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“ D ylan.” It was her normal greeting, only this time, she sounded slightly broken.

I hated that she did, and that I still reacted this way to the sound of her voice. Like I cared, when my body was frozen with that familiar fear.

I was never good enough. Never would be.

I straightened my back and sat down on the bed in the otherwise empty room. I’d walked all the way up to the top of the house, leaving the children downstairs. My neighbours had taken up residence in my front room, with Jean perched on a kitchen bar stool discussing art with Constance.

Still day one. And we were still alive.

“Veronica,” I responded. Polite. Grateful. Calm.

“I’m not a bad parent,” she said. “Whatever Gun Larsen has put into your head, I’m not. I worked really hard to ensure the kids were looked after. They had the best care. Twenty-four-hour security, highly trained nannies, and they were driven—”

“Veronica, they…” I stopped myself. I wasn’t going to drag all this up again.

“Gun Larsen told me to stop being a bad mother and start being a parent. The bitch. The absolute bitch.”

I managed to restrain myself from nodding and instead watched my ex-wife on the screen, blowing her nose into a tissue.

“New York is boiling hot, and the air con in this office is just dumb. Not even a waft of cool air.”

She was crying. Emotional and tired and pretending I couldn’t see it .

“Veronica,” I said softly. “You were always a good mother. You tried hard. But sometimes you have to work with me because I am part of this too. That’s the only thing that’s changed. We’re making good decisions for our children, and I think moving them here is a good decision.”

Carefully chosen words, but I waited for her to throw them back at me, hurl abuse.

“It’s only for three weeks, Dylan. I’ll come back and get them. This is not permanent, you know this.”

I nodded, despite screaming on the inside. I didn’t want to think that.

“You’re a brilliant mum. A fantastic lawyer and a superb businesswoman. You manage to work, and you make good decisions. Right now, you’re making very good decisions. We as parents are.”

“Oh shut up, Dylan.”

“I’m sorry about Brandon.”

“You’re not sorry. And you’re probably all laughing at me, thinking I’ve been caught in your childish trap. Gun Larsen can go to hell for all I care. She and her big words and sneaky threats. She did this. And I’m warning you, Dylan— ”

“The children are fine. They’re tired, which is understandable, but have had a very good day. We’re all fine.”

She snorted. “The antidepressants must be working, if you’ve even made the professionals agree that you’re sane.”

Another not-so-subtle dig, but this was Veronica. And were the antidepressants working? I took them, like clockwork. I got out of bed in the morning, and I was working. Well, Jean was working. I was just doing her bidding, trying to function the best I could.

Perhaps they were working, those little pills, because I felt like I was functioning…quite well.

“I’ll never forgive you if you put my children at risk,” she finished off while I quietly seethed. Don’t say anything. Keep quiet. Listen and just bloody keep quiet. I felt like I had Gun Larsen whispering in my ear.

“Veronica, I will update you tomorrow. We’re a team here.”

We weren’t, but whatever. We had to be. Somehow.

Then I hung up. And it felt…good. Like I was finally in some kind of control, sitting on a bare mattress, staring at the door to the nursery .

I had no idea what I’d been thinking. A heavy cot sat in the corner of the darkened room. A nursery? Depressing. Awful. How anyone thought that someone wouldn’t go mad living in a place like this starkly bare room with its muted colours. At least it was clean, having been hoovered and dusted down.

Stewart had done well. I hadn’t lifted a finger while he’d swept through here like the efficient superhuman he was. I should have done more. Done something.

I did now, dragging the cot through the doorway, ripping my stupid tie off as I got the cot stuck on the corner of the doorframe.

I needed to find the toddler bed. Perhaps it was still in the loft.

Garage? For now, my small boy would sleep next to me, where he could see me if he woke up and was frightened.

He would share space with another human being, despite all Veronica’s ideas about self-soothing and finding independence within your own four walls.

Well, fuck that. I was having none of it. Off went my jacket as I went in search of a pillow. He was big enough to need a pillow and some comfortable blankets. Warmth.

“You okay? ”

Here he was. The man who made my shoulders drop, standing in the walk-in closet in the hallway, ripping through bags of stuff.

“Bedding,” I said, waiting for my body to find that groove where I became calm and let him scoop me up in his arms and hold me so tight I could barely breathe.

In the closet. The very thought of that made me giggle. Stupid, but…anyway.

“I’m okay,” I said. “But I think Constance is right. This set-up doesn’t work anymore. Phinney is too big for a cot, but I have nowhere else to put him.”

