“Nice to be a property mogul.”
“It is, I have to say.”
“Come as early as you want in the morning. Florence will be up from six.”
“I won’t be.”
“I will,” Coralie said sadly.
“Isn’t that your neighbor?”
Miss Mavis rounded the corner, walking with a stick. “Merry Christmas to you, Cara Lee,” she said. “Thank you for the cards. Come in, come in, I have something for the girls.”
They followed her into her front garden, paved over and empty except for her bins and a narrow strip of dirt where two giant camellias grew, their drooping petals scarlet in the security light. In the hall, Miss Mavis leaned her stick against a tall walnut console table. On it was a crocheted doily and a brass dish. In the brass dish was an envelope from British Gas. Capital letters shouted from a big blue oblong:Do Not Disregard This Letter. Payment Due. Above the table, hanging from the picture rail, was a framed piece of delicate cross-stitch:
CHRIST is the HEAD
of the house
THE UNSEEN GUEST
at every meal
THE SILENT LISTENER
to every conversation
Daniel was staring at it, his face pale. “Like Roger.”
“What did Barbie mean that time,” Coralie said urgently, “when he said I was the good one and you were the bad one?”
“Here we are.” Miss Mavis shuffled back in with two envelopes and a packet of Jammie Dodgers. “One for Florence. One for Miss Zora. She’s not too old to get a card and her biscuits.”
“She’ll love them, thank you, Miss Mavis. They both will. What are you doing for Christmas?”
“Church for me. Busy all day. And who is this?”
“It’s me, Miss Mavis. Daniel. I’m Coralie’s brother, we met before.”
“Nice to see you again,” she said with great formality.
“Nice to see you again,” Daniel laughed as they went back next door. “She definitely forgot me.”
“So clever, so polite, she sounds like a politician. Like Tory Tom. Oh no.” She could hear Maxi wailing through the closed front door.
“Eek, that’s a lot of crying. I’ll head off.” Daniel embraced her. “Say bye to everyone, and happy birthday to Adam. I’ll see you tomorrow for lunch.”
“You will, because you’re cooking it.”
“Oh, ’e’s the best at cooking,” Dan made Madonna say in a Cockney accent, gently holding her tennis ball skull. “The best li’l boy in the weald.”
•••
Inside,the real best little boy in the world was waiting for her in his new nappy and clean pajamas. She arranged herself in the semi-dark, propped up against the bedhead with a pillow across her lap. For this part of bedtime, they kept the door open and only the bathroom light on, just enough to see by. Maxi was sucking his thumb with an intensity that meant he had recently been in tears, was probably about to be so again, and was very hungry. Adam tossed the wormaid onto the bed, ceremoniously laid Max in, and zipped him up. (The “wormaid” was their name for his sleeping bag: It made him half a worm and half a mermaid.) Transformation complete, he was handed over to Coralie for milk. “Night night.” Adam kissed him gently. “Little baby boy. I’m going to work in the kitchen tonight. Not too late, maybe midnight.”
“Do you think we’ll ever get to talk?” Coralie asked quietly.
“What, you and me? Alone, as adults? Probably not.”
