Finn earlier. God, they were similar. She’d pretended she hadn’t noticed before, but it was stark now. She put her hand on his leg and tickled. ‘Come out, Mr Monster.’
‘No. No boots.’ The kid had started to string two words together now and she’d be so proud of him if he hadn’t learnt the word ‘no’.
‘I’ll get the stickers and you can have one if you come out. You can have more if you sit still.’ She crawled back across the floor, opened a drawer in his cupboard and took out the stickers. Then she put on her sing-song voice. ‘One sticker for Lachie. One sticker for Lachie. Oh, this is a good one. Lachie’s favourite.’
After five minutes or so of playing this game to herself her boy eventually crawled out of the wardrobe, too nosy to be able to resist. ‘Dicker.’
‘When you have the boots and bars on.’
He shook his head.
She nodded and held the boots out. ‘Let’s put them on now. Now, Lachie, or no stickers at all.’
He didn’t make eye contact but he sat on the floor and put his feet out. She tugged him onto her lap and showed him the boots with yesterday’s stickers stuck on. ‘One sticker for one foot and one sticker for the other.’
She didn’t want to admit it, but the stickers had been a great idea.
Her mind did a leap from her son’s feet to his father’s. It was the first time she’d allowed herself to really think about Finn’s leg. She’d managed to keep her face straight when he’d told her about the amputation, but she couldn’t imagine how terrible that would have been for him. How hard that would have been to get over for a physical guy like him. And then there’d been the rugby...losing a leg would have been an absolute game changer for his sport, and it would have meant he’d have had to redefine himself.
That took guts. A lot of guts. There he was walking, working, giving. Coming up with solutions to help her—and yes, it was only a tiny thing, but it changed the dynamic between her and Lachie; it gave them something fun and rewarding and it worked...and for that she was grateful.
She felt a catch in her throat as Lachie sat still. She wiggled both feet into the boots and then snapped on the bars.
Your dad would be proud.
Whoa!
Where had that come from?
An hour later she was sipping a glass of red wine, staring at a book without seeing the words and trying hard not to think about Finn when her phone beeped.
Hey. This is Finn
Typical, just as she was starting to relax. Her heart tripped and she ignored it. He was not going to get under her skin this time. She was tempted to write Two and a half years too late but didn’t and instead texted back:
Oh. Wow. This is a first. You didn’t lose your phone, then?
Almost immediately he replied:
Ha-ha. No. Never again. Listen, I don’t need time to think about this. I’m in. 100%. When can we meet?
It was, if she was honest, a little hurtful that he hadn’t texted her after that night but was texting her now she had his son. But at least she knew where she stood; she was the mother of his child and nothing more. Good. That was what they needed. What she needed.
She texted him back:
Rules first.
Again, the reply came almost immediately:
Scary lady. What kind of rules? I won’t give him whisky, or let him play with knives, or drive my car.
She laughed to herself. If only it was that simple.
Gah! Where to start? He needs boundaries.
Don’t we all?
Judging by the way she was smiling to herself and imagining Finn reclining on that hotel bed, hair all dishevelled...naked...she was the one needing boundaries the most.
He needs lots of love and rewards for good behaviour.
Again, don’t we all? Does he get treats for being a good boy?
She laughed.
He’s a child, not a puppy.
Oh, aren’t they the same thing? Do I scratch his ears and rub his tummy and teach him tricks?
She flicked back at once:
Not if you want to keep me happy.
A message was back in seconds:
Of course I want to keep you happy.
It’s because I’m Lachie’s mum, nothing else.
But hot on its heels another message arrived:
Sophie, I’m sorry about...everything.
Her throat felt suddenly raw. She’d judged him and hadn’t known what was happening in his life.
Please stop being so nice. And I’m sorry about your leg.
I have another one, it’s okay. ;-)
She knew it wasn’t. How could it be? How could he have dealt with losing a limb and the self-esteem issues that came with it and still be funny? But she knew the one thing he didn’t need was her pity. She didn’t really have any; if anything she was amazed by his resilience. Although she remembered his mental wobble when he’d briefly thought he wasn’t fit to be a parent.
And I’m sorry about your collarbone and pelvis and spine and hypothermia and... I can’t remember the rest of the injury list.
Just start at the As and work your way through the alphabet, basically.
He’d needed rebuilding, on the outside and the inside, probably. No wonder he was gruff at times. He was probably still in physical pain—those kinds of injuries didn’t just heal and stop hurting.
I can’t imagine how that would have been for you. If I remember, you played rugby or something...?
Ah, yes...my glittering rugby career. You’d never heard of the Swans, right? Top of the Scottish league. I was their best player. And then I wasn’t. Stuff happens. So, anyway... Can we meet? If we both have a nine-to-five maybe we could do something at the weekend? The three of us? You can see if I’m suitable.
I know you’re suitable.
She had no choice. He was Finn’s dad and he’d been through so much she couldn’t deny him the chance to get to know his child. If anything it could be healing, give him something other than his broken body to deal with—something positive. And now she was starting to feel sorry for him.
No more messages came through for a while, and she thought the conversation was over until halfway through another glass of wine when she received another one.
It was a good night, Sophie.
She’d lived in Edinburgh ever since that night and had never again stepped inside the pub where they’d met. Had always skirted her path away from the hotel they’d spent the night in. But that hadn’t stopped her thinking about it. Thinking about the way he’d kissed her and the need she’d felt for him. She’d never felt so connected to someone, so wanted. And, whatever else he’d done or not done afterwards, she knew he’d felt the same, at least for a few hours. Her body prickled with the memory, a hot rush of need. And, despite everything, they’d produced the love of her life.
She typed on her phone and sent a message back.
It was. A good night...
Then she tapped quickly and sent another message before she had the chance to second-guess herself.
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