Page 53 of Love at First Sight

‘Of course not,’ he says, eyebrows raised. ‘But,’ he adds, ‘can you give me the house keys because, yeah actually, I should probably go.’

I laugh again, and Henry and I get strapped in and wait for Cal to come back. I am vaguely aware that I am cosplaying happy families with a family that doesn’t belong to me, but I push the feeling down, down, down.

I start to feel so relaxed, in fact, that as we crawl out of London I spend most of the time looking out of the window, thrilled that somebody else is in charge of getting us to where we need to be. The thing about singledom, I’ve found over these past few years, is that you always have to do everything. The responsibility is mine, and mine alone, for literally everything. So when somebody else cooks me a meal, or gets me a funding form and talks me through filling it out, or organises the train tickets or drives, it’s a really big sigh of relief.

‘That was a happy-sounding noise,’ Cal says.

‘I like being driven,’ I reply.

‘Oh please.’ He waves like the Queen. ‘One must saychauffeured. I like beingchauffeured.’

‘That does have quite the ring to it.’

‘Good ideas? I’m full of ’em.’

‘I have good ideas too!’ Henry chirps up, from the back seat.

‘Oh yeah?’ asks Cal, looking at him in the rear-view mirror. ‘Like what, pal?’

‘Urm …’ Henry says, and it’s everything I have in me not to jump in and supply an answer for him. Kids arecapable! They sometimes take longer to say words or form coherent thoughts! That’s okay!

To his credit, Cal doesn’t scramble to fill the silence either – he lets Henry think, and I like that. Anyone can be ‘good’ with children when it involves buying them sweets or toys, or running around like a madman with them. That’s not actually being good with them at all, really, more ‘capable of winding them up for short bursts’. Being good with kids is talking to them with respect, and letting them in on the joke, and valuing what they have to offer. It’s about being genuine. And, yeah, Cal got Henry a present when they first met, but on reflection that was more of a conversation starter than a gift. Cal is all the things you’d want a man to be with your child: patient, curious. I find myself sneaking a look at him, his long elegant fingers on the steering wheel, index finger tapping out an unknown rhythm. He’s got a strong, masculine profile, with an angular jaw and a Roman nose. He senses me looking but doesn’t turn.

‘It’s rude to stare,’ he says, before breaking out into a big smile that suggests he’s actually quite pleased.

‘Okay, I have a good idea!’ Henry decides, finally. ‘Let’s tell a story!’

‘Ooooh,’ says Cal. ‘Go on then. Can somebody sort me out with some Hula Hoops, too? I’ll have Henry’s, I think. Let’s see if that makes them taste better.’

Henry laughs and says, ‘I’ll have Jessie’s! But Cal, you have to have one of your own andthenone of mine for the experiment to work!’

I open Cal’s bag of crisps and offer him one.

‘Feel free to provide tasting notes,’ I say, and Cal nods, chewing for ages and pronouncing, ‘Crunchy, so that’s good. Nice flavour, which is to be expected. Give me one more? Just to be sure?’

He opens his mouth and leans in my direction, his eyes not leaving the road. I feed him again.

‘Yup,’ he munches. ‘Okay. I’m ready to try Henry’s Hula Hoops now.’

He does the same thing, waits to be fed, and I oblige, the tips of my fingers almost caressing his Cupid’s bow.

‘Whoa, whoa, whoa!’ Cal cries, whilst still chewing. ‘All right, I get it, absolutely. Give me, like, three more, would ya, Jessie? This kid is really on to something. Other people’s crisps really do taste so much better than your own!’

‘Told you! Told you!’ Henry shrieks, delighted. He makes a big show of opening ‘my’ crisps and mimicking Cal’s reaction. ‘Oh my gosh!’ Henry says, excitedly. ‘These are so good! Jessie, you’re really missing out. Sorry I’m eating your crisps but whoa, tasty tasty! So good!’

‘All right, all right, my turn,’ I say, opening ‘Henry’s’ bag. ‘Gosh, even the smell of these, Henry, honestly, you’re really missing out. Do you want to try one of your own?’

‘Don’t mind if I do,’ Henry says, using his ‘butler’ voice. He pops a crisp in his mouth and makes ableurghsound. ‘No! Terrible! One hundred per cent less good than yours, Jessie!’

I stuff a bunch in my mouth so I have to reply througha spray of crumbs. ‘Nope,’ I say. ‘Yours are the tastiest! Oh! I’m in heaven!’

We carry on that way, exclamations of adulation and sprinkles of crumbs going everywhere, and for some reason it’s so funny that I don’t even realise we’ve come to a standstill in traffic for ages.

‘I wonder where everyone is going,’ I say.

‘You mean, how dare other people be going places when we want to?’ asks Cal.

I shrug. ‘In a fashion. I mean, itisrather rude.’

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