Page 19 of ICED
Then the bell rings again.
Lila.
I bolt to the door before Nadine’s finished apologising about a flat tyre and a dead mobile. I scoop Lila into my arms and hold her too tight.
She pulls back just enough to blink up at me. “Mummy, it’s okay.”
I nod, my throat too tight to answer.
Then she looks over my shoulder and sees Owen.
“Mr Bear!” she shouts gleefully. “Look, I’ve got raisins in my pocket!”
Owen laughs like she’s just given him a Christmas present.
“Youdo?” he says, mock serious. “Sharing policy?”
Lila wiggles free of my arms and trots over to him, fishing out two raisins and holding them up in her sticky palm.
“For you.”
“Honoured,” he says solemnly, taking them and pretending to tuck them in his pocket.
I watch them, this unlikely pair, my daughter and this massive man who keeps showing up with gold-leaf pastries and a smile that doesn’t ask too much.
I’m still scared. Still jumpy. But in this moment, I’m also something else.
Grateful.
CHAPTER NINE
JACKO
The raisins are sticky. One of them is slightly squashed. But I take them like she’s offering me the crown jewels.
“Cheers, Lila,” I say, voice soft. “Appreciate it.”
Lila beams up at me, all dimples and chaos. “Mr Bear, you need raisins. Raisins are good for you.”
She pronounces it likewaisins, and I nearly melt into the floor.
I glance over at Maya, who looks like she might melt too, though for a different reason. Her shoulders are still tense, jaw tight, eyes flickering to the door every few seconds. I want to scoop the worry right out of her and tuck it away. But I don’t know how.
Instead, I crouch so I’m eye-level with Lila. “You’re not wrong, sweetheart. Waisins are excellent. Want to know a secret?”
She nods eagerly, curls bouncing. Maya shifts closer, arms crossed like a shield.
“I like waisins better when they’re in biscuits,” I say in a stage whisper. “Oat and raisin. Proper good.”
Lila gasps. “Mummy makes those! She’s the best at biscuits!”
“I know she is. Best baker in all of the country.”
Maya lets out a breath that isn’t quite a laugh. It’s something between exasperation and relief. I stand slowly, careful with my shoulder. Still stiff. Still aches. But nothing like it did.
She catches me watching her and says, “Thanks. For… being here.”
“Anytime,” I reply, and I mean it.
