‘You monster! No more playing doctors and nurses for you.’
‘Is that what you and Daddy were doing in the bedroom this morning?’ five-year-old Thomas asks, suddenly appearing behind his father. ‘I bet Daddy was the patient,’ he whisper-shouts as he uses his hand on the wrong side of his face to shield his mouth. ‘Because he was moaning very, very loud.’
‘You’re right, Thomas. I was pretending to be very, very sick,’ Harry answers solemnly, his fingers tipping his son’s chin.
‘He wasn’t pretending,’ Miranda says, covering her words with a cough.
‘Very sick. But Nurse Mummy kissed it all better, and then I shouted with joy.’
‘Yes, I heard that, too. May I have a juice, please?’
‘Of course you can. You grab the oranges, and I’ll switch on the juicer.’
‘All right, but no sneaking carrots in it this time just because they’re orange.’
‘Orange is orange,’ Harry asserts, making his way to the other side of the counter. ‘Where’s your brother?’
‘He went to poop,’ Thomas says, clambering up to sit in the high stool next to his mother. There’s little more than a year between Thomas and his brother, Teddy, or Theodore when he’s in trouble.
‘Charming,’ Miranda chastises lightly, ruffling his fair hair.
‘Mummy, when you’ve got to go, you’ve got to go!’ He picks up a large Jaffa and throws it to his father, followed by two more in quick succession, leaving Harry to juggle all three to the delight of his son.
‘Daddy!’ announces Teddy, the latest addition to the kitchen capers, who appears to be carrying a large jar of corn kernels.
‘Yes, fruit of my loins,’ Harry booms back.
‘I don’t want juice. I want cockporn.’
‘You, my child,’ Harry answers gravely, ‘are definitely your mother’s son.’
The next Jaffa is courtesy of Miranda, not aimed for Harry’s hands, but his head.
God, I love these people hard.
20
Archer
I could’ve called her.
She could’ve called me.
But neither of us seem to be of that mind.
So what does that say about our relationship, both fake and real?
She also could’ve tried not to look so horrified when that blond bastard mentioned lunch. It’s not like I wanted to go, but she didn’t offer either. Which makes me, what?? Good enough to fuck but not good enough to take home to meet Mummy and Daddy.
Did I want to?
Maybe at some point.
I didn’t want to be second best; thatisthe point.
And I wanted her to invite me. I wanted to walk in with her on my arm, probably not that day but maybe some point later on?
She could’ve asked, but she didn’t.
