Page 146 of Every Silent Lie
“I’ll look after your cakes,” I assure him, smiling to myself as I return forward in my seat.
“Will you stay for the party in our classroom? Father Christmas is coming, and I’m going to tell him what I want him to bring me this year. I’ve been a good boy, haven’t I, Daddy?”
“A very good boy,” Dec confirms. “We’ll let this morning slide,” he adds under his breath, taking a left at the lights. “And I don’t think grown-ups are allowed at the party, fella. It’s just for children and teachers.”
“And Father Christmas.”
“And Father Christmas,” Dec confirms.
“And Rudolf,” Albi adds. “I know all of Father Christmas’s reindeers, don’t I, Daddy?”
“You sure do.”
“Do you know all of Father Christmas’s reindeers?”
“I don’t.” I turn in my seat to face him again, becoming all too addicted to his beaming smiles so full of delight and innocence. “Can you tell me?”
He grins. “Dasher and Dancer and Prancer and Vixen and Comet and Cupid and Donner and Blitzen aannnd . . .”—he claps his hands theatrically—“Rudolph!”
“Wow.”
“I’m smart, aren’t I, Daddy?”
“The smartest boy I know.” Dec scrunches his nose at me, mouthing, “Sorry.”
“Stop it,” I order. “He’s the cutest.”
“And a real chatterbox today.” He looks at Albi in his rearview mirror, his smile on another level. It’s the smile a parent could only give their baby. The contrast in Dec Ellis is incredible. Stoic, serious businessman. Pacifying, playful dad. I fell in love with the former, saw chinks in his armour that made him all the more fascinating. This Dec? I love him the most.
“Do you love my daddy?”
Dec’s smile drops, as does mine, despite both of us knowing the answer is quite easy. Fuck. “What does love mean?” I ask, cringing as I turn back to face the road.
“It means you want to help him get dressed.”
“Oh?”
“And help him have a wash or a bath. And you take him milk when it’s bedtime. And you read him a book even when you’re supposed to be working. And you cut up his dinner for him. And you give him cuddles and kisses, and you tickle him and play Uno with him. And you let him help you at your office. And you let him eat ice cream at bedtime on Fridays.”
Oh my heart.
“Basically, loving someone means you’re their skivvy,” Dec murmurs quietly, and I laugh, the sound loud and rich, making Dec smile my way. “Well? Do you love me, Camryn?” he asks, splitting his attention between me and the road, interested.
“If you’re Daddy’s special friend, you have to love him,” Albi declares. “And Daddy loves you because he said you’re his special friend.”
“Then I guess I love him,” I confirm, warmth gushing through me unstoppably. “If that’s okay with you, Albi.”
“Yes! Daddy, you can come to bed with me, and Camryn will bring our milk now so you don’t have to.”
My laughter turns up a few more notches, and Dec joins me, as Albi breaks into song in the back of the car. A few years ago, I undoubtedly could have named any song being sung by any four-year-old across the land. Now, I have no idea what’s coming out of his mouth. “What are you singing, Albi?” I ask, as Dec’s hand rests in my lap, silently demanding I hold it.
“Moana,” he tells me, taking a short break to do so, before he’s off again, all the way to the school.
* * *
Dec drives around the block twice before he finds a space down a side street, and my heart noticeably beats faster as he gets out of the car and lifts his prawn out the back. Deep breaths. I step out and close the door, looking down the street to the school gates.
Dec passes me the cakes. Squashed to death. “Okay?” he asks, the car beeping as he joins me, Albi’s costume dragging through the melting snow.
