Page 116 of Untether

I pull out a chair and sit down as Aida pours me a glass of wine. ‘And you can play with them tonight when we’re out, okay? Who’s looking after you?’

‘Ella,’ Pip and Aida say together.

‘She’s a sweet local girl who’s doing her A Levels,’ Aida clarifies.

‘Excellent. Well make sure you share with Ella if she wants a go, okay?’

They agree reluctantly.

I take a sip of my perfectly chilled crisp white and set it down. ‘You know,’ I say thoughtfully, ‘there’s only one problem. I’ll have to come back here later and grab them, because I like playing with them on a Saturday morning.’

Kit groans out loud. Pip screws his face up. Aida stares into her wineglass, because she knows what’s coming.

‘Unless…’ I say, looking around the table. ‘Nah. Forget it.’

‘You could leave one and take one home?’ Kit says hopefully.

‘I could.’ I pretend to think. ‘I had an even better idea, but don’t worry about it.’

‘What?’ Pip asks. His forkful of meatballs and pasta hangs suspended in midair.

‘Well,’ I say slowly. ‘I could come back here for a sleepover, and then we could all play with them in the morning while your mum has a lie-in.’

‘Wow,’ Aida says. ‘I have to say, that sounds amazing. Pipster, that pasta’s gonna fall, honey.’

I wink at her. I’ve got this. ‘I just don’t know where I’d sleep, though,’ I say, pretending to grimace.

‘You could sleep in my room,’ Kit says. ‘I’ve got a sofa bed.’ He shovels a huge forkful of meatballs into his mouth.

‘I’m way too big for that sofa,’ I tell him.

‘But we’ve got a spare room!’ Pip shouts. ‘You could stay there!’

‘I could.’ I frown thoughtfully. ‘There’s only one problem.’

They’re hanging on my every word. Jesus, I’m good at this.

‘What?’ Kit says, mouth hanging open. It’s full of masticated meatballs. Grim.

‘Don’t speak with your mouth full,’ Aida says with the weariness of someone who’s fought this battle a thousand times.

‘It’s a bit embarrassing,’ I say.

‘That’s okay,’ Pip says kindly. ‘This is a judgement-free house, right, Mum?’

Fuck, he’s cute. I glance at Aida, who’s pressing her lips together.

‘Right, honey,’ she says.

‘That’s very kind,’ I say. I feel a bit bad now about stringing them along.

‘Do you wet the bed?’ Kit asks, cocking his head to one side.

No, I do not wet the fucking bed. I shoot him a look of horror. In my peripheral vision, Aida is trying her hardest not to laugh.

‘Absolutely not, mate. I’m in full control of my bladder, thank you.’ I blow out a breath. ‘Okay. Here goes. When I’m not in my own bed, sometimes I have nightmares and cry out for my mummy.’

I let that land. Kit and Pip both look openly torn between amusement and sympathy. Aida gives up the fight and buries her head in her hands. Her shoulders are shaking.

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