Short Stack - Lily Morton Page 0,25

struck dumb with her arrogant rudeness. “But it is right to lecture a complete stranger on their parenting techniques?”

She laughs and shakes her head chidingly. “Now, now. No need to be tetchy.”

“Tetchy?” I mouth, but she carries on blithely.

“I probably know a great deal more than you. I’ve got four of my own, you know.”

“How could I know? I’ve never met you before.”

“Well, I have. Capri, Garda, Sven, and Petunia. They’re over there.” She points in the direction of four wild-looking children who are spinning a slightly green-looking child on a roundabout. “We come here every day. I won’t have a nanny.”

“Why?”

She puffs up. “Always stealing husbands and being lazy. I believe in doing it myself. I’m not some idle rich person.” Her gaze up and down my suit is dismissive. “No. I managed to give birth without any drugs, even though Petunia tore me badly. If I can do that, I can manage to rear children.” She looks down at the sandwich box in my hand. “Oh, are you giving your son that brand of orange juice?”

“Yes, why?”

She shoots me a rather judgemental look. “It’s full of E numbers. Your child will be awake until next year with that rubbish. Now, we go totally gluten-free and organic. They eat nothing that hasn’t come from the soil and been picked by my own hands. My children are all vegans.” She taps her large bag. “In here is carrot, broccoli, and kale juice and diced carrots with cauliflower dip.”

“Lovely,” I say faintly. “He’s not my child, anyway. I’m looking after him for some friends of ours.”

She looks me up and down. “Oh, that explains it. You look a bit high-maintenance for children.”

I gape at her. “I beg your pardon.” I hate women like this. So full of bossy self-importance and casual, cutting rudeness. She doesn’t even look remotely apologetic.

“I think you ought to rethink the carrot and kale juice,” I say acidly. “I don’t think it agrees with them, seeing as Petunia is currently trying to wedgie another little girl and Sven has just been sick all over the roundabout.” I pause. “And over another child.”

Her head spins round to the playground and the rather irate mothers who are converging on the scene. She jumps up and hurries over.

“I’m so glad I’m too high-maintenance to deal with that,” I call after her. “At least my child’s too hopped up on additives.”

A low chuckle sounds from behind me, and I turn my head to find Dylan standing there, the sun shining on his hair and his eyes warm and amused. “Making friends already?” he says. There’s a slur to his words, and his lips are swollen, but he looks gorgeous and all mine.

I jump up. “Are you okay?” I ask, guiding him to the seat. He looks at the bag the woman left, and I shake my head. “Push it further along.” I pause. “Or throw it in the bin and give Capri, Garda, Sven, and Petunia a chance at a life that doesn’t contain kale.”

He laughs and winces before seating himself. I sit next to him, edging my thigh against his and sliding my arm around him so I can stroke his hair. “Was it horrible?”

“Not the nicest thing I’ve ever had happen to my mouth.”

I grin lasciviously. “I bet I know what that was.”

He shakes his head. “Behave.” He looks around the park, then back at me and grins.

“What?”

“You in a park babysitting. It’s like the world’s gone mad.”

I huff indignantly. “I must admit it’s not the way I saw myself spending the day.”

“But?” His voice is warm and somehow knowing, the way it always is to me. Like he knows something about me that pleases him, even though for the life of me, I don’t know what it is.

I watch Billy swinging from the monkey bars while the other boys cheer. “I’ve actually enjoyed it,” I say finally. I turn to face him. “In a sort of nauseating mixture of worry, second-guessing myself, softness, warmth, and outright fear.”

He smiles. “I think parenthood might be like that.”

“Are you sure you don’t want children?” I ask him anxiously. It’s a fear that has never completely subsided despite his reassurances.

Dylan looks softly at me. “No, I don’t. I like having you to myself. I like our ability to go away wherever and whenever we want without making arrangements that would suit the army.” He shrugs. “I’ve got nieces and nephews to spoil. I love them madly, but I’m very happy to give