Page 78 of Love at First Sight

‘Hello-Jessie-how-was-your-day-can-I-have-a-snack?’ he says when he sees me, hopping from one foot to the other excitedly. He’s got dirt on his white school T-shirt from playing outside on the field at breaktime, and is sticky from sunscreen. His hairline is matted where he’s been wearing his school baseball cap. He looks, in short, like an incredibly happy seven-year-old who has had a very full day.

‘You can indeed-e-o,’ I say, handing him a wet wipe for his clammy hands and then a Penguin bar and a pack of raisins. ‘We’ve got nowhere to be today,’ I tell him as he unwraps the Penguin and hands me the wrapper, gripping the chocolate-covered biscuit and undoing all the work ofthe wet wipe. ‘So I was thinking we could go on a little Jessie and Henry adventure?’

‘Like what?’ he says, nibbling the bar delicately. He likes to take all the edges off before he starts to eat the middle.

‘Shall we walk up to the pasta place with the lemon drink?’ I ask, citing one of the few restaurants where he’s happy to order off the adult menu, because he particularly likes their bolognese.

‘Okay,’ he says. ‘Can I have the brownie for dessert?’

‘Only if you have it with ice cream,’ I say, like that’s any kind of threat, and he grins.

‘I can work with that,’ he says, and I attack his face with another wet wipe because he’s now covered in chocolate. He squeals, because what kid willingly submits to having their face cleaned, especially when still in the presence of their school friends. Maybe I shouldn’t have given him a snack before an early tea, but whatever. I don’t have to be the perfect responsible nanny any more.

I’m so aware of an ending as we walk. This has been my routine for so long, and I’ve loved it – really, genuinely loved it. That doesn’t make leaving any less of the right choice, and intellectually I know that … but my heart! My heart is breaking. This little boy is the light of my life, and he’s taught me so much. He’s made me more patient than I ever thought I could be, and more fun too. I love him with everything I have. I hope whoever looks after him next sees as much love and light in him as I do. He deserves that.

‘Hey,’ I say, after a quick stop at the park. The restaurant isn’t far, and it’s got a lovely open courtyard at the back we can sit in. ‘Can I talk to you about something?’

‘Yeah,’ says Henry, before interrupting himself to say, ‘Can you carry my bag? It’s too heavy now. It wasn’t heavy at school, but now we’ve been walking so far it is heavy. Do you think somebody is adding secret bricks to it? A naughty little fairy?’

‘That must be it,’ I say, slipping it off his shoulders. ‘Right. This important thing. I’m setting up a club at the local park, and I want you to visit it.’

‘What kind of club?’

He’s doing the kind of listening kids excel at: digesting everything I say, whilst also looking at the sky, the ground, running his hand along the railings that we pass.

‘A kids’ club,’ I say. ‘Where you get to run around and play in the mud and not have any grown-ups telling you what to do.’

‘No grown-ups?’ he asks. ‘What happens if I get hurt?’

‘You’ll know where to get help. There’ll be a hut which you can come to, and some people nearby in special yellow jackets with the club logo, so that’s how you know you can trust them. But they’re not allowed to tell you what to do. If you want to get wet in the stream, you get wet in the stream. If you want to roll around in the mud, you roll around in the mud. So don’t wear your special clothes, okay? Wear your mucky outdoor clothes.’

‘Can Rex come?’ he says, referencing his friend at school.

‘If he wants to,’ I say. ‘Anyone can come. They just have to have their grown-up book them in.’

Henry nods at this, satisfied. ‘Okay then,’ he says. ‘I’ll come.’

‘Great,’ I tell him.

We get to the restaurant and find somewhere to sit. It’s so popular here that even at 4.30 p.m. it’s pretty busy. We order, and play a bit of I Spy, and I hear all about how his dad is taking him to surf school in Portugal this summer, even though he’s not sure where Portugal is.

‘And Daddy says if you need a wee, you do it in your wetsuit!’ Henry tells me, giggling. ‘Isn’t that so gross!’

‘So gross,’ I say. ‘Don’t get confused when you’re back on land and start weeing in your clothes because you’ve forgotten you’re not in your wetsuit any more. That wouldn’t be good!’

He chuckles again. ‘No, it wouldn’t! Everyone would say, who is that boy who keeps weeing in his trousers?’

‘They would!’ I laugh.

Our food comes and we eat, and a gentle lull in the conversation means my time is now.

‘You know I told you about my kids’ club?’ I say. He nods.

‘Uh-huh.’

‘Well, that will be my job. Right now, my job is looking after you. Taking you to school, picking you up, staying with you when Mummy goes away … I love doing it, but Mummy pays me. That’s what makes it my job. But if I have a new job, it means I can’t do this one any more.’

‘You can’t take me to school any more?’ Henry says, worried.

---