‘You have a doggie?’ she asked, the longing painful to hear in her voice. She carefully lifted her woodlice container up off the table and hugged it to her chest. ‘Is it a girl or a boy doggie?’
‘She’s a bi – I mean, she’s a girl. She’s called Beauty. Look, I’ll show you.’ Jamie pulled his phone from his back pocket, tapped the screen, and then handed it to Rosie.
‘She’s bootiful,’ Rosie said, holding the phone right next to her face, her eyes roving the screen reverently.
Jamie laughed. ‘I’m not sure many people would agree with you there, sweetheart. She’s a bit of an acquired taste.’ Libby leaned over the table and peered round to look at the phone. A massive slobbering obese black and white dog was looking out of the screen. One ear stood up, the other was floppy, and she had a ball in her mouth, with a good amount of drool hanging from one side. ‘I got her from a rescue centre. I was supposed to just be helping my nephew pick out a kitten but I couldn’t leave her there once I saw her.’
‘Sheisbootiful,’ Rosie told him fiercely, still gripping the phone. ‘Can I meet her?’
‘I …’ Jamie’s eyes slid to Libby and he flashed her a brief apologetic smile. ‘Of course you can.’
Rosie’s face lit up and before Libby could stop her she had administered a soggy kiss to Jamie’s screen. Then she handed it back to him, saliva and all, before dashing back to her room with her woodlice. Libby could hear Rosie telling them about the ‘bootiful doggie’ through the thin wall.
‘Sorry,’ she said, tearing her eyes away from Jamie’s mouth to look at his eyes. The sofa was so small that their arms and legs were touching. He felt warm and solid next to her and for some reason her hand was twitching to touch him, so much so that she had to shove them both underneath her thighs. ‘She loves animals, always has. We can’t have pets here so she hoards the woodlice instead. She’s named them all.’ Libby bit her lip and looked at the coffee table. ‘You don’t have to show her your dog. I’m sure she’ll forget about it in a few days,’ she lied; there was no way Rosie would ever forget about that dog.
‘I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t mean it,’ he told her. She lifted her eyes to his and smiled but it fell slowly as she saw how close he was. He’d turned towards her in the small space and was watching the smile fade from her mouth with what looked like intense concentration. His gaze then moved to lock with hers and his large hand came up to the side of her face, where it slid across her cheek and pushed a chunk of her dark hair behind her ear. Some sort of invisible force pulled her forward until her mouth was millimeters away from his and she could feel his breathing against her face.
‘I’m ready to go meet bootiful doggie now!’ Rosie’s shout made them both start in surprise, yanking them out of their trance. Jamie’s hand dropped back to his lap and he jerked away from Libby, muttering ‘Shit’ under his breath.
‘And your ship!’ Rosie added, proving that her bat-like hearing was still very much intact. Her arms, one clutching the woodlice case and the other her Dora the Explorer backpack, shot straight up in the air. ‘We can go sailing on your ship with your doggie!’
‘Rosie,’ Libby said, walking over to her and gently pulling both the case and the backpack from her grip, ‘we’re going to Granny and Bumpa’s tonight, remember?’ Rosie’s lip wobbled and her face grew red, then two fat tears fell down her cheeks. Libby sighed and turned to dump the bags behind her, but before she could bend to hug her dejected daughter Jamie was squatting down in front of Rosie, swiping away her tears.
‘I promise you can meet Beauty and sail on my boat soon,’ he told her solemnly.
‘You pwomise?’ she asked, her voice wobbling and her Rs disappearing in her distress.
‘Yes.’
‘Pinky pwomise?’
‘I …’ Jamie trailed off as Rosie grabbed his large hand in her small ones, pulled his little finger out and linked it with hers, then looked up at him expectantly.
Jamie smiled. ‘Pinky promise,’ he said, and she threw her arms around his neck, burying her face into him. After a moment she pulled back, holding onto his little finger with both hands.
‘If you break a pinky pwomise you gets killed … by an alien,’ she told him solemnly, and Jamie nodded, rearranging his features into a grave expression rather than the amused one he had to suppress.
Libby’s chest felt tight. Other than her Bumpa, men were few and far between in Rosie’s life. Maybe that was why she attached herself to Jamie with such fervour. It was definitely why she named everything the most boring male grown-up names she could think of. Libby could taste the familiar guilt in her mouth. Rosie should have a father. And a mother who didn’t put her in full-time childcare. She should have a bloody dog, not have to resort to keeping woodlice. Libby shook her head and fought the constriction in her throat.
No fate but what you make.
She repeated theTerminatorquote in her head.The future is what I make it. She moved forward to a Rosie-wrapped-Jamie and laid her hand on his shoulder.
‘Thanks,’ she mouthed when he looked up at her.
‘We’ve got to get going now, Rosie,’ she told her daughter, stroking her soft curls.
‘K,’ Rosie muttered, her face still buried in Jamie’s chest. Libby waited a few more seconds before gently prising Rosie’s surprisingly strong arms from Jamie’s neck. ‘Come on, Little Louse,’ she said, pulling her out of his arms and into her own, ‘we’d better get a wriggle on.’
‘It’s late,’ Jamie told her, frowning at both of them as Libby stood with Rosie in her arms. ‘Why don’t you go in the morning?’
‘I … um … I work at night.’
Jamie’s eyebrows shot up and he glanced at his watch. ‘But it’s nearly seven. By the time you get to …’
‘My folks live in Elephant and Castle but I work at Covent Garden.’
‘Covent Garden? It’ll be insanely late after you’ve made it to your parents and then on there.’
