Page 62 of The Beast's Heart

Ray slides into the chair opposite. They rest their head on their hands and look at me as if waiting for me to say more.

Am I really that transparent?“Don’t.”

“I’m not doing anything.” They continue to gaze at me.

“You know damn well what you’re doing.”

“Okay,” they say, eventually. “I won’t. Well I won’t after I say just one thing.”

“That he’s too young. I know.”

“Honey, no.”

“That I’m his boss and there’s a power imbalance I need to be aware of. I am aware. Thank you.”

Ray leans across the table and turns my face, forcing me to look into their eyes. “Don’t put words in my mouth.”

“Fine. Say what you need to say.”

“I was going to say that I’m so, so happy for you.” Ray’s big, dark, kohl-rimmed eyes are completely sincere and it jerks a laugh out of me.

“You can’t be fucking serious.”

They drop their hand from my cheek. “I wouldn’t joke about this. This is good. This is so good. It’s healthy. You’re getting your appetite back.”

“Not like I can act on it.”

Ray shrugs. “I don’t know about that. It’s pretty romantic, isn’t it? Locked up on the Scottish Highlands, isolated from the world. Sounds a little like one of his romance novels.”

“Life isn’t a romance novel, Ray. There’s too much at stake here. Things are good. I don’t want to risk messing anything up. For him or for the kids.”

Ray pats my cheek, but doesn’t offer further council. A moment later, Belle returns.

We sit on the pantry floor, surrounded by boxes.

“I think we went a little crazy,” Jonathan says.

We spent ages trawling through Amazon for the best decor for each kid. I watched Jonathan’s face more than the screen,his joy like warm sunshine, spilling over me. Of course we went overboard. I never wanted it to end.

We begin unpacking. For Alisha, we selected a botanical theme. Her bedding is bright green and white with little dandelion and daisy motifs. Jonathan also picked out a stuffed cow—”a reminder that she’s still a child, no matter how much she plays mum”.

Apparently Ben likes old movies, so Jonathan chose an Old Hollywood theme for his room, complete with a set of lights that we can affix to his mirror, which will double as a night light if he wakes up afraid in the dark.

For Mal, Jonathan said dinosaurs were the way to go with the bedding. He also insisted on adding a poop emoji farting plush toy.

Finally, we got Enrique one of those rugs that has a town printed on it with roads for his little cars to drive on, some Fisher Price educational toys, and bright cheerful bedding in primary colors.

I hold the stuffed cow, gazing down into its adorable face. “I would never have thought of any of this.”

“Well, you’re not experienced with children,” Jonathan reminds me, cheerfully.

“I never got gifts as a child, outside of birthdays and Christmas. Even then, they’d be largely practical. My father was a very practical man and my mother… didn’t have much say, as we were a single income household.”

Ray keeps telling me to speak about my feelings more, but I’m not sure how. How do I put words to the deep melancholy I feel for my former self? For the parents who thought they were doing their best? For all the lessons I didn’t learn about how to be a good father figure?

“What did your father do?” Jonathan prompts.

“He was a coal miner. Under Thatcher.”

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