“Man of many talents.”
That I knew, he’d spent a lot of the night demonstrating them.
I rang Claire from the bathroom, which might seem an odd place, but any background sounds were easily explainable and my sister had an uncanny ability to notice the most ridiculous things. She was part way through feeding Eliza and barking orders at Killian to do with where he was putting pots after emptying the dishwasher. I did wonder how on earth he managed to put up with Claire and suspected that at some point he’d be nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize.
“If you need rescuing from somewhere please call Jackson,” Claire said as soon as she answered. “Apparently, Killian wants to start the brainwashing of his daughter into becoming some rugby infused infant, beginning today regardless of whether I agree or not.”
“Actually, can I catch a lift with you to watch? I thought you’d like some company?”
There was silence for a moment, followed by a shrill cry. “K, can you take your daughter? I need to work out whether Ava’s been taken hostage and she’s trying to give me a message in code.”
I heard Killian make some comment in the background and then coo at his tiny daughter. Eliza hadn’t been planned, but she was certainly hugely wanted. I’d never imagined that Killian, who was well over six feet tall and built like a machine after years in the Royal Marines, would be completely bowled over by such a tiny creature as Eliza. Seeing him with her was enough to explode anyone’s ovaries.
“I haven’t been kidnapped. I’m free this morning and have nothing else to do, so I thought I’d support my family,” I said to Claire.
“You haven’t watched any of them play since you were fourteen and threatened to streak across the pitch if you were dragged there again. I think Seph had nightmares about it actually happening.”
“Like I said, nothing better to do and we’re going to Max’s for dinner afterwards…”
“Hmmm. I call bullshit,” Claire said.
“How are you going to manage when Eliza starts repeating your swear words?’
“I’ll make sure she understands what the appropriate time and context to use them is.”
“I’m not convinced she’ll be ready for that at the same time she starts using the f-word,” I said. Seeing Claire deal with what was likely to be a mini version of herself was going to be entertaining to say the least.
“Nice try at sidestepping. Why are you watching the rugby?”
I tried not to fold. “Can I not tell you at the moment. Give me a few weeks because there’s nothing to really tell.”
There was a long sigh. “Okay. I’ll take that. I’d tell you I don’t want to pry but that would be a big fat hairy lie. What time will you be here?”
“An hour. Is that soon enough?”
“That’s fine. You can help me carry all the baby paraphernalia. How are you getting here?”
She was prying. “I’m getting dropped off. Around the corner. So don’t set up a watching post at your window.”
“Fine. Or you can give me the address of where you are and I’ll pick you up? I’m sussing out you’ve spent the night with one of the guys who plays on the team.”
“Leave it, Claire.”
She would. At least for now. And at least she wouldn’t start gossiping to my brothers. But she would now be ultra-aware of who I was speaking to and how I was acting, which was fine because I knew my eldest sister would have my back.
“I’ll see you in an hour. Take my advice: bring a spare top in case your niece sicks up on you.”
I hung up and got in the shower, my well-used body aching in all the right places.
It had been years since I’d stood on the side lines of a rugby field, the smell of cut grass and mud only just overcoming the sweaty stench from the changing rooms. My niece was asleep in a sling on Claire’s chest, her almost hairless head covered with a tiny cotton cap. She’d spent the journey wailing at full voice, possibly in protest at being dragged away from her play mat with the colourful mobiles she was fascinated by. I could relate.
“You’re here. That’s weird.” My other sister, Payton, walked next to me, casting me a look. She looked at Claire. “Should I smell a rat?”
“Only if you can smell it over the potent stench of mud mixed with manure. I swear I’m going to incinerate Killian’s rugby kit after this.” Claire moved her nose closer to her daughter and inhaled. “I can’t blame you either, can I? You just smell of baby.”
She looked utterly besotted by her daughter as she straightened her little cap and stroked her skin. I smiled. Claire had never been this content and as much as she used the power of sarcasm to keep us all in our places, it no longer masked the girl who had lost a little piece of herself while she was at university. We were all grateful towards Killian too: somehow he seemed to enjoy putting up with her and I’d sometimes caught him glancing at my eldest sister, complete worship on his face.
There was just no accounting for taste.
