Page 166 of Every Silent Lie
“Three more sleeps!”
“Oh my God,” I mumble.
“Fuck,” Dec hisses.
“Get off!” I shove him away and quickly slip off the counter, hearing the thumps of his little feet getting louder as he races down the stairs. I get myself on a stool and pull my T-shirt down my thighs as much as possible just in time for him to come bombing into the kitchen.
“Three more sleeps!” He runs laps around the island, my eyes following him until I’m dizzy. Blinking repeatedly, I find Dec, who’s got his front pushed close up to the counter. He looks in pain. I smile. He scowls.
“Albi, fella, slow down.” Dec doesn’t move. Can’t move. Those boxers aren’t hiding anything.
“Three more sleeps!” He screeches to a stop, breathless, and looks between us. “I want some Coco Pops.”
“You’d like some Coco Pops, please,” Dec says, correcting him. “Father Christmas doesn’t visit children who don’t have any manners.” He frowns to himself, peeking down his front, and I chuckle as Albi climbs up onto a stool next to me.
“Why are you laughing, please?” he asks.
“Daddy’s making me laugh.”
“Why, please?”
“It doesn’t matter.” I pat his hand and Dec inches his way along the island, bending and pulling out a bowl before shuffling back and sliding it in front of Albi.
“Thank you, Daddy.”
“Welcome. Juice?”
“Yes, please and thank you.”
Dec spins and goes to the fridge. “Camryn?”
“I’ve had some,” I murmur, licking my lips, tasting the orange. “But I’ll take a coffee.”
“Please,” Albi adds.
“Please,” I say around my smile.
Dec looks over his shoulder, his gaze full of playfulness as he takes a step back and slides the juice onto the counter before going to the coffee machine, keeping his back to us.
Albi hops back down from the stool and goes to the larder cupboard, heaving it open and reaching up on his tippy-toes to get the Coco Pops, tired of waiting for Dec. “Thank you,” he says, closing the cupboard and going to the fridge, pulling out the milk and closing the door again by backing into it, his hands full. “Thank you.” He comes back to the island, dumps his finds next to his bowl and goes to the drawer to get a spoon. “Thank you,” he says to the drawer as he closes it. I watch him, smiling, feeling Dec watching him too as he climbs back up onto the stool and tips his Coco Pops into the bowl. “Thank you.” Then he pours the milk, spilling more onto the counter than he gets in the bowl. “Thank you.” A big scoop with his spoon loads it, and he shovels it into his mouth. “Thank you,” he mumbles around his mouthful.
I chuckle to myself as Dec, finally with the tent he was sporting deflated, brings my coffee over and rests his forearms on the counter. “That good, fella?”
“Yes, thank you.” Albi spoons another pile of the chocolatey cereal into his mouth. “Thank you,” he says to the spoon.
I can’t cope. I snort into my cup as I take a sip, and Dec shakes his head, retrieving his phone off the side and checking it. “What are we doing today?”
“Ice skating!” Albi chants. “Please.”
Oh, I thought we’d escaped that. Dec grabs a loaf of bread out of the cupboard and fills the toaster, throwing me a pained face.
“Please can Mr. Percival come?” Albi asks. “Thank you.”
“Mr. Percival?” I laugh. “He can hardly walk, Albi.”
“I want to visit Mr. Percival again, thank you. Can we go see him after ice skating, thank you? He’s ninety-nine, Daddy! Thank you. Nearly a whole hundred! Please. That’s a really big number, Daddy. Thank you. I’m only four and a half! Please. Mr. Percival said he flew in a Spitfire.” Albi pushes his feet into the footrest on the stool and uses it to stand, leaning over the island to reach for Dec’s phone. “Let me show you what a Spitfire looks like Daddy, please. Type Spitfire into Google.” He stretches.
Slips.
