His eyes widen. ‘Are you serious?’
‘Why shouldn’t I be? You told me you thought you’d be a great dad. Why not a great stay-at-home dad?’
‘I wouldn’t be able to look after a child and write a book!’ He looks aghast.
‘What about all the women who write books and have children?’ I ask. ‘What do they do?’
‘I . . .’
‘I’m not saying you have to be full-time looking after the baby,’ I say. ‘But you’ll definitely be on hand, won’t you?’
He still can’t speak.
I go to the bathroom, and when I come back, Charles takes a deep breath and tells me that I have a point, and that if and when we have children, he’ll certainly do his share. But, he says with a slight tone of terror in his voice, we’ll have to plan it so it doesn’t coincide with him being in the depths of writing. Or editing. Because he doesn’t think he could do both.
‘Maybe your next murder mystery can be a domestic noir,’ I suggest. ‘Where the wife murders the husband because he doesn’t understand the nature of childcare.’
‘I do!’ cries Charles. ‘That’s why I’m so anxious about it.’
I laugh. After a moment, he does too.
I really think I’m starting to turn him into husband material.
Ivor tells me that it’s going to be a month before my move happens, which means I’m still working at the port when Mum and Dad arrive home. I’ve been using Dad’s trusty Ford to commute from Charles’s house while I wait for the arrival of the new electric Kia he ordered.
‘You’ve bought me a car?’ I looked at him in complete amazement when he told me.
‘I’m lucky that I only have to walk up the stairs to work,’ he told me. ‘I want you to be able to do your commute in ecological comfort.’
I flung my arms around him and kissed him.
The day after my parents’ return, I park outside the house in Marino and feel a thrill of delight at seeing the warm glow of light through the window that tells me they’re home. I ring the bell, then put my key in the lock and shout to tell them I’m here.
‘Izzy!’ It’s Mum who hurries out from the kitchen and throws her arms around me. ‘How wonderful to see you again, dearest darling. I’m sorry it’s been so long.’
She’s followed by Dad, who joins the group hug and the general delight at us all seeing each other again, though I hasten to assure them that I’ve been fine in their absence and that Adrian and Cori needed them more.
‘They did need us,’ agrees Mum as she leads the way back into the kitchen, where she immediately puts on the kettle for a cup of tea. ‘But, oh, Izzy, you needed us too.’
‘You can’t be everywhere at once,’ I tell her. ‘And I’ve managed on my own.’
‘You’ve certainly managed to surprise us,’ agrees Dad. ‘Breaking up with Steve, getting engaged to Charles. Where is he, by the way? We need to meet him.’
‘He didn’t want to muscle in on our first hello,’ I say. ‘We can get together at the weekend.’
‘You certainly look happy,’ says Mum.
‘I am.’
‘And you’ve been promoted.’ Dad beams at me. ‘You deserve it, of course. There were loads of online stories about that drugs haul you were part of. Impressive stuff.’
‘It was,’ I agree.
‘So tell me everything.’ Mum puts mugs of tea and a large plate of chocolate Kimberleys on the table. I pull one of the mugs towards me, unwrap a biscuit and proceed to give her a reasonably full run-down of my life since I met Charles Miller.
‘He’s certainly splashed out on the ring,’ observes Dad. ‘It doesn’t look like it came cheap.’
‘He’s one of the most generous men you could ever meet,’ I tell him, and then add that he’s bought a brand-new car that will mainly be for me. Dad nods approvingly.