or … here, take this.’
Christo stood back in amazement. ‘What have you done to him? He’s never this chivalrous.’
Finn was holding out his hooded top. ‘Thanks.’ It was cold. It had been one of those days when it started off bright and crisp in the morning, so I hadn’t bothered to wear a coat. He lifted the hood over my hair and brushed a wayward strand away from my eyes. ‘It suits you.’
*
My uncle’s house was cold. I wore Finn’s top in bed that night and the night after, until the smell of it became so familiar it was like having him lying next to me.
CHAPTER SIX
I start to run a bath.
Finn is reading George a bedtime story.
‘I’m bored, Dad,’ I hear him say, ‘can you tell me about the America circus again?’
Finn was five when his family moved to Connecticut. His father ran an IT consultancy and took the business to America.
Finn shuts the book. ‘Once a year a horse show would come to our neighbourhood. They put up this large circus-like tent and me and Uncle Ed would climb up onto these wooden boxes with the neighbourhood kids. It was a long way up, almost as high as the clouds. We wanted to reach the top so we could slide down the top of the tent. I don’t think it was safe but it was great fun.’
‘Like sliding off the roof of the house, Dad?’
‘Don’t get ideas, George. This one time, when I managed to reach the top, I started my descent and then my shoe got caught. It ripped the canvas and I fell through the hole.’
George laughs outrageously. ‘Did it hurt?’
‘Yes, I cut my face. Look at my scar, it’s still there.’
I can imagine George touching the scar like he always does.
‘I landed on a large pile of horse manure.’ Finn laughs. ‘My friend Mick …’
‘The skinhead!’ he shouts.
‘Calm down, George. Yes, the skinhead. Mick and Uncle Ed rescued me.’
‘When am I going to have a brother? If I’m good, can I have one for Christmas?’
I turn off the bath water and listen to Finn’s response.
‘I’m sure Santa will give you one, maybe not for Christmas …’
‘Why not then?’
‘Because that might be too soon to make one.’
‘Why? How long does it take?’
‘No more questions, George.’
Our son’s thoughts are scattered haphazardly in his mind like hundreds and thousands. That’s how I think of it anyhow. ‘How long?’
‘Wait and see.’
‘How do you make them?’
‘Time to switch off.’
‘Can I make the baby?’
‘No.’
‘I’d make a boy just like me!’
Finn needs rescuing so I open the door and walk along the narrow trail in George’s room that isn’t covered in Lego or soldiers or plastic bags with car-boot junk in them.
‘Lights out.’
‘My brain isn’t tired, Mum.’ I take hold of George’s restless legs and he pushes them against my hands. I call his legs ‘lucky legs’ because they are so thin they are lucky not to snap. They are smooth as marble and each toe is perfect. ‘Mum!’ He giggles, legs wriggling under his Thomas The Tank Engine duvet cover. ‘Stop it!’ Rocky looks put out as he finds another spot on the bed.
‘I want another story.’
‘No more. It’s a big day tomorrow.’
‘What’s happening tomorrow?’ Finn asks.
‘It’s his Nativity play.’
‘Oh, yes, of course.’
‘Tell Dad what you’re going to be.’
‘I’m a shepherd and I play the triangle,’ George says, trying to impress him.
‘And what exactly is happening when you hit the triangle?’ Finn asks.
‘The Kings are arriving. You’ll be watching, won’t you, Dad?’
‘I can’t promise, George, but I reckon you’ll be the best shepherd.’
He shifts position and holds on to Baby tightly. He has lots of toys under his pillow too, including his monkey Einstein which he refuses to move, however much I argue that it must be uncomfortable.
‘I want your eyelashes,’ I tell him, wrapping my arms around him in his warm flannelette pyjamas and smothering him in kisses. ‘You’re my
Christo stood back in amazement. ‘What have you done to him? He’s never this chivalrous.’
Finn was holding out his hooded top. ‘Thanks.’ It was cold. It had been one of those days when it started off bright and crisp in the morning, so I hadn’t bothered to wear a coat. He lifted the hood over my hair and brushed a wayward strand away from my eyes. ‘It suits you.’
*
My uncle’s house was cold. I wore Finn’s top in bed that night and the night after, until the smell of it became so familiar it was like having him lying next to me.
CHAPTER SIX
I start to run a bath.
Finn is reading George a bedtime story.
‘I’m bored, Dad,’ I hear him say, ‘can you tell me about the America circus again?’
Finn was five when his family moved to Connecticut. His father ran an IT consultancy and took the business to America.
Finn shuts the book. ‘Once a year a horse show would come to our neighbourhood. They put up this large circus-like tent and me and Uncle Ed would climb up onto these wooden boxes with the neighbourhood kids. It was a long way up, almost as high as the clouds. We wanted to reach the top so we could slide down the top of the tent. I don’t think it was safe but it was great fun.’
‘Like sliding off the roof of the house, Dad?’
‘Don’t get ideas, George. This one time, when I managed to reach the top, I started my descent and then my shoe got caught. It ripped the canvas and I fell through the hole.’
George laughs outrageously. ‘Did it hurt?’
‘Yes, I cut my face. Look at my scar, it’s still there.’
I can imagine George touching the scar like he always does.
‘I landed on a large pile of horse manure.’ Finn laughs. ‘My friend Mick …’
‘The skinhead!’ he shouts.
‘Calm down, George. Yes, the skinhead. Mick and Uncle Ed rescued me.’
‘When am I going to have a brother? If I’m good, can I have one for Christmas?’
I turn off the bath water and listen to Finn’s response.
‘I’m sure Santa will give you one, maybe not for Christmas …’
‘Why not then?’
‘Because that might be too soon to make one.’
‘Why? How long does it take?’
‘No more questions, George.’
Our son’s thoughts are scattered haphazardly in his mind like hundreds and thousands. That’s how I think of it anyhow. ‘How long?’
‘Wait and see.’
‘How do you make them?’
‘Time to switch off.’
‘Can I make the baby?’
‘No.’
‘I’d make a boy just like me!’
Finn needs rescuing so I open the door and walk along the narrow trail in George’s room that isn’t covered in Lego or soldiers or plastic bags with car-boot junk in them.
‘Lights out.’
‘My brain isn’t tired, Mum.’ I take hold of George’s restless legs and he pushes them against my hands. I call his legs ‘lucky legs’ because they are so thin they are lucky not to snap. They are smooth as marble and each toe is perfect. ‘Mum!’ He giggles, legs wriggling under his Thomas The Tank Engine duvet cover. ‘Stop it!’ Rocky looks put out as he finds another spot on the bed.
‘I want another story.’
‘No more. It’s a big day tomorrow.’
‘What’s happening tomorrow?’ Finn asks.
‘It’s his Nativity play.’
‘Oh, yes, of course.’
‘Tell Dad what you’re going to be.’
‘I’m a shepherd and I play the triangle,’ George says, trying to impress him.
‘And what exactly is happening when you hit the triangle?’ Finn asks.
‘The Kings are arriving. You’ll be watching, won’t you, Dad?’
‘I can’t promise, George, but I reckon you’ll be the best shepherd.’
He shifts position and holds on to Baby tightly. He has lots of toys under his pillow too, including his monkey Einstein which he refuses to move, however much I argue that it must be uncomfortable.
‘I want your eyelashes,’ I tell him, wrapping my arms around him in his warm flannelette pyjamas and smothering him in kisses. ‘You’re my
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