Page 46 of Gideon (Finding Home #3)

Thank God for pneumonia and dissolute living

SEVEN YEARS LATER

Gideon

I come awake when the shower in the en suite goes on. Ten minutes later he slides carefully into bed beside me, bringing the scent of freshly washed skin and coconut.

“I’m awake,” I say sleepily.

“Shit, cariad . Did I wake you up?”

I open my eyes. The room is full of moonlight, letting me see his face as if it were daylight. His hair is damp and curling in waves around his face. I smile at the sight of him. I always have. I probably always will.

Then I frown at the lines of strain around his eyes. “Tough night?”

He nods and I raise my arm so he can cuddle into me, throwing his leg over mine and nestling his head into the gap between my neck and my shoulder. “Car accident,” he mumbles, the Welsh still strong in his voice after all these years. “Two people didn’t make it.”

“You did your best,” I say with absolute certainty.

Eli is a paramedic now and although nights like these happen, he loves the job passionately.

I’ve always thought that there are places, people, and jobs that feel right straightaway, which is why I’d pushed Eli to do this.

He’s fantastic at it, bringing all the calmness and quick wits to the job that he honed in lands far away from here.

“It wasn’t good enough tonight,” he mumbles, and I tighten my grip around him, loving the way he nestles closer. This is all I can do for him on nights like these, but somehow, blessedly, it’s enough for him.

“Tell me about it,” I whisper and he does, the words floating around the moonlit room. I hope they float out of the open windows and far away from him.

Finally, he falls asleep, and I lay there holding him and drifting until I hear the patter of footsteps. The next second the covers rise and a little body slides in next to me. I raise the arm that isn’t wrapped around Eli and another part of my heart cuddles close, nestling her head into me.

“Bad dream?” I whisper. Our four-year-old daughter, Hetty, nods her head furiously, her skull digging into my shoulder blade.

I let her be silent for a bit as nothing comes of trying to drag things out of her.

She’s as stubborn as a donkey. I’m not sure where she gets that from.

She’s a funny little thing with mad-looking hair and knees that seem permanently scraped, but she’s immensely kind and fiercely intelligent.

I find her endlessly fascinating, the way her mind lights from one subject to the next like a ratty-haired hummingbird.

When Eli had first brought up the subject of children, I’d been bewildered.

I’d never in my life dreamt of having them.

Why would I when I’d made a career out of being congenitally selfish?

Being with Eli was also so amazing I couldn’t comprehend adding anybody to our lives who would demand so much of his time and attention and maybe take some of his love away from me. I told you – congenitally selfish.

But after I got over the shock and that instinctive reaction, I’d known that I actually wanted those babies and I needed them to be Eli’s.

The idea that there would be more of his kindness and joy in the world made me instantly happy.

I’m so glad we did, because the kids are him all over.

Wild hair, happy natures, and calmness personified.

Even the seven-month-old Gus is calmer than me.

He seems to permanently chivvy me along like he’s an old soul.

When we knew Hetty was on the way, my terror had intensified. I am not the person who most people would associate with being a good parent. I’d managed conclusively to screw myself up. What the fuck would I do with small people?

Then, as always, Eli had been steadfast in his belief in me.

It’s one of his strangest characteristics that I’m most grateful for.

Other people look at me and think “total fuck-up,” but he sees someone worthwhile.

I’m still not a paragon of virtue, but for him I try when I won’t for others because his good opinion is worth more than gold to me.

If he’s happy with me, then I can shrug and think “fuck off” to the rest of the world.

I always try to live up to that because the last thing I ever want to see in his eyes is disappointment.

Fatherhood was therefore rather traumatic for me before the babies came along, filled with worries and fears. But conversely, as soon as Hetty arrived, I seemed to settle into it instantly. Maybe it’s because I’d expended all my worries beforehand.

And I’ve learnt so many lessons, predominantly that true love makes us unselfish and that real love is infinite and perfectly capable of expanding without diluting anything.

My love for Eli has grown as I watch him navigating fatherhood with all of that loving calmness and joy that I’ve always seen in him.

