Page 32 of Eager Housewife

“Sit.” He instructs a few tense minutes of tea making later, nodding towards the sofa.

“I’m not a dog, Dad,” Ainsley grumbles, but does as he says. Duncan ignores her and takes the place next to her on the three-seater.

I go towards the single chair, but Duncan catches my eye and shakes his head, dipping his gaze towards the place on the other side of Ainsley.

And clearly, I’m still his little housewife, because I do as he commands. Ainsley regards us, half confused, half suspicious.

“Why are you home?” Duncan asks as he pushes a cup of tea towards Ainsley and places a plate of chocolate biscuits on the low table.

“Aren’t we talking about how you ended up marrying my best friend?” she snips back at him.

“Aye, but first why are you here?”

“I…” Ainsley’s voice breaks and she lunges for her tea. Duncan meets my gaze over her head, and there’s nothing but compassion and worry and love there. He cares about his daughter deeply.

“What happened?” I ask gently. “Your texts said you were fine?”

“Your texts said you were fine too,” Ainsley points out belligerently through a mouthful of sweet milky tea. “You didn’t mention you were married!”

I flush.

“You didn’t like mainland Europe?” Duncan asks mildly.

“The food is funny,” Ainsley mutters, grabbing up a chocolate-covered biscuit and crunching it noisily. “This is the first proper cup of tea I’ve had in a month.”

“Uhuh.” Duncan takes a sip of his tea and waits.

“I just…” Ainsley hesitates, then the floodgate opens. “I didn’t enjoy it like I thought I would. I couldn’t understand the language, no one could understand my accent. I nearly got arrested over a comment supporting my gay friend back home. The accommodation was ridiculous.” She pouts and continues with a laundry list of genuine and imaginary complaints.

“I was lonely,” she confesses eventually, putting down her tea and placing her hands in her lap. Duncan takes one, holding it in his big paw. “I missed you, Blythe, and now I find you’ve been shacking up and not thinking of me at all.”

“We thought of you,” I assure her, taking her other hand and the three of us are connected.

“But not while actually shacking up,” Duncan adds dryly. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Or me?” I ask. “I’d have been there to listen.”

Ainsley shrugs. “You both thought I was going on the adventure of a lifetime. I didn’t want to be the pathetic girl who wasn’t enjoying the trip I’d bigged up so much.”

“I wouldn’t have thought that, I promise,” I tell her.

Duncan and I meet eyes over Ainsley, and the flare of connection is different to our usual sexual frisson. It’s the shared knowledge of two people who both love another person, as well as each other. This is parental love, and I know somehow, deep inside of me, that we’ll do this again and again. It won’t necessarily be with Ainsley, but with our own children who we support through all the lonely trials of life.

That strengthens me.

“Do you still want to go travelling?” Duncan asks.

Ainsley tilts her head and pauses. “Yes.”

“Okay. I’m going to call an old friend who lives in America. You can visit him. He’ll take care of you. Make sure you have a good time until you’ve found your feet with travelling and are ready to go solo.”

“Really?” Ainsley blinks. “You’re not cross?”

“I’m not cross with you.”

He’s a great dad. I knew it, of course, but with the tiny life growing inside of me the certainty takes on a new importance. He’s going to be loving and tender and fiercely protective of our babies.

“How can I be, when you’re going to be very understanding of your new step-mother.” Duncan’s smile is half wry amusement, half hope, and a bubble of hope lifts me.