‘It’s no bother,’ he replies, getting a tool bag and a jack out of the back before seeing to April. She’s sitting in her car seat, eating another one of those gooey round things. I think they’re rice cakes.
He frees her from her harness and puts her down on the grass, brushing sticky white globules of puffed rice off her yellow cotton dress. He’s wearing washed-out grey cargo shorts and a white T-shirt. April holds her arms up to him, so he stands her on her feet and she gamely snatches his hand.
‘No, Daddy’s got to stay here,’ he says firmly as she tries to lead him away. He scoops her up and carries her over to my camping chair, propping her beside it so she has something to lean against. She clutches the armrest and bends forward, clamping her mouth over the green material. She’s like a little puppy. She releases her mouth and grins up at me. I giggle at her, despite the fact that she’s just slobbered all over my chair.
‘Can you keep an eye on her?’ Charlie asks over his shoulder as he heads to the other side of the van.
April holds her hand up to me and lets out a cry, her brow knitting together. I take her hand and she sets off, toddling unsteadily across the grass.
‘Where are you going?’ I ask.
‘Urghn,’ she replies, leading me to a flowerbed. She reaches down and cheerfully beheads a red geranium.
‘Ooh, no, I don’t think we should do that,’ I say light-heartedly. ‘Shall we go and see what Daddy’s doing?’
She looks up at me and nods – a big purposeful nod. There’s something quite cute about her, I guess.
As babies go.
‘Where’s Daddy?’ I ask as she leads the way. ‘Can you hear him?’
We emerge around the side ofHermieto find Charlie jacking up the back right-hand side of the van. He’s not wearing a bandana today and his dark-blond hair is falling into his eyes as he winds the handle on the jack. Not even a nun would be blind to the way his muscles are rippling in that T-shirt. He straightens up and shoves his hair off his forehead.
‘She’ll give you a backache if you let her do that for too long,’ he warns, nodding at his daughter, who’s still holding my hand.
‘I don’t mind,’ I reply.
‘Is the spare tyre in the boot?’
‘Yeah.’
He follows slowly while I walk at April’s pace round to the back of the van. When I open the rear door, half of my wardrobe falls out.
‘Whoops, there go my clothes.’
Charlie swings April out of the way, breaking our hand contact. ‘Give me a sec,’ I say, wiping my now-sticky hands on my jeans and gathering up a big armful. I walk around toHermie’s side door to find it closed.
‘Er, Charlie?’ I call out apologetically. ‘Can you open the door for me?’ I look back to see that I’ve dropped three pairs of knickers. At least they’re clean.
He appears around the back of the van, his eyes darting to my underwear and his lips twitching as he opens the side door.
I step forward and dump everything in the living space – on top of everything else.
‘Whoa!’ he exclaims, surveying the mess. ‘How do you live like this?’
‘Youcan talk,’ I joke impertinently. ‘What about the state of your kitchen every morning?’
He looks surprised, and I’m not sure that he realises I’m teasing. ‘I’m doing the best that I can,’ he says.
‘I can’t believe you’re pulling the widower card on me.’
He freezes.
‘Did I just say that out loud?’ I ask with alarm.
He lets out an incredulous laugh, his eyebrows jumping practically into his hairline. ‘Yes, you really did.’
‘Oh, shit! Sorry. Please don’t fire me,’ I blurt.