Equally, I’ll often find him watching me with the children, whether it’s when I’m reading to Hetty or sitting in the kitchen feeding Gus, and in his eyes is something precious and raw that warms me all the way through.

I’ll never completely know why I make him happy, but I don’t question it anymore.

That security had allowed me to find it slightly gratifying that Eli was the one to panic when Hetty had come along.

It had been nice and rather novel to be the one coaching him for a change and calming him down.

I enjoyed it while it lasted. It obviously hasn’t happened since, as he’s once again always two steps ahead of me.

“What was it about this time?” I finally whisper, cuddling her close.

“Monster,” she says in a small voice. “It came and eats me and Gus.”

I smile. When Hetty realised that Gus wasn’t going to do anything interesting for a while, she lost interest. She’s slightly jealous of him and at the same time startlingly protective.

“I think if a monster got past all that hair you children have without choking, it would consider itself lucky,” I mutter under my breath.

“What?” she says suspiciously.

“You and Gus are always safe here,” I say in a slightly louder voice, and Eli stirs.

I wait but he doesn’t wake, which should tell me something about how tired he is because he has ears like a fucking bat where the children are concerned.

“As if we’d let a monster in this house, Hetty Ramsay.

Monsters can’t ever come in a house where daddies live. ”

“Is Dadi asleep?” she whispers, using the old Welsh name for father for Eli. I wince because her whispers are at a decibel level that most people would consider shouting.

“He is, poppet, so we have to be as quiet as mice.”

“I don’t think they’re very quiet, really. They squeak a lot. I saw it on CBeebies .”

“Well, it must be true, then,” I say wryly. Her body is losing its scared rigidity and melting into me. “It’s still nighttime,” I whisper. “Why don’t you have a little bit more sleep and then we’ll get up?”

“And you and me can get icy biscuits,” she bargains, her eyebrow raised in a way that’s so like Eli it makes my heart clench.

“Absolutely.”

“Just you and me and definitely not Gus. He’s too little,” she says slightly scornfully.

“He’s too little at the moment,” I say firmly. “But when he’s older he’ll come too because families do things together.”

“Like you and Uncle Milo?” she asks.

“Of course,” I say with absolute certainty, and I want to smile at the thought of me ever saying that and meaning it, but I do. Eli and the children have taught me a new version of family, and it’s one I treasure and cling to.

“And you’ll watch over me while I’m asleep?” she whispers.

I nod and kiss her forehead, inhaling the scent of bubble gum from her shampoo. It’s supposed to cure tangles, but I’m afraid the manufacturers have never come up against anything like my children’s hair.

“Hetty, I will watch over you for the rest of your life,” I say very firmly. It’s a promise I intend to keep for as long as I have breath in my body.

ELI

I wake in a tangle of sheets and sunshine. Stretching, I feel the breeze from the open window wash over me and listen to the melodic clanking and tinkle of the rigging from the boats moored on the river outside.

I turn on my side, pulling the sheets around me, and look out through the French doors that lead out onto a small balcony which looks over the River Fowey.

It’s summer, so the river is busy. Large yachts jostle for space between small boats, and little dinghies zip across the river, hanging around the big destroyer that moored yesterday like small children bugging their older siblings at parties.

I sigh contentedly because I fucking love this house.

We lived for a while in the cottage at Chi an Mor when we first got together, enjoying the respite from the cameras that seemed to follow us everywhere at that point.

I’d initially made moves to find a flat so we could date at a slight distance but Gid had put his foot down, and really I didn’t want to do that either.

I loved being with him – chatting, laughing at our own private jokes, and just being us together.

Anything else would have been conforming to what society might expect, and it has to be said that this is not and never has been one of Gid’s strong points.

He’d refused to hide me from sight until the furore had blown away.

Instead, he’d determinedly taken my hand whenever we were out and doggedly told every interviewer how good I was for him.

I’m not sure of that because he’s done the same for me.

In his utter refusal to see any limits for me, he’d encouraged me to go back to college so I could become a paramedic, and four years later that’s what I’m doing, and I’m loving it.

I love the adrenaline rush of being first on the scene.