‘Cleo! Oh, my clever girl!’ Her mother raced over and held her fast in a warm embrace, kissing her face and running her hand over her back. Cleo struggled to recall a time she had received such a physical welcome. It felt as if finally, finally she had earned her place at the Kelleway table, and her new baby was the ticket that got her there. It saddened her that this was what it had taken and she thought of how different things might have been if she’d not conceived. But she knew better than to raise this today of all days, deciding instead to simply revel in the moment.
‘Well done, my clever girl!’
‘He’s perfect, Mum,’ she whispered.
‘Of course, he is,’ her mother responded without the faintest whiff of irony, as, arm in arm, they made their way into the house.
Cleo was glad to sit. Even the short walk from the car to the sofa had taken more effort than she would have imagined.
With the baby seat positioned securely on the wide sofa, Lawrence hung back a little, which again was unlike him, and there was no sign of Julie. She watched as he clapped Georgie on the back, before pulling him in for a hug. This, she knew, would make her husband happy and she wished he wasn’t so accommodating, wished he too was starting to see that the Kelleway love was conditional, judgemental, tarnished.
‘Are you hungry, darling?’ her dad asked. ‘When I spoke to Georgie earlier, he said you fancied some pasta from the place onthe high street, I can’t remember its name.’ He clicked his fingers, as if this might be an aide memoire.
‘You were only there last night, Dad. Please don’t let me get old if that’s how quickly your memory goes!’ Lawrence jested with their old man.
‘You can laugh, but it comes to us all, Loz!’ Bernie chuckled and, without waiting for her response, ambled off to the kitchen.
‘Pasta, how lovely. Thank you.’ She was touched by the gesture, only having commented in passing how she could murder a plate of it. ‘As I said on the phone, we’re not staying long, Mum,’ she reminded her mother’s back.
Winnie ignored her, crouching down on the rug, and staring into the car seat at the face of her new grandson. ‘Look at you. You little poppet!’ her mother cooed, stroking his cheek with her fingertip. ‘You gorgeous boy, I’m your nana, yes, I am! I’m your nana!’
‘I thought it’d be easier to come here as you’ve got more space, and everyone can see him and then we’re going straight home to sleep. Where are Jules and the kids? I saw her car.’
No one seemed to have heard her.
‘If you think you have a lack of space now, just wait until this little one starts collecting toys and wanting bikes and running around. You’ll have to think about getting a bigger place. I know’ – her mother twisted to face her – ‘I could have a word with MrPortland. Do you know him? He co-owns the estate agent on the high street, drives a blue Porsche. I’d go so far as to call him a friend of the family. Maybe I could ask him to pop over and go through your options with you.’ Winnie turned her attention back to the baby.
‘Flippin’ ’eck, I think we’ve got enough going on right now, Winnie, without a house move to contend with. Besides, don’t think he covers Ilfracombe.’ Georgie mumbled the last sentence,and it made her laugh. He spoke for them both and pulled a face at her behind her mum’s back.
‘Well, the offer’s there. He’s got very long legs, hasn’t he?’
‘Who, MrPortland?’ Lawrence quipped.
This time everyone ignoredhim.
Cleo, caught up in the moment and with no small amount of drugs still in her system, felt a swell of pride at her mother’s observation. She knew leg length was not something she could take credit for, but the fact that it implied she was likely to have a tall boy and tall teen, in a house where such a thing was prized, made her feel like she was winning.
‘Cassian always had long legs.’ Lawrence gave a single sage nod, as if this boded well.
‘Georgie’s tall.’ She looked over at the man she loved, the father of her baby, who stuffed a croissant into his mouth, taken from a tray on the coffee table, and brushed the resulting crumbs on to the carpet. ‘He takes after his dad.’
‘Mmm, no, I think he takes after his grandad,’ Winnie chimed. ‘He’s got long legs like his Grandad Bernie. Your grandad has got great legs and so have you, little one. Haven’t you, darling?’ She addressed the sleeping child who ignored her.
‘If you say so.’ Cleo knew it was easier to agree than rail against her mother.
‘I do say so! In fact, that’s what I’m going to call him, Little B, short for “Little Bernie”, that’s what your nana is going to call you!’ She bent low and gently kissed his tiny foot. ‘Hello, Little B! Hello, darling boy!’
‘He’s not going to be called Little B!’ Cleo hadn’t meant to raise her voice, but in that moment, having been so adamant that if they’d had a girl she would not be called Winnie after her mother, this felt like a small kick in the tits. She was beginning to regret the decision to come here first. Maybe a few days’ grace, alonewith her boys, pottering about in her slippers might have been the better option.
‘Everything all right, love?’ Georgie managed through a mouth full of buttery pastry, spraying croissant dust as he spoke.
She nodded and found a tight smile. ‘I was just thinking that it’s about time we gave him his proper name.’ It was timely that her dad reappeared with a bowl in his hands, as the eyes of the assembled fell upon her. A hush came over the room as they waited with bated breath. ‘He shares his birthday with Georgie’s grandad and so we are going to name him after him.’
Looking up, she caught the open-mouthed look of disdain her mother shot her father, but that was just too bloody bad.
‘His name is Thomas.’ She spoke with confidence. ‘Thomas Welland Richardson, Tommy for short.’
Georgie’s face lit up and he held her gaze, full of love that she felt in return. ‘Tommy.’ He beamed. ‘Thomas Welland Richardson.’
