‘What?’ His word hits the air quite aggressively, sounding more likewhit?‘I think you shouldn’t be thinking about sex,’ he answers decisively. ‘And I think I might need to go have a wee talk to Tiger Blossom’s dad.’
‘You’ll have to wait until he comes back from rehab,’ she says, sifting sugar-like sand through her fingers. Meanwhile, Keir looks like his temper is about to eject his head.
‘Sorcha, do you know what rehab is?’ I ask, keeping my tone even.
‘Tiger’s mummy says it’s currently a means of keeping him from being served.’I’ll bet.
‘And what about sex?’ I ask, evenly. ‘Do you know what sex is?’
‘Well,duh,’ she answers, suddenly looking back at me as though I’ve grown another head. And a dumb one at that. ‘It’s what makesb-a-b-i-e-s,’ she says, spelling it out helpfully. ‘The mummy and daddy do some round kisses like they do on TV.’ She turns her back to us both, crossing her hands over her chest, her fingers appearing at her shoulders as she mimes cuddling. Then she begins tilting her head side to side like a cat watching a washing machine, adding kissy noises for effect.
‘See,’ she says, turning back. ‘Then two years later, a baby comes along.’
‘I must be doing something wrong,’ Keir mumbles.
I slide him a confused look; doing something wrong with regards to his parenting, or his virility?
‘Of course, you’re doing something wrong,’ she replies, jumping up and placing her hands on her hips. ‘You’re not married, so you can’t have any babies.’
‘Aye, but I’ve got you,’ he answers reasonably.
‘And who have I got? Princess kitty, that’s who. Come on, Dad, I need some sliblings.’ I try not to laugh and don’t correct her.That would be wrong. ‘Someone I can teach ballet to,’ she continues, pirouetting and kicking up sand onto my legs.
‘Oh, Agnes is coming!’ Sorcha suddenly begins jumping and waving, trying to catch the older woman’s attention, and in doing so, she kicks up even more sand. ‘She promised to take me to book a trip on the glass bottomed boat to see the fish.’
‘Come on, hen. Watch what you’re doing,’ Keir says, holding up his drink to protect it from the spray.
‘See what I mean,’ she answers, her words filled with the pique of a teen. ‘I need someone else for him to pick on. He’s only got me. I think you should marry him,’ she says, throwing the words at me as an afterthought—as though her father is some issue to take off her hands. She goes to run off in the direction of Agnes when Keir catches her wrist.
‘Hang on a minute. Are you trying to get rid of me?’
‘No, silly.’ She rolls her eyes. ‘I’m trying to get some baby brothers. And I like Paisley.’ Her gaze slides to mine. ‘She’s nice, and she’s pretty, and she can teach me to do makeup when I’m big. So I think you should marry her,’ she says, nodding her head. ‘And then have sex with her without any condoms so I can get those baby brothers!’
She scampers off, leaving us both stunned and mute. We don’t speak—not for minutes, at least.How awkward.
Then Keir turns to me with a sly sort of smile. ‘How about we go back to the villa and get a head start on that?’
‘Which that? The marriage or the babies?’ I purposely leave sex off the table.Or something.
‘We could practise the baby making bit. I’m not ready for babies right now. But I’d be up for plenty of baby making practise.’
I’m suddenly and irrationally annoyed. Why? Probably because he said he’d marry me and then never mentioned it again. And I know how ridiculous my anger sounds, especially as he was already on his knees at that point in Chas’s kitchen. His offer was well meant but ridiculous—a reaction to my call from the immigration department, that’s all.Because Keir is a good man. A kind man.
Which all just serves to remind me how ridiculous my anger is. I’ll probably return to London from this vacation to an angry immigration official who’ll confiscate my passport. I’ll be lucky if I’m given time to pack before being escorted to a flight to the States—probably with a guard and a prison jumpsuit.
And these hips weren’t built for stripes.
As Keir reaches out and strokes my arm with the backs of his fingers, tears prick behind my sunglasses. I love him. I think I knew before we even arrived on Mahé Island. I just couldn’t admit it to myself.
‘What would you say to a little afternoon delight?’ he asks, his tone dripping with innuendo and suggestion, unaware of the knots my insides are currently tying themselves in.
On instinct, I decide to stay in the moment. We no longer have an infinite number of those ahead of us.
‘To a little afternoon delight, I might sayhe-llooo.’
He chuckles at my answer—part sexy, part silly, but all yes.
‘Oh, trouble,’ he says, smiling as he stands. He holds out his hand, helping me to my feet. But what I don’t anticipate is when he throws me over his shoulder.
