Page 92 of The Matchmaker
“Are you five?”
“No,” he says, and I think he’s leaning in for a kiss before he licks it off with a quick flick of his tongue. I inhale sharply, but he doesn’t try anything more, grinning cockily while I just stand there, until he nudges me out of the way.
“Now what are you doing?”
“Trying to make a good impression on your friends,” he says, pulling on the washing-up gloves hanging over the side of the sink. “One of whom was just in here crying and is now in there trying to hold it together in front of a bunch of kids. You think the first thing she wants to do tonight is wash dishes for an hour?”
“You’re going to clean?”
“Only if that’s something you find endearing,” he says, and I smile.
“Very endearing.”
“Then yes, Katie. I’m going to clean. And you’re going to help me.”
And help I do, far more happy than I should be about dishes, as I grab a towel and dry the first plate.
* * *
The last of Noah’s friends leave a little after eight, but it might as well be two a.m. with how exhausted I am. Once the plates have been cleared and the bin bags firmly trussed and taken outside, I sit with Gemma in the kitchen, watching her pick moodily at a cupcake while Callum and Adam play a video game with Noah in the front room.
“Well,” I say, as she dabs her finger on the table to pick up crumbs. “I think that was a roaring success.”
“Sometimes, I want him to stay a child forever,” she says absently. “And then sometimes I can’t wait for him to be sixteen and sneaking out to drink with his friends. At least then all I have to do is sit at home and wait to yell at him.” She slumps back in her chair, eyes flicking to me. “Sorry for freaking out earlier.”
“Never be sorry for that.”
“Still. Thank you.”
“Of course,” I say firmly. “You’re my best friend.”
She smirks. “Does Nush know that?”
“She’s my best friend too,” I say. “I’ll make us bracelets.”
She laughs, and she’s so tired that her eyes grow a little watery as she does.
“I’d actually really like that,” she says, as Noah appears in the doorway. Adam hovers behind him, looking like a proud uncle.
“Your son just beat me fourteen–nil in the championship final,” he says. “Which we both agree deserves another round of cake.”
“For the winner or the loser?” Gemma asks, stretching across the table to get the knife.
“I think…” Adam looks at Noah. “Both? Both.”
“Did you have a good party?” I ask Noah, as they take a seat at the table. He nods as Callum trails in from the hallway, taking up position against the counter. He looks a lot more comfortable than he did when he first showed up and watching him spend an afternoon making an effort with my friends fills me with such warm, gooey feelings that I have to stop myself from going over to him.
“Billy only had one cake at his party,” Noah announces as he accepts another slice from his mam. “Did Dad call?”
We fall silent, even though Gemma doesn’t bat an eyelid as she passes around more plates before cutting some cake for herself. I know that despite her calm mask, she’s thinking hard about how to answer him. On whether or not to lie to him, and I look down at my food, what little appetite I had left gone.
“No, honey,” she says eventually. “He hasn’t yet. Maybe tomorrow.”
Noah just nods, his expression unchanging, like that was the answer he expected, and he ducks his head, thoroughly focused on his icing as he shovels it into his mouth.
Gemma’s jaw tenses and I can tell she’s trying to keep calm when Callum suddenly points a plastic fork at me, his eyes narrowed in a mock challenge.
“Right. You and me, Katie. Best out of five.”
