“Yeah,” is the warbly response.
I turn to see Lucas, mouth turned down as far as it’ll go, tear tracks wetting his red cheeks, blond hair in a ruffled mess. “Nearly home, baby.”
He nods, blinking out more tears. Jake and Nel said they’d bring everyone else home—because Jake being the exemplary friend he is, has car seats in his car for Mary and Oscar and can remove them to bring the adults back on a second trip. When we pull up on our drive, Harry helps our eldest out of the car as I open the front door, relishing the quiet in our home. Without discussion, Harry and I parent as one. He takes Lucas to the bathroom to check the cut on his forehead, rummaging in the first aid kit while I start calling the out-of-hours doctor and retrieve an icepack from the freezer.
The doctor answers as I wrap a clean tea towel around the pack. By the time I meet Harry and Lucas in the lounge, I have the answers I need.
“We don’t need to go to A&E,” I say coming to sit next to them on the sofa.
“Thank fuuu…dge for that,” Harry groans.
“Daddy was going to say a bad word,” Lucas mumbles without lifting his head from where it rests on Harry’s shoulder.
“I guess your perceptiveness hasn’t been affected,” Harry deadpans, looking down at Lucas with an accusing stare but he winks and kisses an uninjured section of his head. “What did the doctor say?”
“We need to keep him up and keep an eye out for signs of a concussion but if we’re happy he can sleep in a couple of hours. Calpol and Nurofen for the swelling.”
“I get to stay up late?” Lucas perks up.
“Yes, but only a little bit,” I tell him.
“How about we watch a movie?” Harry says, grabbing the remote and pointing at the TV.
“Really?” Lucas asks excitedly.
“Sure, bud. Have you ever watched A Muppet’s Christmas Carol?” Harry flicks through the menu to find what he’s looking for.
“No.” Lucas frowns.
“Such a deprived childhood.” Harry shakes his head sadly and I laugh. “This was Auntie Nel’s favourite Christmas film when we were kids, and she made us all watch iteveryyear. I kind of complained and moaned every time, but I’m not gonna lie, it’s pretty good.”
We settle in to watch the film, Lucas rolling over to snuggle into my side and I hold him close to me. Having two boys who love sport and games and play rambunctiously, minor injuries are a regular occurrence in our house. Doesn’t mean it gets easier to see your baby hurt and in tears. Lucas is at the age where he pushes back on so much, digs his heels in just to test our resistance, and wants to distance himself from us a little. It’s natural but I hate it. As much as it’s horrible seeing him upset, I love this little bubble the three of us arenow in, watching a cosy movie, huddled under a blanket, and cuddling like we did when he was little.
“Don’t fall asleep, will you?” I mumble against flaxen hair.
“I won’t,” he yawns.
“Every time you blink too long, I’m going to sing really loudly,” Harry whispers, getting in Lucas’s face, making him giggle and push him away. “You want some medicine?”
I get up before Harry can and fetch the syrups, grabbing my phone on the way, shooting off a quick message to Rhiannon to check on everything at the hall. An instant reply tells me that Oscar and Mary are fine, Dad and Uncle Gordan are merry on sherry, and Mum and Auntie Hen are social butterflies, flitting amongst the crowds and making everyone fall in love with them. That’s a load off.
“I’m sorry, Dad,” I hear Lucas say as I approach the lounge.
“Why are you sorry, mate?”
“You and Mum had to leave early because of me.”
“Oh, that’s okay. I was getting bored talking to Mr Price from number eighty-three anyway.”
“Is Mum mad at me?” His little voice breaks slightly as he looks up at Harry and I place my palm over my chest as I watch them from the doorway.
“Oh, bud,” Harry sighs, bringing our boy tight to his chest. “Mum’s not mad at you. No one’s mad at you, we’re all just happy you’re okay.”
“Apart from the bump and the cut on my head,” Lucas gripes.
“Hey, that cut might scar. Chicks love scars.” I roll my eyes at Harry’s complete inappropriateness.
“Ew, gross, Dad.” That’s my boy.
