Page 33 of Silver Lining (London Love #6)

H e had been absolutely right, making that call. Or perhaps the kids had already got their little claws into him and were playing him like a puppet. They were their mother’s children, and she’d taught them well.

Well…I was their father and had to take some blame.

“We’re not in any way suited for a restaurant visit,” he said, looking at me in the rear-view mirror.

I agreed, one hundred per cent, as Phinneas once again screamed and tried to kick through the car seat he was strapped into.

He was exhausted, my little boy, and terrified, with no idea how to handle himself. I didn’t blame him. If I’d been him, I would have punched something too.

“We’re doing the drive-through. We’ll eat in the car,” he said firmly.

Another good call. The mere thought of getting Phinneas out of the car seat and back in it again had me breaking out in a precautionary sweat. No. Just no. Let’s get home.

“You’re okay, Dad,” my daughter said from the front seat. “What do you want?”

“I want a big meal.” Marmaduke.

“Happy meal. Nuggets or burger. A big meal is too much, Marmie.”

“French fries,” he demanded.

“Chips,” Stewart countered. “We’re in the UK now, young man. Chips.”

“French fries!” my son shouted, a smile on his face .

“You are an alien, aren’t you? I’ll get you alien chips if you’re not careful.”

“What are alien chips?”

“Deep-fried worms,” Stewart boomed as he took the turn into the drive-through.

“You’re disgusting.” My daughter laughed, once again turning around to look at me.

“No. I’m very good at cooking,” Stewart said, like he did this every day. Dealt with unhinged children…and their even more unhinged father.

“Do you cook worms for dinner?”

“I put them in my tea. With two scoops of ants.”

“That sounds very suspicious. Burger or nuggets?”

“Worms!” Marmaduke shouted. Stewart laughed.

“Worms, it is. Do you want crushed beetles on top? Or chopped-up toenails?”

“Stewart!” I had to intervene here, but he just laughed and looked over his shoulder.

Looking at me that way he did. Like he loved me .

“Stewart?” Constance said, then got interrupted as we reached the ordering point, all of us suddenly shouting our orders like the deranged bunch we apparently were.

Normal. It felt so mind-shatteringly normal.

“As I was saying,” Constance continued when we were finally parked up, tucking into our food in an airport car park. There would be spillage in Stewart’s lovely car. “I like this car,” my daughter continued. “It’s very nice.”

“My son-in-law bought it for me. I take good care of it because I could never afford to replace it.”

“I see,” she said, mulling that little titbit of information over. “And you like my dad?”

“Constance!” I snapped. Seriously. Behave.

“What? He keeps looking at you in the rear-view mirror and smiling. He likes you.”

No shame. But then, Stewart was laughing.

“I like your dad, a lot. It’s not hard to. He’s a lovely guy.”

“I think so,” my daughter quipped, watching me. “And do you like Stewart back?”

Less than twenty minutes, my children had been back, and we were already pulling the questions out of the hat with no concern for my pathetic attempts at a slow introduction to a new way of life.

“He’s rather nice too, don’t you think?” I said, trying to steer us into softer words, less blatant truths.

“So you’re going to marry Stewart?” Marmaduke. For heaven’s sake, child!

“No, Marmie.”

“Mommy won’t like it if you call me Marmie.”

“Well, I like calling you Marmie. Constance started it, and I think it’s a good name. Marmie. Phinney. And what? Connie?”

“Dad, no. Can’t bear it. Constance is fine. There was a girl at school who tried calling me Stancy. I almost punched her in the face.”

Now Marmie was laughing, and suddenly there was a little giggle from the car seat next to me.

A nugget being placed into his hand.

“Good boy,” I whispered, hoping it wouldn’t set him off again.

My baby. My youngest. The small child that had been ripped from me. Now he didn’t know me, and it hurt more than I had expected. But here we were, years of heartbreak to try to mend. I wanted to stroke his hand, but we weren’t there yet.

“So you’re together?” Constance.

I swallowed and tried to compose myself as Stewart just looked at me with a smile on his face like he was in on this, when I knew full well he wasn’t.

“You’re supposed to be the older, wiser person here!” I hurled at him as he burst into another laugh.

“Well, you’re their father. I’m just the driver,” he defended himself.

“I thought you were the nanny,” Constance said with a little snort. “Looking after Daddy. He needs someone to look after him. Not very good on his own.”

“He’s actually quite good at looking after himself,” Stewart said softly. “He looks after me too.”

“Ha!” my daughter let out. “So you are together.”

“Is that an issue?” Stewart asked, while I shoved chips into my mouth and handed Phinney another nugget, watching this whole attempt at a reunion implode.

