Page 118 of The Last Train Home
He shrugs. ‘A bit.’
‘How much did you spend?’
He laughs. ‘A bit.’
I tut. ‘Do I owe you huge sums of money?’
Tom shakes his head. ‘It’s my treat.’
‘Tom …’ I warn.
‘Please let me do this,’ he says softly.
‘Buying all the stuff or housing us?’
‘Both. All of it.’ He leaves it there, and so do I.
I can’t speak because I’m crying again. What is wrong with me? Why am I crying all the time? Tom walks towards me, soothing me by saying my name. As if in solidarity, baby wakes up and begins crying.
Tom changes direction and goes towards her while I stand wiping my eyes.
‘There’s a box of tissues on the island,’ he says as he unclips baby and soothes her, holding her close and bobbing up and down.
‘Are they for me?’ I tease.
‘A hundred per cent they’re for you. They were top of the list when I went shopping today. I thought: what will Abbie need most of all? Tissues for when she inevitably cries in my kitchen.’
My tears turn to laughter as I wipe my eyes. ‘You’re a smug bastard,’ I say, but I don’t mean it. I hope he knows that.
Tom winks at me. ‘Language! You’re as bad as Andy. Fires his swear gun the very moment the kids enter the room.’
‘You’re lucky to have him as a friend,’ I say as I move towards the man holding my baby. ‘Even with all the swearing.’
‘Yeah, he’s all right. I have been lucky actually. Andy’s a good person to have when the going gets tough. A like-minded soul. I hope I’m that for him.’
‘It sounds like you are.’
Who is my like-minded soul when the going gets tough? Natasha, who wants so desperately to come over and see the baby tomorrow. I hope Tom doesn’t mind. I look at him, bobbing up and down with my baby. My heart accelerates, not for the first time since he stepped out of his flat two days ago and found me standing in front of him. The baby starts crying again. I haven’t been able to get up to change her nappy yet. The healthcare assistants did it for me when I was alone in hospital, and then Tom or my mum did it.
Tom moves over to the change unit and begins deftly removing her nappy with one hand and holding her legs up with the other.
‘Can I?’ I ask. ‘I’ve not done it yet.’
‘Sure. Sorry, am I taking over? Stop me if I’m becoming a little too much.’
‘You’re not,’ I say genuinely. ‘But you might have to show me what to do.’
I change my baby’s nappy for the first time since she was born, standing up and trying to bend at the waist in order to stop my stitches tugging. Tom hands me damp muslin squares from a fresh pot of water to wipe and then dry her with, and then some nappy balm. He’s thought of everything.
‘You’re a bit of a natural dad, aren’t you?’ I ask.
‘No way. I had to learn. It was hard. Rock-hard.’
‘I’m not sure I believe you,’ I say as I pick up my little girl, freshly changed and back in her babygrow. Aware of my surgery, I slowly place her into the bouncer chair Tom has rediscovered from Teddy’s baby days.
‘Truly,’ he enthuses. ‘I’d never even held a baby until we had Teddy. And I didn’t know anything about winding them.I kept putting him straight down after a feed and wondering why he screamed blue murder. Samantha was equally clueless and we had to look it up on the internet.’
‘That makes me feel a bit better,’ I say.
