Page 91 of Gideon
The firm bond he has with Hetty and the fact that she frequently looks like she’s been dragged through a hedge backwards has inevitably led to them being nicknamed Stig and Tig.
Gus coos, reaching for Tig, and I watch as Gid hands out Hetty and vaults out of the boat himself, clutching paper bags that smell of gorgeous things.
“Dadi,” Hetty shouts, darting at me and hugging me tightly round the leg. Gus chuckles and reaches for her, tangling his hand in her blonde waves. I remove it quickly, knowing from experience that he’ll get it caught again and we’ll end up having to cut bits of her hair to get his hand out.
“I had icy biscuits with Paula,” she announces. “And Daddy bought lots and lots of wossants.”
“Croissants,” I say as I take off her life jacket.
She gives me her wide, gap-toothed grin. “Then we came back across the river and Daddy said ‘shit’ really loudly at some boys in a boat when they got too close.”
“Oh look,” Gideon says quickly as I turn to stare at him. “WhatisTig doing?”
“Not swearing at tourists so that our daughter can go to school and teach the children that word, the same way that she taught them pillock the other week.”
“She knows they’re naughty words,” he says, holding her upside down while she shrieks. “Don’t you, Stiggy?”
I look down at my daughter. “Oh my God, who dressed her?” I say faintly.
“She did,” Gid says, grinning as he lets Hetty down to the ground. He hands me the bags, which I know will contain a selection of pastries still warm from the oven at the bakery in the town. I also know that Gideon will have stopped for a coffee and a gossip with the owner Paula, while Hetty and Tig will have sat with him nibbling on the fresh iced biscuits that Paula saves for them.
It’s a scene I’ve seen so many times, as Gideon has taken to Fowey like it was meant to be. He’s often to be found zipping across the river in the boat, calling in at cafes or the pub to see the locals who’ve formed part of his set here. For a man who said he hardly had any friends, he certainly seems to have been gifted with them now. The locals, who can be insular, have taken to him like he’s one of their own, so now we’re invited to endless house parties, meals, and nights at the pub. I love it for him that he can potter about dressed like a tramp and with contentment oozing from him.
“Why do you allow this?” I mutter, looking at our daughter as she dances about on the grass wearing bright orange shorts and a shocking pink T-shirt that badly needs an iron. Her blonde wavy hair is sticking up in all directions, and she’s wearing green heart-shaped sunglasses and ratty old yellow Converse with a hole in the toe. Her arms are also loaded with more plastic bracelets than Madonna wore in her heyday.
“It’s good for her to dress herself,” he says, bending to kiss Gus, who grins and kicks wildly when he sees his daddy.
“That’s lovely, and when we’re reported to social services for the holes in her clothes you can enlighten them as to the benefits of our daughter looking like a tramp.”
“I shall,” he says grandly. “And they will listen because I am the Man with the Golden Voice.”
“I knew I shouldn’t have let you know about that award,” I say ruefully. “You’ll be wanting a superhero costume next.”
“I very well might,” he muses. Then he comes close and whispers, “But I definitely won’t wear pants.”
He laughs, and I eye him. Dressed in jeans and a faded purple Ralph Lauren polo shirt, he looks a world away from that thin, stressed man I first met. Now, his hair is longer and touched at the sides with grey flecks that make him look even more gorgeous. His eyes are creased at the sides with laugh lines and his wide, mobile mouth is stretched into a big smile. He’s tanned from the sun and looks wonderful. Warm and rumpled and all mine. I savour the feeling for a second, putting out a hand and catching my fingers in his shirt when he kisses me and goes to move away.
“You okay after last night?” he asks immediately. My happiness is always top of his list, and he will move heaven and earth to stop me from ever being sad. I smile because his efforts often backfire on him but just make me love him more.
I nod. “I’m fine, and I got a lie in.” I shrug, then whisper, “Just happy, I suppose. Love you, Golden Voiced Man.”
“Love you more,” he says deeply, and in his eyes is everything that we are to each other. Warmth and home and safety and laughter. Lots and lots of lovely laughter.
GIDEON
Giving me Gus and taking Hetty with the stated intention of making breakfast and combing her hair with a garden rake, Eli wanders back up the garden. I watch him go, enjoying the sight of his arse in those shorts and his wide shoulders and messy hair. He can say what he likes, but our daughter has inherited his hair and there’s no getting around it.
My phone rings and I reach into my pocket, smiling as I see the number for Russ, my old driver.
“You on the way?” I ask.
He chuckles. “I’m at the airport now, Gid. I’m ready to leave Ireland for a few days and show you how to fish properly.”
“You talk big, old man,” I say loftily, smiling at the sound of his laughter.
“I’m looking forward to seeing you and Eli and the babies,” he says, suddenly serious. “Makes me so happy to see you like this now.”
“Alright, Maeve Binchy.” I laugh at his curse. “I’m looking forward to seeing you too,” I say softly. “We’ll pick you up from the airport as normal.”
