Page 77 of Broken Heart Syndrome
‘I like complicated. I like anything that comes with you.’
‘Do you know how my mamma died?’ I asked frantically, and Tom’s head jerked at the abrupt change of subject. I didn’t let him answer. I knew Lou wouldn’t have said anything, and I had always skirted the issue when it came up. ‘Liver failure. Alcoholic liver disease. Papa’s going the same way; I can feel it. Do you know how often he comes into A&E? Head injuries, choking on his own vomit. Lizzy knows to call me down. I have to drag him home, clean him up, and convince him to stay for a few days if I can, with me sleeping on the sofa. Are you keen to take on someone with that kind of baggage following her around?’
‘You love your father?’ His question threw me and I frowned, cocking my head to the side.
‘Of course I love him,’ I rasped, tears still streaming down my face. ‘Deep down he’s the same fun, caring, wonderful Papa I knew as a child, but it’s buried under addiction.’
‘Then I’ll love him too,’ he returned, crossing his arms across his chest, a stubborn expression on his face. ‘And I have a spare room. When you move in with me you won’t have to sleep on the sofa when he stays.’ I opened my mouth to speak but he was far from done. ‘I’m tired of hearing you put yourself down, Frankie. You are not weak and pathetic; I’d say you’re the strongest person I’ve ever met, along with the kindest, most stubborn –’
‘I don’t … I can’t …’ I broke off, staring at him in shock and trying to absorb his words.
‘Now, I know your self-confidence is an issue, but I’m afraid it’s something you need to sort out before we have children. They can’t learn to have confidence in themselves without their mum setting an example.’ My mouth dropped open at this latest pronouncement and Tom started moving towards me again. ‘I want at least three by the way,’ he added for good measure. My jaw was working soundlessly but I couldn’t form words. My brain was frozen on the image of gorgeous miniature Toms swarming around my feet. I didn’t even have the wherewithal to protest as he took me into his arms, brushed his lips against mine, and then smiled down at me. ‘They’ve got to be girls though.’
‘What?’ I breathed, totally losing the train of the conversation.
‘Need to even out the numbers,’ he explained.
Just then I heard a high-pitched shriek. The kitchen door swung open and a very obviously eavesdropping Sarah and Mary fell through.
‘I told you not to lean too heavily on it,’ Sarah snapped at her mum. They both grinned sheepishly at me as they picked themselves up off the floor. I noticed that Mary’s eyes were filled with tears and she was swiping self-consciously at her cheeks.
She looked at Tom and me for a moment, then stepped forward, pulling me out of his arms and snatching me up in a fierce hug. Sarah also ended up losing the battle with her tears, and threw her arms around both of us. After a minute Mary disengaged and started swiping at her face with more vigour, trying to regain her composure. She was a no-nonsense Englishwoman and I doubted that she often gave in to emotional displays.
‘Lemon juice,’ Sarah said into the silence.
‘W-what?’ I stammered.
‘Lemon juice,’ she stated again. ‘It helps create a hostile environment for the male sperm,’ she explained. ‘Got to use it in your foof though, and you’ve got to do the whole timing-sex-thing –’
‘Sarah, for goodness sake!’ Mary snapped, although her face looked suspiciously curious, and I had no doubt that she planned on doing her own research in order to ensure a female grandchild. ‘Right, Tom.’ She clapped her hands at him. ‘Get on with the tea will you, darling, we’re all waiting.’
When we all emerged from the kitchen it was to a much sweeter-smelling Papa, dressed in Tom’s dad’s clothes and looking a good deal more sober. To my surprise he had Finlay on his knee and was bouncing him, singing an Italian nursery rhyme. In fact all the boys seemed to love him and I could see some of my old papa in the way he was with them.
At the end of the day Mary announced that Papa was staying with them that night, telling me, ‘Oh, it’s all sorted dear. The spare room is made up and he’s promised to help me with the church jumble sale tomorrow.’
By that stage I had realized that the Longleys had all claimed me, and they were not letting me go. Having heard me describe looking after Papa and sleeping on my sofa when he stayed, they made it clear that they were going to share that burden despite how I demurred.
‘Thomas G. Longley wants my babies,’ I said into his chest when we were curled up in my bed later that night.
‘Maybe we should just practise for the time being,’ he replied, a satisfied grin on his face matching my own. ‘We have to wait until we’re married before we start firing them out you know, or Mum will kill me.’
‘Married?’ I breathed.
‘Of course,’ he said, lazily dragging his fingers up and down the arm I was resting on his chest. ‘I don’t want to deal with any wedding bullshit though. Let Mum organize it and I’ll show up on the day wearing a morning suit.’
‘Are you ... are you asking me to marry you?’
His brows drew together and he shifted so he could see my face. ‘No.’
‘No?’
‘No, I’m not asking; I’m telling.’ My eyebrows shot up into my hairline.
‘You are the most arrogant, presumptuous –’
‘You love it,’ he said cheekily, and I huffed, shoving my face back into his chest.
‘I love you,’ I admitted softly after a minute’s pause.
