Page 25 of Worth the Wait
“Accurate, though.”
Before she could fire back, Tilly barrelled back into the hallway, wriggling into her coat, tiny black shoes scuffed with the Velcro barely holding on, but she was dressed andready, arms outstretched like a runway model twirling in invisible chiffon. “Let’s gooooo!”
Freddie took her hand with a mock sigh. “Come on then, Tiny Tornado. Let’s meet this teacher of yours.” He winked.
Piper rolled her eyes.
So he left, Tilly bouncing beside him the whole way down the street, swinging their arms and pointing out pigeons and clouds and a dog she insisted she’d seen yesterday wearing socks. The winter air bit gently at their cheeks, and the pavements shimmered with last night’s frost still clinging to the edges. Halfway there, he pulled her to a stop beside a crumbling garden wall.
“Right.” He crouched to dig the green bow out of his pocket. “Hair time.”
Tilly dropped her bag and stood patiently while he attempted to divide her hair into two passable pigtails. He wasn’t exactly skilled. One side was always puffier than the other, and he still didn’t quite know what to do with the wispy flyaways at the back. But she never complained. As far as she was concerned, Uncle Freddie’s hair magic was second only to Disney princesses. Perhaps he should have been a hairdresser rather than a copper?
He fastened the green bow onto one side with a decisive twist. “Ta-da.”
Tilly beamed. “You’re the best.”
When they reached the school gates, the chaos of drop-off was already in full swing. Kids running wild, parents shouting apologies, scooters everywhere. And there was Mr Harper, the Year One teacher, all jawline and cardigan, smiling politely at every parent as if he hadn’t broken hearts in four counties.
Freddie handed Tilly off with a smile that was definitely notjustfriendly. More testing the water. Checking if Piper was correct in her suspicions.
“Sorry she’s a bit late. Last-minute hair emergency.” He had no idea how he made that sound like flirting, but he was sure he pulled it off.
Mr Harper smiled. Bright, boyish, and far too chipper for a man dealing with a herd of small humans before nine a.m. But there was absolutely no flirtation back. Piper had a chance, then.
“Happens to the best of us. Lunch choice?”
Freddie winced, already bracing for judgement. “We can’t remember what rotation we’re on. Sorry. Tilly’s mum’s sleep-deprived, and I’ve had three hours and a KitKat.”
Mr Harper didn’t miss a beat, as if he fielded this question daily with the grace of a saint. Freddie envied that. Unlike him, who could barely hide the twitch in his eye when someone at three a.m. asked if theyreallyneeded to do a breathalyser test when they were sure they’d only had a Coke despite their breath reeking like a brewery.
“Fish fingers week,” Mr Harper said. “Tilly, do those sound good?”
Tilly gave a serious nod like she was signing a legally binding contract, then waved and ran off through the gates.
Freddie made the brisk walk back to his sister’s, where Piper was still a wreck in a onesie and baby Ry-Ry had worked himself into a fresh state of rage. So he picked the baby up, tucked him against his chest, and rocked gently side to side.
“Go.” He nodded to the stairs. “Shower. Maybe brush your teeth.”
Piper mouthedthank you, then disappeared upstairs.
Freddie bounced the baby. “And they sayI’mnot a morning person.”
When Piper reappeared, towelling the last of the damp from her hair, she was dressed in her mum uniform. Leggings, oversized hoodie, and that look that said she was clinging to sanity by her fingernails. Freddie slouched on the couch, Ryan snuggled on his chest in a content, milk-drunk sleep and he rubbed slow, soothing circles over the baby’s back whileGood Morning Britainblared another shouting match about the state of the nation.
Piper sat on the edge of the sofa beside him.
“Where’s Mum off to now?” Freddie asked without looking away from the telly.
“You’ll get mad.”
“Give me the headline.”
“She’s… learning to be a clairvoyant.”
Freddie turned to look at his sister. “Please tell me you’re taking the piss.”
“I wish I was.” Piper raked the comb through her hair. “Says she’s got ‘the gift’. Booked a weekend course with some woman from the Isle of Wight who calls herself Mystic Shaz. Says she’s gonna learn how to make a mint from it.”
