“Don’t beat yourself up. He’s a two-year-old. He probably thought it was sugar.”
In the back, Theo’s gone very quiet. When I pull up outside the emergency room and Pete lifts him out of the car seat, he throws up.
By the time I’ve found a parking space and joined them in the hospital, Theo’s flopped in Pete’s arms, looking very pale, and Pete’s talking to a nurse.
“Don’t worry,” she’s saying. “It’s hard to do much damage eating salt—it’s an emetic, so you did the right thing by giving him plenty of water and letting him get it out of his system. You can stay to see one of the doctors if you want, but he’ll probably just go on being sick for an hour or two. Give him plenty of fluids and make him comfortable.” Theo chooses that moment to lean out of Pete’s arms and throw up again, splattering vomit all over the shiny hospital floor. Pete starts to apologize and the nurse laughs.
“There’ll be plenty more of that before the weekend’s over. I’ll call a cleaner. And find you something for him to be sick in.”
She brings us a cardboard bedpan. Theo has by now gone hot and sticky and doesn’t want to leave Pete’s arms, so I sit beside them, holding it. He vomits three more times before he eventually perks up.
“I think we can probably risk the journey home now,” Pete says.
The nearest parking space we can find is a street away from where we live, so it’s only when we reach our house on foot, with Pete carrying a tired and floppy Theo, that we see Miles and Lucy outside our front door. Miles is holding a backpack.
“What the hell?” I say to Pete under my breath.
“Don’t ask me.” He sounds mystified. “Miles did mention something about teaching Theo to throw a rugby ball. But we never made a firm arrangement.”
“Bugger.” I plaster a smile across my face. “Hi there!”
“Hey, big man!” Miles says to Theo. “Hey Pete, Maddie. Lucy’s baked cookies.”
“And brought you a bottle of wine,” Lucy says anxiously. “I hope you don’t mind us randomly turning up like this. We were just around the corner, and David’s with the nanny, so…”
“No, it’s great to see you!” I say brightly. “Though it’s lucky you found us in, actually. We’ve just been to the emergency room.”
“Nothing dramatic, I hope?” Miles looks concerned.
“Only a bit of salt Theo swallowed. We’re all a bit hot and vomitty, I’m afraid.”
“Then it’s a bad time,” Miles says, picking up on my hint. “We’ll come back another day.” He reaches into his backpack and pulls out a foam rugby ball. “I’ll leave this with you. I bought it on the interweb—apparently they’re easier to catch than those little leather ones.”
Theo immediately reaches for the ball, perking up as always at the sight of a new toy. Pete says, “Well, maybe we could give it a quick try. The park’s only just around the corner.”
“Shouldn’t Theo be taking it easy for a while?” I ask pointedly.
“We won’t be long,” he says mildly. “The nurse said to stay quiet for an hour or two, after all, and we’re well beyond that. What do you say, Theo? Quiet time or park?”
“Park!” Theo says immediately, as Pete surely knew he would.
* * *
—
“THEY’RE ALL GETTING ON like a house on fire, aren’t they?” Lucy says, when they’ve gone and I’m making the two of us tea.
I nod, though actually I’m wondering about the origins of that phrase. Are houses on fire really a good thing? Or is it one of those innocuous idioms that actually refer to some horrible disaster, like the Great Fire of London or the Black Death?
“Miles really likes Pete,” she adds. “This is so good for him. He doesn’t have many male friends.”
“Really?” I’m surprised. I’d assumed someone as good-looking and charming as Miles would have a huge social circle.
“He used to see a lot of his rugby teammates, the Mayfair Mayflies. But then he damaged his knee and had to stop playing. And he works in a very small office now he’s left Hardings and set up on his own—it’s just him and three others.”
I nod. “It’s the same for Pete, working from home. There’s a group of dads from the NICU who meet up occasionally, but most of the time they only seem to interact on DadStuff.” I glance at her. “Thank you for liking those pictures of Theo, by the way.”
“Oh, they’re gorgeous. Miles enjoys going through them over a drink when he gets back from work. Most of those likes were his, actually.”
“Miles uses your Facebook account?” I say, surprised.
Lucy nods. “He doesn’t have one of his own—he always used to say he didn’t know why people bothered. But it’s different now.” She hesitates, then says in a rush, “In fact—if you were able—I mean, I know Pete’s the primary carer, but if between you, you could perhaps post, say, one picture every day…And we’d do the same for you, of course. It’s such a good way of keeping on top of what they’re doing, isn’t it? And this period when they’re small is so precious. They’ll grow up so quickly.”
“I’ll ask Pete. I’m sure he’ll be delighted.” I’m generally too busy to keep up with the stream of pictures he takes of Theo, so gradually he’s stopped sending me all but the most photogenic ones. But it looks as if he’s found a receptive audience now.
* * *
—
AT SOME POINT THE door crashes open and they all charge in. Miles has Theo on his back, horsey-style, Theo’s feet sticking straight out from under Miles’s arms, his little face beaming with excitement over Miles’s shoulder. Pete’s carrying the foam rugby ball, his jacket and trousers streaked with mud.
“Good time?” I ask.
“Theo just trounced the All Blacks twenty-nine nil on his very first appearance in the England lineup,” Miles says proudly. “And he’s got a pretty hefty tackle on him already.”
“Great,” I say. “Though I thought they didn’t actually do tackling now, in school rugby. Isn’t it all meant to be played by touch?”
“It’s good for him to work off some of that energy,” Miles says, unperturbed. He lowers Theo to the floor and ruffles his hair. Theo instantly charges into Miles’s legs, wrapping his arms around his calves, and Miles obediently sinks to his knees. “Arrgh! Kick on! Anyway, I can’t think of anything more fun for a two-year-old than having both his dads’ undivided attention in the park.”