“He’s fine. Last time I saw him, he was running around on the floor with one of your shoes.”

“What?”

“He’s calm and not screaming. And he ate the carrots I cut up raw.”

“Carrots?”

“Carrots are a win. However they come.”

“Okay.” I had no idea. It was hard to think clearly standing here with my face buried in his chest .

“I take it all back,” I said quietly. “All the stuff about you staying away and giving me time to bond with the kids again. I need help. I need all the bloody help.”

“And I will give it to you. I love that I can be here…and look after you.”

“Look after me,” I said quietly.

“And what we did the other night? You have no idea how much I enjoyed that and how much I look forward to doing something like that again. Only next time, I will do it better. Ensure that you…get your enjoyment too.”

“I enjoyed it, Stewart. Trust me, I did.”

I had. I’d loved it, and I had no idea how to put words to the feelings inside of me. The warmth in my stomach. The pang of arousal that shot through me from him just running his hands up and down my back. The scent of his aftershave.

All man. And all…mine.

“I want this to last,” came out of my mouth in fear, because that was what it was. “I think the antidepressants are working, and that’s something I haven’t had in a long time. This feeling of being able to cope. And I cope because you’re here. ”

“No,” he replied sternly. “You cope because you’re you. You’re stronger than you think, and I think I am coping…” He cleared his throat. I wondered if it was emotion or the way his heart was beating so fast. “Because I have found something I didn’t know I needed.”

“And what is that?” I asked, disentangling myself from him, his hands now on my waist, mine on his chest.

“I think…” He smiled. “That I have finally, at the tender age of fifty-eight, found out who I am. How ridiculous is that, Dylan? I have lived my entire life not knowing what I am. Who I am. Where I fit in this big wide world, and it turns out I just needed to cross the back lawn and sit and drink tea with the crying neighbour, and bam. It’s right there. ”

“What is?”

I was smiling. How was this so easy?

“Happiness? Some kind of new contentment? I don’t know what to call it, but you gave it to me. Just being…with you. Figuring out that it doesn’t matter what you are or who you are, but attraction is a weird thing, and I never knew what it was, and then here you are.”

“I am,” I said, nodding like I understood. “I don’t cope well on my own,” I admitted. “I need…all of this. Being lo oked after, and cared for, and…supported. And I need my children around me. That’s all.”

“And you’re loved,” he said quietly. “Don’t forget that, Dylan. You are so loved.”

“Thank you,” I said. How was this my life? I wasn’t going to cry. Not again. Today had been such a ridiculous whirlwind of…everything.

“And you love, so deeply and strongly. I see it, in everything you do. You love those children, and it shines through every part of you. How you look at them. The words you say, and how you move around them.”

“I’m their dad.”

“You are, but it’s not just that. You do it to me too. I feel it, and that is… It gets to me, Dylan. I never had that from anyone. This feeling of…I don’t know.”

“Love.” I meant it. Every letter of that word, standing there looking into his eyes.

Love. It was everywhere.

“Can you…” This was wrong. But so bloody right. “Stay. Here, tonight. We’ll have to sleep up here so we can hear the boys. I mean, not—”

“Of course I will,” he reassured me. “I get it. Have you got sheets up here? And you’re not seriously contemplating letting Constance have the downstairs?”

“She’d no doubt love it. Her own space and feeling grown up.”

“She’s doing drawing with Jasmine and Jean. They’re all at the table drawing dogs.”

“Dogs?”

“Jasmine wants a dog. We have two cats. Reuben is looking a little pale at the very mention of dog walks. He’s not the sportiest of men.”

“Ahh.” I smiled.

“And dinner is ready. Mash, sausages and carrots. I cooked off the ones in your fridge, as well as the ones from next door. There’s gravy.”

“Gravy.” I leant up and kissed him.

“Then I’ll wash up, and you probably should get the boys in bed. Marmie looks like he’s about to fall asleep on the sofa again.”

“Okay,” I whispered .

And it was. I could cope. For the first time today, I actually believed it. This was… I smiled. I just couldn’t stop myself.

“Dinner,” he said calmly. Then he kissed me.

“Stewart, we’re in the closet.”

He laughed. He always did at my stupid attempts at jokes.

“I’m not in the closet,” he said calmly. “I’m too old to care what people think. I’m with you, and if that is an issue with anyone? Well, as my son would say, they can fuck right off.”

“I think I did fancy my tennis coach,” I admitted. I had. Who was I kidding?