“And the cake book?”
“Which one is that?” Matty asked, clearly thinking through Jack’s bookshelf as he tried to place it. That was the thing with small children—you had to play detective for half of the conversation.
“With the cakes! And the fire. And the spider!” Jack sighed and reached out a cheese-covered hand to pat Matty’s arm. “I’ll find it, Daddy.”
“Thanks, buddy.”
“Can Harper read with us?”
“Well, er, you’ll have to ask him. It’s after he’s finished his day, so he might want to have his own dinner or maybe…” He trailed off and offered Jack a half smile.
“Harper, will you have story time with us? Peas?” Jack asked as he turned to me, clearly undeterred. And why would he be? He wasn’t even three. He had no idea how to read the weird nuances and unspoken undertones of adult conversation. I struggled with it myself sometimes.
Truth be told, I had no idea if Matty wanted me there or not, and I wasn’t sure if I was willing to spend more time with him.
“How about I come for one story? Then you can have two stories with just you and Daddy. I think he’d like that,” I said.
Jack thought for a second before nodding and scooping up more of his pasta. “Okay.”
“Perfect.”
Matty smiled at me and I returned the gesture. But I wasn’t sure either of us meant it.
“Jack’s asleep,” Matty said a couple of hours later as he strolled back into the kitchen where I was making myself dinner. After the day I’d had, I was indulging in my own heaped bowl of cheesy pasta. Because cheese might not solve my problems, but it would damn sure make me feel better.
“Good,” I said, because I couldn’t exactly ignore him.
“He was still warm, so I’ll stay up and keep an eye on him.”
“Okay.”
There was a long pause. I stirred my cheese sauce, hoping it would thicken faster so I could retreat to my floor.
“Can you tell me what I missed this afternoon? I couldn’t check in as much as I’d wanted,” Matty said. He was stood on the other side of the kitchen island, scrutinising me carefully.
“Not much.” I jabbed my sauce again and tried to squash my frustration. I didn’t know why it was irritating me so much, because he had every right to be concerned. It felt vaguely like it was to do with trust, but I hadn’t quite figured out the right words.
With a sigh I added, “Jack had a good nap, used the toilet pretty much by himself, chatted off and on through the films, sung along with some of the songs—although his lyrics were more of an interpretation—and did some colouring while I cooked. And he decided what he wanted for dinner between two options I gave him. You know everything else.”
“What options did you give him for dinner?”
“Cheesy pasta with chicken and peas or homemade nuggets with mashed potato and peas.”
“He turned down homemade nuggets?”
“Well, cheese does make everything better.”
“It really does,” Matty said with a wry chuckle, shaking his head fondly. He sighed and drummed his fingers on the counter as I picked up the grater to add more cheese to my sauce. “Do you think… did I call too much today? Jack said it again at bedtime. He was pretty cross with me.”
“Would you like me to answer that honestly?”
“I hoped you would, but now I’m not sure if I want you to.”
“Then yes, you did.” I glanced down at the small mountain of cheese I’d added to the saucepan. It was probably enough. I added a bit more for good measure. “Look, I know you were worried about him, but please believe me when I say that if I thought it was serious, I’d have told you.”
“I do believe you,” he said, frowning.
“Do you? Because you don’t act like it.”
