And afterwards, when our sweaty limbs are still entangled and our bodies are limp and barely capable of staying upright, I slide off the counter and into his arms.
‘Take me to your bed, Finn. And don’t let me out of your sight for the next seven days.’
‘I won’t,’ he promises.
The man stays true to his word. Over the next week, we reconnect both emotionally and physically, sewing together the seams of the pieces we gave to each other years ago.
When I told Finn that Tom had never wavered, I could have said the same for him. He has never wavered in loving me. The pain of his childhood meant that he couldn’t choose St Agnes, but he always chose me.
I was the one who didn’t choose him.
But now I do. I chooseus.
Another seven summers later …
‘Here comes the sun …’
I wake up to my husband singing to me. And then I realise that he’s not singing to me, he’s singing to Maggie, who’s nestled snugly into the space between us.
‘You should be in your own bed, you naughty monkey,’ I chide in a sleep-drenched voice. ‘Who said you could come in here?’
‘Daddy,’ she replies with a cheeky giggle.
Finn reaches down to tickle her ribs and she squirms violently and squeals with laughter, her dimples coming out in force.
‘Shh!’ My eyes are wide as I look over my shoulder at the bassinet beside our bed, but her little brother is out cold. I stare at his insanely long dark lashes and then turn back to our daughter.
‘His awake?’ she asks, wriggling up in bed to sit against the bedhead. ‘Give me the baby,’ she commands, opening her arms.
She’s not quite two and a half.
I stare across her to Finn, who’s regarding me with amusement.
‘You heard the girl, give her the baby,’ he says teasingly.
‘The baby is asleep,’ I reply pointedly.
‘Give me the baby,’ she says again.
Finn and I almost laugh. Almost.
‘No, he’s sleeping,’ I repeat firmly.
As was his mother a minute ago.
Maggie climbs over me and peers in at the bassinet, her little shoulders deflating at the sight.
‘Oh,’ she says with a sigh, wriggling back down into her snuggly position.
‘Do you want to carry on sleeping?’ Finn asks me.
‘Bit late now.’
‘Sorry,’ he whispers. ‘She was pretty determined.’
He finds it hard to say no to our daughter. But then, he finds it hard to say no to me. He’s always been a total softie in that respect.
The door bangs open and Lennie barges in, his foam sword aloft.
