I help him to fasten his coat, kneeling to zip up the jacket. I pause as he throws his arms around my neck. “I like that we’re the same,” he says seriously. “It’s nice because no one else at school is like us. They all have mummies.”
“I’m always here, Billy,” I say softly. “If you want to talk about your mummy to someone who’s the same.”
He nods happily. “And we can talk about your mummy too, Uncle Gabe. She’d like that, I think.”
When we emerge from the building, we pause and blink at the brightness of the sun. I look over the road at the outskirts of the park. I’ve driven past it many times but never, to my recollection, had any desire to go in. I look down at Billy’s happy face and sigh. Here we go.
“Do you know where the playground is in the park?” I ask.
He nods confidently. “Uncle Dylan brings me here a lot.”
I blink. “Does he?” I had no idea of this. “Does he look after you a lot?”
He nods again. “Uncle Dylan and Jude meet for a cup of coffee a lot. I get to play on the swings while they talk and talk and talk.” He pauses. “They talk a lot,” he finishes somewhat darkly.
“You can say that again,” I mutter, thinking of my incredibly chatty fiancé .
“Why? Didn’t you hear me?”
It takes a second for comprehension to dawn. “Oh no, I heard you. I just…” I falter, trying to think of a way to explain. “It’s a way that grown-ups have of saying that they agree with what you said.”
He shakes his head. “Grown-ups are funny,” he says in a very chatty way.
My lip twitches. “Why?”
“They have so many ways of saying things,” he says somewhat sagely.
Billy’s moment of clarity is spoiled slightly by an impatient-looking man in a suit who barrels past us and knocks into him, sending him staggering back. I grab his shoulder gently to steady him and turn to the cross-looking man.
“Hey, idiot. Was there any need for that?” I say sharply.
He turns back in an irritated fashion. “Are you talking to me?”
“I’m looking at you and words are coming from my mouth.” I pause and nod. “It would appear that yes, I am talking to you. The grown man and imbecile who appears unable to use his eyes and nearly knocked a child over.”
“What do you want?”
“Was there any need to bump into the child like that? Look where you’re going, for God’s sake.”
He straightens. “Did someone die and put you in charge of the pavement?”
I sigh. “No, but they should have done. My first act would have been to bar people from them who move with all the grace of Nellie the Elephant on speed.”
“What’s speed?” Billy asks. “Is that something elephants eat?”
I blink down at Billy, noting out of the corner of my eye that the idiot who nearly knocked him down is taking the opportunity to scarper.
“Erm.” A silence ensues while I try frantically to imagine Asa’s face when Billy tells him how I explained a Class A drug to him.
The silence drags out for a few more beats until he gives me a warm smile and squeezes my hand. “It doesn’t matter if you don’t know, Uncle Gabe. I’ll ask Dylan.”
“No!” I shout. He stares at me open-mouthed, and I smile although it’s more of a grimace. “No need to ask Uncle Dylan,” I say heartily. “After all, his mouth will be very sore, and he won’t feel like talking.” Or questioning small children, I hope.
He considers that for a second. “Okey-dokey,” he says sunnily, but just as I breathe a sigh of relief, he grins at me. “Don’t worry. I’ll find out what it is and let you know.”
“Thank you,” I say faintly.
Another pedestrian jostles us—a woman on her phone—and I glare at her before coming to a decision. I bend down and hold out my arms. “Come on. I’ll carry you.”
“I’m five,” Billy says in a very aggravated voice.
I blink. “I know. Why are you telling me this?”
“I’m a big boy. I don’t need carrying.” He says the latter in precisely the same tone that Dylan used when he said he didn’t need a glass of water when he was drunk the other night.
“I know you’re a big boy,” I say, aware that I’m using the voice I drag out with irrational clients. Patient and calm. Who knew it would come in useful in my personal life? I consider using