romper, as if ready for bed, while Tasha was wearing a mid-thigh length, navy and pink floral bandeau dress that lent itself perfectly to breastfeeding. Making his way across the room Jim circled the bed and got on it behind Tasha without saying a word. Positioning himself so that his front was pressed against her back, slightly higher up the bed than her, Jim placed one arm over the top of her head and the other was now draped across her hip and belly with his hand settling on their son's behind.
“Hey, baby,” he whispered against her head knowing she was awake.
Tasha made no response but his two words filled with love, compassion and concern forced the release of her tears.
“Oh, Tasha.” Jim wrapped himself around her to hold her as tight as was humanly possible, leaving nothing between them. “Talk to me, honey. I have no idea what you're feeling or thinking right now.”
“I can't,” cried Tasha, struggling to get the words out between sobs, sobs that increased when her son began to cry, sounding as distressed as she was, something he never did when she was feeding him. “Oh God! And now I've made Connor cry. This is all my fault, everything.”
“No. Don't you dare do this, Natasha,” he warned as he released her and stretched across her to retrieve their son who had tears running down his face and increasingly loud cries leaving his mouth. “Come on, buddy,” Jim cooed as he pulled his son close, soothing him then placed him over his shoulder where he proceeded to burp him while Tasha continued to cry.
Jim gazed down at the image of his wife somehow attempting to bury herself in the mattress, barely muffling her cries. Feeling helpless and conflicted between settling his son and comforting his wife, he opted for the former and then he would deal with Tasha and the train wreck her day had become.
Standing over Connor who he had just placed in his cot, Jim offered him his soother and listened to him suckle on it greedily. He laughed gently at him making the little boy grin up from behind the plastic oval disc of the dummy causing his daddy to laugh at him again which triggered a soother ejecting laugh from Connor that completely melted his father's heart.
“Ah, a wise guy, huh?” Jim leaned down to kiss his son. “Look, I realise I interrupted feeding for you, but for now this will have to do, son,” he told him as he placed the soother back in his mouth. “Mommy is sad and Daddy really needs to do something to make her better, so you chill a while and when Daddy's made things good, you get to finish eating, okay?” he asked and smiled as Connor rubbed at his eyes while loudly attempting to get some nourishment from the latex substitute for his mother's breast. “Good boy,” praised Jim as Connor began to drift off to sleep.
Climbing back onto the bed where Tasha still lay Jim rolled her so that she faced him and half wished he hadn't when he saw her sad face, wet with tears and big red eyes looking back at him.
“Connor is taking a nap, so we need to talk. You need to talk, Tasha,” he told her ensuring there was no hint of a question or suggestion in his words.
“James,” she began as if about to protest.
“Not a chance, Tasha. Today was beyond fucking hideous and I can only imagine what you're feeling and what is going through your mind, so, you need to tell me and we need to put that vile, despicable excuse of a father back in the past and leave him there, so talk, baby.”
He lowered his lips to hers and kissed her gently and briefly, maybe too briefly.
“I don't know what I expected today, but not what I got and now I feel like shit,” she admitted honestly. “I allowed him to get to me and that made me angry and I said things I never intended him to know, things he can use against me now.” She thought of him selling stories of her abortion or even of her visit to see him with Jim, the negative spin he'd put on Jim's insistence that he would never see Connor, him nor her mother.
“Baby, it's done and we can get Jerome Stewart working on legal routes to keep a lid on things.”
“I hate feeling this way. The way he makes me feel. The way I always used to feel. Fuck!” she cried in frustration.
“Tasha, shouting and swearing do not help. Calm down, honey, and talk to me, please. Let me help you to feel better. The way you should feel now rather than how you used to.”
“I want to go home.” Tasha repeated her earlier, misunderstood words.
“What? You are home,” replied a confused Jim.
“James, I want to go home, to London,” she repeated and clarified.
