‘Bossy, isn't he?’ Phoebe says to Ava, stifling her giggle.
‘He is a bit.’ Ava drops her voice to a whisper-shout.
‘Come on now, back to bed, little lady.’ I open my arms and motion for Phoebe to climb into them, but she shakes her head with a definitive no. ‘You know Matilda’s coming for a sleepover tomorrow and she’ll want to let you stay up late. You’ll be exhausted if you don’t go back to bed now.’
‘Can Ava put me up? I need to ask her something.’ Phoebe wraps her little hands round Ava’s neck while metaphorically wrapping her round her little finger.
Ava’s shoulders shrug, ‘If it’s okay with your dad, I don’t mind.’
Phoebe leaps to her feet and drags Ava by the hand. ‘Come on, I’ll show you my bedroom. I’ve got dolls. LOL ones. Barbies. Even Baby Annabell. She’s my favourite.’
Ava shoots me an apologetic look over her shoulder as she leaves the sitting room. ‘Show me your dolls, and I’ll read you a quick story. That should make you nice and sleepy.’ Ava’s tone is warm. The way her palm rests on Phoebe’s head is warm. Everything about her is warm. And she’s heating the cold cracks in my life that I hadn’t even noticed were present until now.
Is it healthy that the woman I’m having casual sex with is upstairs in my house putting my daughter to bed?
Probably not.
But something about it feels so natural. Because truthfully there’s nothing casual about the sex, or anything else we do together. And that’s probably something I should be worried about. But right here, right now, with the fire roaring, the tree twinkling, and the tinkling laughter of my daughter and Ava drifting from upstairs, a strange but welcome sense of contentment seeps in around me.
My head flops back on the couch, my shoulders sag and I sip the glass of wine, safe in the knowledge that Phoebe is happy, for now at least. It's a relief to let Ava take charge tonight. She can give her something I can’t offer. Girl time. Friendship. Fun.
Again, my mind conjures up images it has no business conjuring. Ava and Phoebe hanging out Phoebe’s stocking on the mantelpiece on Christmas Eve.
Ava and Phoebe sitting together beneath the Christmas tree opening presents on Christmas morning.
Ava and Phoebe sitting at the dining table while I carve the turkey.
What is wrong with me?
I never imagined a future with anyone.
Why her? Why now?
Ava tiptoes down the stairs half an hour later. ‘She’s asleep.’ She creeps across the varnished flooring and perches on the couch next to me. ‘I hope you didn't mind me putting her to bed.’ She wrings her wrists. ‘I know this is an unusual situation.’
I swallow. ‘Let’s not complicate it. Or overthink it. Let’s just enjoy it for what it is. Phoebe clearly adores you.’ She’s not the only one.
‘The main thing is that she doesn’t get confused about the situation. I don’t want her thinking this is something it isn't.’ Bad enough I’m starting to think that way.
‘Of course. Sorry if I overstepped. I was only trying to help.’ She stands to leave, smoothing down her dress. ‘I should go.’
‘You don’t have to.’ I pat the couch next to me, motioning for her to sit.
She gazes at me pensively. ‘You look tired.’
‘I’m not tired. I’m relaxed.’ And I mean it. Truthfully. When Teagan puts Phoebe to bed, I’m on edge, waiting for her to leave. Wondering what false hope she might be filling our daughter’s head with. Waiting for her next advance.
Ava sits tentatively on the couch, like she’s about to make a confession or something. ‘Phoebe asked me if I’d like to go ice-skating next weekend.’
‘I bet she did.’ She might only be three-and-a-half foot tall, but she knows an opportunity when she sees one. ‘What did you tell her?’
‘I told her to ask you.’
Great. Now I’ll be the bad guy if I say no. ‘Can you skate?’
‘Like a pro.’ Ava tilts her chin upwards like she’s daring me to challenge her.
Would it be awful if I let her come? It would make Phoebe’s day. And mine if I’m honest.
