the cliquey jargon—DS or DD means “darling son” or “darling daughter,” OP means “original poster,” while OH is “other half” and AIBU is “am I being unreasonable?”—it was reassuring to be able to throw questions out there and see what others thought.
The mouse from The Gruffalo, mate. Brown shirt, white vest, some ears on an Alice band. Sorted.
That was Honker6. I typed back:
Er, Alice band? Your DDs might go for it but we don’t even own one of those.
Greg87 wrote:
What about Peter Rabbit? Little blue jacket, paper ears on baseball hat, face-painted whiskers?
Greg being practical, as usual. Nice one, I replied, trying to remember if Peter Rabbit had ever been involved in any age-inappropriate violence that Susy the nursery head might disapprove of. You had to be careful with those Beatrix Potter books.
Then the doorbell rang, so I put my cappuccino down and went to answer it.
* * *
—
ON THE STEP WAS the group I’d seen outside the nursery. My first thought was that they must have made a mistake, because our house wasn’t for sale. My second was that it wasn’t the group from the nursery, not quite: The woman was no longer with them. So maybe they weren’t house buyers, after all—they could be political canvassers, or even journalists. And my third thought, the one that immediately crowded all the others out of my head, was that, now that I saw him up close, the younger of the two men, the one roughly my age, was the spitting image of Theo.
He had dark hair that spilled over his forehead in an unruly comma, a prominent jaw, and deep-set blue eyes—the kind of dark, boyish looks that in Theo are heart-stoppingly cute but in adults always make me think of the word saturnine, without really knowing why. Almost six feet, chunky, broad-shouldered. An athlete’s physique. There’s a picture of the writer Ted Hughes as a young man, glowering at the camera with the same lock of hair falling over his right eye. This guy reminded me of that. A chiseled, granite face, but not unfriendly.
“Hello,” he said, without ado. “Can we come in?”
“Why?” I asked stupidly.
“It’s about your son,” he said patiently. “I really think this would be better done inside.”
“All right.” And his manner was so brisk and purposeful that I found myself stepping away from the door, even though I was now thinking, Was it his child Theo hit? Am I about to get shouted at?
“Er—coffee?” I said, leading the way into the lounge—which is to say, taking a few steps back. Like most people in our street, we’ve ripped out the walls downstairs to create one decent-sized room. The older man shook his head, but I saw the younger man glance at my cappuccino. “I make them fresh,” I added, thinking a pause for coffee might defuse the coming row a bit.
“Go on then.” There was an awkward wait while I frothed more milk.
“I’m Miles Lambert, by the way,” he added when I was done. “And this gentleman is Don Maguire.” He took the cup I offered him. “Thanks. Shall we sit down?”
I sat in the only armchair and Miles Lambert took the couch, carefully moving some toys out of the way as he did so. Don Maguire sat in my swivel desk chair. I saw him cast an admiring glance at my MacBook.
“There’s no easy way to do this,” Miles said when we were all seated. He leaned forward, lacing his fingers together like a rugby player about to take a penalty. “Look, if it was me, I’d want to be told straight, with no bullshit, so that’s what I’m going to do. But prepare yourself for a shock.” He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry to have to tell you that Theo isn’t your son. He’s mine.”
I gaped at him. Thoughts crowded in on me. That can’t be right, followed by So that’s why this man looks like Theo. Disbelief, shell shock, horror, all paralyzed me. I’m not fast in a crisis, unfortunately; Maddie’s the one who thinks on her feet.
Maddie. Oh my God. Was this man telling me they had an affair? Is that what this is? That I’m a—
The word cuckold, with all its medieval ugliness, crashed into my brain like a rock. Maddie and I have had our problems, we’re like any couple in that regard, and there have been times over the last year or so when I’ve sensed her drawing away from me. But I’ve always put