it on Dylan but immediately dismiss the idea, because he’d punch me. “But there are a lot of very big and busy grown-ups around who might knock you over and you’d be hurt. If I carry you, you can’t get hurt.”
“Would you be sad if I fell over?”
I blink, considering it, and then nod. “Yes, I don’t want you to cry,” I say fervently.
“Okay, then.” With that abrupt volte-face that I'm learning children possess, he holds his arms up. “You can carry me, and then you won’t worry so much.”
“Thank you,” I say solemnly, hoisting him up. He wraps his small arms around my neck and kisses my cheek affectionately. His mouth leaves a sticky residue on my skin, and when I look down, his Converse have made a dusty mark on my Armani suit, but all I focus on at that moment is the soft, somehow-right weight of him in my arms, the smell of baby soap, and the way his bright eyes and curly hair fill my vision.
Then a man bumps into me. “Watch where you’re going,” he says snappily as he pivots on his heels to avoid falling over.
“Oh fuck off,” I mutter. I exhale slowly as Billy giggles. “That was a very, very naughty word, Billy, which you must never ever repeat to anyone, but in particular to Jude, Daddy, and Dylan. Especially Dylan.” I pause. “I will buy you balloons and doughnuts if you can promise me you won’t say it.”
He chuckles. “Balloons and doughnuts?” he checks, and when I nod, he smiles broadly. “Okay.” A second passes as we wait to cross the road. Then he sighs happily. “I know not to say it anyway, Uncle Gabe. Dylan said it the other day when a man went in front of him in the queue for the cinema.”
“Did he?” I ask slowly and happily, thinking of the massive lectures that Dylan gives me at the slightest opportunity. “Did he really?”
“Will I still get doughnuts?” he asks somewhat anxiously.
“You certainly can,” I say smoothly. “All the doughnuts you can eat, Billy, while we talk about what other silly things Dylan has done.”
The park is surprisingly busy for an afternoon. Runners dip and weave around the slower-moving people pushing prams. Dog walkers stop and chat, and old people rest on benches looking out over the pond. It feels like a hidden community, one that I had no idea about even though I work a short distance away.
I set Billy down and, taking the hand he offers, let him pull me along until we reach a small fenced playground. We come to a stop, and he looks up at me. “I’m going to play over there,” he says solemnly, pointing to a large wooden fort in which several boys are shouting very loudly. “Do you think you’ll be okay on your own?”
My lip twitches. “I think I’ll be fine, but thank you for asking.” I point to a bench. “I’ll be sitting there, Billy. No wandering off.”
“I know that,” he says somewhat indignantly. Then his expression smooths. “It’s okay,” he says kindly. “I know this park. Dylan said you might get a bit worried, so I was to look after you.”
“Did he?” I open my mouth to make a sarcastic remark, but his eyes stop me. They’re earnest and kind, and something in their expression warms me. “Thank you,” I say instead. He nods, giving me a slightly dubious look, and then races off to join the other boys.
I eye the battered old bench and look down at my expensive suit before sighing and sitting down. I then spend the next fifteen minutes watching him with an eagle eye to make sure the other boys are being nice. Once I’m sure he’s okay, I settle back on the bench, getting out his sandwich box in case he gets hungry. I tilt my face slightly to the sun but still keep a watchful eye on Billy in case some natural disaster befalls us.
“You can’t wrap them in cotton wool,” a very hearty and posh voice says. I turn to find a slim woman with shiny black hair looking at me. She has a slightly supercilious look on her face, and for a second I don’t realise that she’s talking to me. Then I realise she is, and my heart sinks.
“Pardon?”
“Oh, I said you can’t protect them from everything. I saw the way you were watching over your son every second. You’ll suffocate him. It’s not right.”