“Is nobody asking me anymore? ”

“Nugget,” Phinneas said.

The first word he said to me was…nugget?

“Nugget, baby. Want a chip?” For a second, he looked like he was going to cry again. Staring at me. Big eyes. My son. My little baby.

“Does that mean you’re gay, Dad? We learnt about that at school,” Marmaduke piped up.

I sighed deeply.

“Nugget,” Phinneas said again, grasping at my arm.

“Don’t give him too many,” Constance warned, now sitting backwards in the front seat. “He’ll be sick.”

I couldn’t win, could I?

“I’m… I…I like Stewart. And he lives next door, so it’s not like he’s going to be living with us. Is that cool?”

“Has he got kids?” Marmie asked, like he was interrogating us all. “Dad, is there any more ketchup? Mine fell on the floor.”

Big blob of ketchup on the floor of Stewart’s car. He’d kill us all.

“It’s okay,” Stewart said, trying to lean back with a tissue in his hand .

He had ketchup down his front.

A small fact that just made this whole shitshow suddenly feel…

I liked this. So bloody much. And the tears suddenly running down my face were ridiculous, just as ridiculous as the laugh coming out of my son’s mouth. My youngest, giggling away in his car seat.

“Nugget,” he demanded.

“Don’t cry, Daddy.” Marmaduke. My gorgeous little son in nothing but a hoodie, an oversized nappy and ketchup.

I get it, Marmie. I do. This had all been too much, for anyone.

And I cried. Cried for the son who was so anxious about everything that he couldn’t control his bladder.

I understood because I was in that same boat.

Minus the nappy. For my little baby son who had no idea who I was.

And for my daughter who handed me a tissue, then got out of the car and came around to the back door, climbed in and gave me the biggest hug.

I cried. Because it was all too much, too hard, and completely overwhelming.

“She did a number on you, didn’t she?” my daughter said.

“I know, because she’s just the way she is.

She’s not all bad, Dad. She tries, really hard.

But nobody can do this life thing on their own, not even me.

Which is why we needed to come back here.

You see that, don’t you? And we’re not all bad either. Promise.”

“I love you,” I croaked out between sobs. Oh God. What was I like?

“You’re okay, Dad.” My daughter laughed. “Just get us home and let us settle in. I can’t wait to have a shower and do my hair. I look like a hobo.”

“You’re beautiful,” I blubbered. “And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry about all this.”

“Nugget,” Phinneas said. I handed him one.

“I love you,” I told him, no doubt looking like an overgrown alien myself, red and tear-stained and overemotional.

“Por favor,” my baby said, looking a little unsure. “Nugget.”

“Oh, darling.” I grabbed his little hand and pressed it to my mouth.

Which, of course, made him burst into tears.

“Dad, I need the toilet.”

Fabulous .

“I’ll take him,” Constance said. “And I’ll get a sick bag too, because Phinney is starting to look a little green.”

Life. What the hell, universe? Another tissue appeared in front of me, which I promptly used to blow my nose.

What a fucking day.

“I love you,” Stewart said quietly, reaching out and grabbing my hand.

“It will be fine, all of this. Tell me what you need, and I will help you. You’re not in this on your own.

And if I can just start by saying how much I appreciate your children…

Constance is fabulous. And I think Marmaduke is a bloody star. This little one here, though?”

“Yes?” I croaked as Stewart suddenly burst through the gap in the front seats, more tissues at the ready.

“We need to get home,” he said, coughing softly as my baby boy covered him in regurgitated processed fast food.

“Agree,” I breathed out.

Too much. Too soon. But then I laughed and got out of the car and yes.

My life. I think I loved it. Every little part of it. Even this. This…

Madness .

I loved it a little more a few hours later when I was sitting on the floor, watching my youngest refuse to come anywhere near me.

It hurt, but I understood. I more than understood because it had been so long since I’d been around them that I didn’t even know Constance anymore, let alone Marmaduke, who’d fallen asleep on the sofa.

I had no blankets to cover him with and couldn’t leave Phinneas alone, having no idea what he’d do. I needed to put some stair gates up so he couldn’t escape out the front door. We had some, somewhere. Or maybe I’d thrown them out. Had I?

“He doesn’t know who he belongs to,” my daughter said, coming through the door in pyjamas with her hair wrapped in a towel.

How had she become so grown up?

“He belongs with us,” I said, feeling weird.

“He doesn’t know that. The only person he bonded with was Pilar. He wouldn’t even let Mommy pick him up, and I mean, he used to nap in my bed, and then he stopped. Refused to go anywhere near me.”

“It’s—”

“Don’t make excuses. It’s fucked up to the max.”

“Constance, don’t use words like that.”