“Leave,” I barked. “You heard the man. You’ve wasted two seconds already. Three.”
The boys pushed forward. This wasn’t good. I’d have a riot on my hands here in a second, but Thomas finally saw sense and scurried back to his car. Threw the flowers to the ground and slammed the door shut.
“Idiot,” Ortega snarled next to me. “You have crap taste in blokes, sir.”
“I did,” I agreed. Fuck.Don’t show weakness. Stay in control.But I laughed. I couldn’t help myself.
“Now, gentlemen,” I said, clapping my hands in the air. “Mrs Cook has afternoon tea ready, and we all know how upset Mrs Cook becomes when we let her efforts go to waste. Let’s go sit down and indulge.”
“You can sit with me, Dad.” Bailey grinned. “Ashoka has the dentist, so there’s a spare seat at our table.”
“Fabulous.” I grinned.
“And I’m right, you know. That was your boyfriend? Right? Boyfriends are idiots. You need a husband. Am I right or am I right?”
I wanted to say, “No, Bailey, you’re a child. And it doesn’t work like that.” But instead, I just laughed and nodded.
“Marry Noah, Dad. Then I’ll have two dads.” He looked awfully pleased with himself. “It will be good.”
“Yes,” I agreed. I mean, what else could I say? Dad? What the fuck, kid?
What a spectacle. Had I managed it right? And here was Emma slapping me gently on the shoulder. “Good job,” she whispered.
“Thank you,” I whispered back.
“When’s your man Fairweather turning up?”
“Soon,” I said. Soon. As soon as humanly possible, I hoped, because I was struggling here. With my emotions, myself, my sanity and my bloody hopes and dreams. Everything felt too fragile, and here I was again. Walking along with a little boy’s hand in mine like it belonged there.
“Mr Riley, sir. A word.”
Ah. Mr Bethan. A cheerful smile. A superb housemaster and a joy to work with. I almost read out his latest appraisal in my head because…I was losing it. Fast.Smile. Pretend you’re in control.
“Absolutely.” I sent Bailey on his way with Emma and stood there in the middle of the courtyard as Mr Bethan discreetly turned his back away from the retreating boys.
“Your young man. We are going along with his chosen name of Fairweather for now. He was made to remove the marker pen from his door, the chore board has been restored after he…attempted to deface it, and he has completed detention for five days and has been very helpful with his assigned tasks. The new door sign with his chosen name arrived today; I am going to get him to assist me in fitting it. Just wanted you to have the heads-up so you’re aware, sir.”
“Very good.” It…was crazy. But okay. I could go along with it.
“It’s fine. He’s a very happy boy. And I am aware he sneaks out at night, and as long as you are happy with our current…arrangements?”
“I am very aware, and despite being satisfied that the boy is safe and sleeps well, my concern remains. Butch… Fairweather makes himself at home on my sofa. He sleeps through the night and sometimes takes his breakfast with me. It’s unconventional, I know, but under the circumstances?”
“He’s expressed an absolute joy at the arrangements.” Mr Bethan was an amateur actor and spoke like he was constantly on stage. I didn’t mind. He was a nice man, and he had once again shown himself to be exactly what he needed to be. Trustworthy. Reliable. Consistent. Kind.
Everything I needed was here.
Having worked late in the office, I made it back to my accommodation way past nine to find Bailey curled up on the sofa, his hair damp and wearing…pyjamas.
“Armstrong got these for his birthday. They were like two sizes too small for him, so he gave them to me. I’ve never owned…pyjamas. I feel like a baby.”
“But are you warm and comfortable?” I asked with a smile on my face, dumping my little haul from Mrs Cook on the table. Milk. Biscuits. A leftover piece of cake.
“Yup. Comfy.”
“You brushed your teeth?” I asked.
“Yup.” His face was full of mischief.
