41
PETE
I TOOK THEO TO the Lamberts’ next morning feeling slightly apprehensive. The change in Miles’s manner had been so abrupt—the cheeriness and bonhomie visibly draining from him—that I was sure he must have been genuinely offended. Not that I regretted what Maddie had said—it was only what I’d been struggling to say myself—but I did regret my own tactless intervention.
On the other hand, I decided, if Miles had taken offense, it was a chance to talk it all through and thrash out some details—a weekly timetable of visits, say, or at the very least agreeing to check by text before we turned up at each other’s houses. It was becoming increasingly clear that Miles was going to need quite careful handling if we were to keep relations as smooth as they’d been initially.
But in the event, Miles wasn’t home, and Lucy seemed her usual friendly, if high-strung, self. “Oh, hello, Pete,” she said in her vague way, as if it was a surprise that I’d managed to find my way to Highgate at all, let alone bang on nine A.M. “And Theo. How lovely to see you.”
I’d taken an old play mat of Theo’s, a quilt with various insects and animals sewn on it—a ladybird, a frog, a caterpillar that squeaked when you squeezed it, a spider hiding under a leaf. I lifted David onto it and read him The Very Hungry Caterpillar while he ate some grapes that Tania had washed and cut in half. When I’d finished, I put the book behind me and said gently, “Can you see a hungry caterpillar anywhere on the mat, David?” He looked around, and I pointed toward the caterpillar, then squeezed it, making it squeak. He laughed. I suddenly realized I’d never seen him laugh before. It lit up his whole face, and just for a moment he didn’t look brain-damaged. He just looked like any little kid having a good time.
A little kid with Maddie’s eyes.
“Squeak squeak!” I said. “I’m still hungry! Give me some grapes!”
I pretended to feed the caterpillar one of the grapes. “Squeak squeak! That means ‘thank you’ in caterpillar.”
“You’re so good with him,” Lucy said, watching.
“Well, he’s sweet.”
“Miles thinks he might be musical when he’s older. Because he’s sensitive, and he listens a lot.”
I nodded. I tried to think whether Maddie and I had ever had a conversation about what Theo might do as an adult. But perhaps it was different when your child had a condition like David’s.
I patted David’s head and got up. “Incidentally, Lucy…”
“Yes?”
“Did Miles say anything about last night? Only I think I might have spoken a bit tactlessly.”
“Last night?” She looked bemused. “I didn’t even know you two were meeting up last night. Did you go for a drink? He didn’t say anything when he got home. And I’m afraid I was asleep when he left this morning—he likes to get off to work early, after his run.”
“I’m probably overthinking it,” I said. “I’ll send him a text or something.”
* * *
—
AROUND LUNCHTIME I LOOKED at Facebook. Lucy and Tania had taken the children to the zoo. Lucy had already posted half a dozen pictures—Theo at the penguin pool, Theo petting a snake, Theo standing next to a giraffe’s leg. David was in a stroller, so there were fewer of him.
The problem with this arrangement, I reflected, was that Theo was never going to learn to share better while he was with a child so much less advanced than him. If anything, he was just going to get used to having the undivided attention of two adults at once. And what was having a nanny with limited English going to do to his speech delay? It really was only a stopgap solution.
But I suspected Miles and Lucy didn’t see it that way. I wondered how long it would take to get some kind of payout from the hospital. After that, hopefully, we’d be able to sort out our own childcare again.
* * *
—
THE REST OF THE week passed without incident, and without word from Miles. And on the plus side, now that Theo was no longer at nursery I didn’t have to bother with a costume for World Book Day. It gave me quiet pleasure when I bumped into one of the nursery mums by the organic fruit and veg in Sainsbury’s and spotted a Where’s Wally? costume in her trolley. I remembered her name: Sally Russell. She’d been one of the prime movers behind the group I’d dubbed “the motherhood,” constantly making snide remarks to the effect that full-time dads made clueless carers.
“How lovely,” I said, glancing down. “Harry will look so cute in that.”
Sally flushed. “I was going to make one, but he absolutely refused to be a mouse again. And it’s only seven pounds fifty.”
“So it is,” I agreed. “Makes you wonder where they source it, doesn’t it? Long-sleeved shirt, trousers, and hat. Is it Fairtrade cotton?” I leaned down to look. “Oh. Polyester. Cambodia. Shame.”
I shouldn’t have been enjoying myself so much, but if the boot had been on the other foot, she’d have shown no mercy. And it didn’t take her long to come back swinging.
“And how’s poor old Theo?” she said, her voice dripping with concern. “We were all so upset to hear he’d been excluded. Where did you manage to place him, in the end?”
“Theo’s fallen on his feet, actually. We’ve found a really good nanny share with”—I hesitated—“with friends.”
“That’s great. He probably wasn’t quite ready for preschool, was he?”
“Probably not,” I agreed. I really wasn’t bothered by her barbed comments, which was nice as I was fairly sure she was bothered by mine. “Good to see you, anyway.”
As I moved off she said suddenly, “Did you hear about Jane Tigman?”
I turned. “No. What happened?”
“She got knocked off her bike and broke her leg.”
“Knocked off how?”
Sally shook her head. “She can’t remember anything about it. She thinks it was a car, rather than a van or bus, but she’s not absolutely sure. It must have just touched her back wheel, she thinks, and sent her flying. Whoever it was, they didn’t stop. Luckily it was just after she’d dropped Zack off, or he’d have been on the bike with her.”
“That’s terrible,” I said. Jane might have been responsible for Theo leaving the nursery, but it was impossible not to feel sorry for her. “Send her my best wishes, will you?”