I nodded. “I am.”
“So will you be our mum?” He looked afraid and I wondered what that was about.
“No. Rachael will always be your mum. I’m not going to take her place. But I’m going to help look after you when you need someone to do that.”
Max nodded solemnly. “Can you help with Callum? I’m too big to need a mum, but he really does.”
Oh honey, I thought, you need a mum far more than you realise. And a dad. I’d already roasted Grant this morning for even thinking he was going to sit down with the newspaper by himself when we had breakfast to make and kids to entertain so they didn’t destroy another part of the garden – although therewas a lot of garden to consider. The house and its estate were huge. I’d think about that later.
“Of course I can help with Callum. That’s kind of why I’m here.” Again, another truth.
“But you’re getting married to Dad. We’ll be in the way.” His little jaw was tense.
“You will never be in the way and if you are it’s probably because you’re trying to steal from the fridge when I’m trying to get the milk out like this morning when I trod on you.” True story. “And when I chose your dad I chose you too.”
Eyes brightened, but they were still wary.
I walked over and picked Callum up. He collapsed straight into me, the little bundle of not quite baby boy. He needed to be potty trained and to graduate to a wider variety of food, which I’d sent Grant out to get with strict instructions not to deviate from. He’d never made a roast dinner either, so today was going to be a learning curve for him which had started with Vacuuming one-oh-one.
“Shall we go and see what Jacks and Claire have made?” I’d set up a craft table on the patio outside with glue, glitter and a load of old boxes and paper, with an abundance of never opened felt tips. I expected them to be covered in glitter especially – there was a reason for doing this outside.
He nodded, still sombre, still worried.
Time. It would take time. But that was what we had.
It was a week of tests with more laughter than I’d anticipated. I wasn’t as exhausted as I’d thought I’d be, mainly because looking after three children and a toddler wasn’t as full on as six younger siblings had been. By Saturday, we had a tidier house, a very big bedroom for three children, and a hotel in London booked for the next week so we could sightsee and house hunt.
There had been less sex, for all the obvious reasons, but it hadn’t come to a stop and I still couldn’t keep my hands off Grant when he was close by and no one was looking our way, although I was making a point of showing affection in front of the kids. Hugs were good. Kisses were nice. We said nice things to each other. We didn’t get cross when something went wrong. We laughed a lot. Dad read bedtime stories (because I made him), and he also learned very quickly how to cook, because by God, those boys would not grow up expecting their future partners to do everything for them.
We repaired the garden that’d been traumatised and we planted roses because they’d been Rachael’s favourite flower.
We told the children about going to London. We read books with them about it, the sights we’d see and explained that if we lived there during the week they could go to school there and we’d come home for the school holidays and some weekends.
We had bedtime routines by the third day and morning routines and time for reading and den building and then reading in the dens. I allowed Grant to read the newspaper each morning, but Max wanted to read it with him, and then so did Jacks and then Claire felt left out, so a new tradition was created.
I’d been in the country for nine days and I was now a different person. A person wandering round an almighty big house, Georgian with five floors, beautifully restored and very, very empty.
No carpets, furniture or curtains.
A blank canvas.
“This place is nice, Marie.” Bernadette nodded in approval. “The best one we’ve seen.”
She’d joined us in London because she had nothing better to do at the moment. She worked as a children’s illustrator and was mid-project which meant she was procrastinating.
Procrastinating meant she was with us, which was helpful as it gave another sensible if rather mad adult for the kids to get to know, and chance for Grant and me to spend some time together without four small pairs of ears.
“I really like it. It’s got space. We can both have an office, it’s walking distance from where we both work and the schools nearby are good.” We’d seen six properties in two days. This was the last unless we asked to view more, but they’d be further out.
“You get your own floor as well. It’s like one of those houses we used to draw when we were kids with secret rooms and staircases.” She’d taken out her sketchbook and drawn a few bits that I suspected would end up in one of Callum’s picture books.
I opened a cupboard door and found a space with another cupboard. “Here’s another one.”
“Let me look.”
I was elbowed out of the way. Some things never changed.
“When are you going to get married?” The question was abrupt. “Mam was going on about it when I phoned her last night. She was talking about how many people would be there.”
