Page 161 of ICED
“Do we have enough buns?” I ask, checking the counter.
“We haveso manybuns,” Owen says. “Too many buns. An overwhelming number of buns.”
Lila adds, “I counted twenty-nine and a half.”
Owen raises an eyebrow. “Half?”
“I licked one.”
“Fair enough.”
JACKO
Watching Maya laugh with her head tilted back, face open, eyes bright, is like watching a miracle unfold. Every time. I don’t think it’ll ever get old.
She’s standing at the sink, elbow-deep in soapy water, talking to Dave like he’s a sentient pet.
“You good, mate?” she asks the bubbling jar. “Holding it together?”
Dave gurgles ominously.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” she decides.
I sneak up behind her, slide my arms around her waist, and rest my chin on her shoulder. She leans into me without hesitation.
“I like this,” she says.
“Being stalked at the sink?”
“Being held while I pretend to wash things and you do none of the drying.”
“Bold of you to assume I don’t have a plan.”
She twists to look at me. “Which is?”
I kiss her. “This.”
“Mmm.” She hums against my lips. “Acceptable.”
Lila barrels into the room at that exact moment, holding a cupcake like it’s a golden egg. “Mummy! Daddy! Look! This one hasextrasprinkles because it’s themain cupcake! It gets to greet all the others!”
Maya turns, beaming. “That’s a very friendly cupcake.”
“It’s got leadership skills,” I add seriously.
“Of course.” Lila nods, solemn.
We head out to the garden to start setting up. There’s a folding table covered in mismatched tablecloths, another onewith drinks and crisps and cupcakes. Maya brings out the sourdough loaf, places it on a wooden board like it’s the centrepiece of an art exhibit. Dave has done her proud.
As guests arrive, laughter starts to fill the garden. Lila blows bubbles for everyone and runs through the sprinkler. Adults swap stories, sip drinks, compliment Lila’s ‘command centre’ made of deck chairs and hula hoops.
Finn sleeps in Sophie’s arms, a soft squish of contentment. Ollie grills with the intensity of a man trying to impress a Michelin inspector. Dylan is refereeing a game of football between toddlers and losing badly.
And Maya, my Maya, stands at the heart of it all. Smiling. Grounded. Whole.
Later, when the sun begins to dip and the fairy lights come on, I catch her looking around the garden like she can’t quite believe it’s real. Her hand slips into mine. I squeeze it gently.
“Still feel like running?” I ask.
