Callum, on the other hand, is transfixed and takes his phone out to film it. “That is sick!”
Archie moves forward to get a better view but his jerking movement scares the lizard and it slithers off up the wall. “Is it a boy or a girl?” he asks.
“I don’t know,” I say. “What do you think?”
“I think it’s a boy.”
Mabel screams again. “There’s another one! Next to the radiator!”
“Oh yeah!”
Callum pans across to video the second lizard, which is slightly smaller than the first.
“That one’s a girl,” pronounces Archie. “I can tell.”
Callum picks up the broomstick and tries nudging the lizard with the handle.
“Callum, please don’t hurt it,” I say. “It’s not doing us any harm.”
“But what if it bites?” Mabel says, her voice straying into a higher pitch.
I’m just about to reassure her that lizards don’t bite when I realize I don’t actually know whether or not that’s true.
“Are they boyfriend and girlfriend or brother and sister?” gabbles Archie.
“Archie, will you shut up!” hisses Mabel.
I’ve no idea what to do. In desperation, I shuffle everyone out of the room and slam the door shut. “Right, let’s just leave the lizards till your dad’s back.”
Callum and Mabel stomp upstairs and disappear into their bedrooms.
“Come on, Archie,” I say. “Let’s go back upstairs.”
We go into the larger living room and start sorting through Wilf’s furniture. I decide to keep his sofas but get rid of the faded, frayed, flattened cushions. I like an antique wooden chest it looks as if he used as a footstool but decide against keeping a collection of ceramic vases that are attached to the walls. There’s another stack of books—illustrated coffee-table books about art and famouspainters. These look like they’ve been read much less so I don’t mind throwing some of them away. Archie and I sort through them and pull out the ones we don’t like.
As we carry the rejected books downstairs, the builders are making so much noise that Mabel doesn’t hear us entering the kitchen. She’s standing in front of the fridge with the door open, eating the white chocolate she refused to touch on our first day.
I can’t resist saying, “So you like white chocolate now?”
She spins around, her face ablaze. “Are youspyingon me?”
“No, I’m not spying on you.” I gesture to the books. “We’re taking these out.”
She slams the fridge door shut. “Well, for your information Idon’tlike this chocolate. It’s minging. I’m only eating it because I’m starving. Those scrambled eggs you made were gross!”
She swallows what’s in her mouth and tosses the rest of the chocolate in the bin.
“God, I hate this place!” she rails, pushing past us and flying up the stairs. “I’ve no privacy!”
“I think Mabel’s angry,” Archie comments, screwing up his little, freckle-covered nose.
I can’t resist ruffling his hair. “You can say that again. Come on.”
As we add the books to the crates behind the chapel, I feel a stab of annoyance at Mabel, but I’m also annoyed at myself. Why did I have to go and do that? I shouldn’t have made her feel like she’s being watched: that’s only going to make things worse.
Archie totters off to watch the builders as they continue cutting away the hillside. I lean back against the chapel wall and let out a sigh.
I feel like a failure. Aren’t gay men supposed to be great with kids? Isn’t that the stereotype? Why can’t Theo’s kids just like me? What am I doing wrong?
