His Child. Sharon Kendrick
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‘Well, he did come back, darling and…’
Tim was staring up at Philip. ‘Are you my daddy?’
He felt the prick of tears at the back of his eyes as he nodded. ‘Yes, Tim,’ he answered, his voice thickening. ‘I am.’
Tim nodded, and bent his head to push the train around the track once more.
‘Tim?’ questioned Lisi tentatively, because she couldn’t see the expression on his face, and when he lifted it it was unusually calm and accepting, as if he were told things like this every day of the week.
‘An’ are you going ’way again? To Malaban?’ he asked casually, as if it didn’t really matter, but Lisi could tell from that oddly fierce look of concentration on his little face that it did.
Philip shook his head, unable to speak for a moment. ‘No, Tim,’ he said eventually. ‘I’m not going anywhere. I’m going to buy a house in the village and see you as many weekends as your mummy will let me.’
He met her gaze with a question in his eyes.
So if I don’t let him, then I’m the big, bad witch, she thought bitterly.
‘An’ are you and Mummy getting married?’
The silence which greeted this remark made Lisi as uncomfortable as she had ever felt in her life. She shook her head. ‘Oh, no, darling—nothing like that!’
‘Why?’
Oh, why had she brought him up to be so alert and questioning? To pursue every subject until he was satisfied with the answers?
‘Because not all mummies and daddies live together, now, do they?’ she asked gently. ‘Blaine’s daddy doesn’t live with Blaine’s mummy any more, does he?’
‘That’s ’cos he’s livin’ with a witch!’
‘A witch?’ squeaked Lisi in confusion.
‘That’s what Blaine heard his Mum-mee say!’
Philip bit back a smile. He suspected that the word had been ‘bitch’. ‘I would like to get to know you a little better, if that’s okay with you, Tim. And Mummy and I will be great friends, won’t we, Lisi?’
‘Oh, yes,’ she agreed, but her eyes flashed him a different message entirely. ‘Definitely.’
‘So what have you got to say to all that?’ asked Philip, and, unable to resist it for any longer, reached out his hand to ruffle the silky blackness of the little head.
Tim put his train down and looked up at her. ‘Can I have more chocolate, Mum-mee?’ he asked.
The question shattered the tension in the atmosphere, and Philip and Lisi both burst out laughing, their eyes colliding in a brief expression of shared joy that made her heart thunder beneath her breast. It’s just relief, she told herself fiercely—nothing to do with her. Tim has accepted him, and he’s got what he wanted.
Though she wouldn’t have been human if she hadn’t half hoped that he wouldn’t.
She put more logs on the fire and then watched while Philip wholeheartedly entered into playing with Tim. For a man with little or no experience of children, she was forced to the conclusion that he was very good with them. If Tim’s reaction was anything to go by.
He stared wide-eyed while Philip made a horse out of some balloons and then blew up some others and let the air whizz out of them in a sound which had Tim collapsing in peals of giggles.
She had taken all the remains of the tea back out to the kitchen, and when she returned it was to find them playing rough and tumble on the rug and she realised that there were some things that fathers could do, which mothers never could.
They both looked up as she walked in, both flushed with pleasure but tinged with a kind of guilt—identical expressions on their faces. How could I ever have thought that they weren’t alike? thought Lisi with a touch of despair. The colouring might be hers, but Marian was right: he did have bits of Philip—lots of Philip—in him. Of course he did.
Gently, Philip lowered Tim back down onto the carpet, from where he had been sitting on his shoulders, and stood up.
‘Am I interrupting your routine, Lisi?’
So I am the bringer of routine and order, and he provides the fun, does he? thought Lisi. Or was she being unfair?
Philip saw the look of discomfort which had pleated her brow and understood exactly what had caused it. She had agreed to let him get to know Tim, but she had probably not anticipated what a success it would be.
Neither had he.
A different child might have refused to answer him. Or spoken in sulky monosyllables. Not chatted so openly and with such obvious interest. And much of that must be down to her.
‘It’s your bathtime, Tim,’ she said, with a quick glance at her watch, and then forced herself to meet Philip’s gaze. ‘Unless you’d like to?’
He would like to. He wanted to bath his son more than he had wanted anything in a long time, but he recognised that Lisi might now be feeling the outsider. He shook his head. ‘No, you do it. He’s used to you.’
‘Philip do it!’ demanded Tim, unwilling to lose sight of his new friend.
Philip shook his head. ‘I have to make a few phone calls,’ he said.
She carried Tim to the bathroom and wondered who he was phoning on Christmas Day. Obviously somebody very close to him. He had told her that he wasn’t married—but that didn’t preclude a girlfriend, did it?
But he kissed you, a voice reminded her. He kissed you passionately and told you that he still wanted you—would he betray a second woman if he got the opportunity?
He isn’t going to get the opportunity, she told herself as she squirted bubble bath into the running water and watched it become big, foamy clouds. No matter how much she wanted to—it wasn’t right. There was too much bitter history behind them and only potential heartache lay ahead if she was crazy enough to give in.
She let Tim splash around in the bath for ages, wondering whether Philip would stick around. He might just get the message and go. But he was still there, talking in a low voice into his mobile phone as she carried a sleepy, pyjama-clad Tim past the sitting room to his bedroom and tenderly put him into bed.
‘Have you had a lovely Christmas, darling?’ she asked him softly.
‘Yes, Mum-mee.’ His eyes opened wide. ‘Is Philip coming tomorrow?’
She sincerely hoped not, but she made herself smile a placating smile. ‘We’ll see. Okay?’
He nodded against the pillow, letting his eyelids drift down, and then automatically stuck his thumb in his mouth.
He was almost asleep, but story-telling was sacrosanct and Lisi put her hand out and pulled out the nearest book, which just happened to be Cinderella. How very appropriate, she thought wryly, and began to read.
She waited until she was certain that he was sound asleep, then reluctantly made her way back to where Philip lay sprawled on the floor in front of the fire, his phone-call finished. He had, she noted with surprise, put all the toys neatly away, so that the room for once didn’t look as though a bomb had hit it. She had never had anyone do that for her before.
She hovered in the doorway, unsure of what to say or do. She could hardly ask him to leave. ‘Can I get you a drink of something?’
He heard the lack of enthusiasm in her voice. ‘One for the road?’ he suggested sardonically.
She shrugged. ‘If you like.’
He shook his head, got to his feet and went over to where she stood. ‘No, thanks. You must be tired.’
Again she had the