Saved By The Cops.

Chapter Two. Cal.

Chapter Two. Cal.

“Daddy, you look smart as a carrot, twice scraped,” my seven-year-old daughter Kirstie gave me her best toothless grin. A low chuckle reverberates in my chest. She is as sassy as she is cute and comes out with the strangest of sayings. This one is probably courtesy of my sister’s mother-in-law Joanne, who is, for all intents and purposes, if not by blood, my two kids’ grandmother. My parents died in a car crash when I was just a kid. I spent the next couple of years shagging out my grief. Hence, how I managed to knock the kids’ mother, Samantha, up at just 16 years old. But. For all I was young, I stepped up to my responsibilities. Just a shame that Samantha didn’t.

Yesterday, I had to run the gauntlet of hearing about Kirstie having not one but three boys who are her boyfriends, and one who she professes to hate because he annoys her, always asking if she would be his girlfriend, but she refused because he hit her bestie in the back. To top it off, she then proceeded to ask me why I don’t have a girlfriend, running into a tirage of how I should have a girlfriend because everyone needs to have one.

The chance would be a fine thing.

I can hardly tell her that since their mother Samantha turned into the biggest piece of s**t known to man, and refused to parent our two children, there is zero time between raising her and Dante as a single dad, and my work as a firefighter.

“Thank you,” I smiled down at my daughter giving the girl who owns my heart a wink.

“Dante doesn’t daddy look smart?” she sing-songs to her nearly five-year-old brother.

Dante grunted not lifting his head from his tablet, and whatever game he was playing on the thing.

“You look so smart, maybe you can get a girlfriend, Daddy,” Kirstie tells me batting her eyes at me. Damn, she is obsessed with boyfriends and girlfriends at the moment. I thought I would have until she was a teen before I needed to worry about that. But, it seems kids grow up fast these days.

“Now, you are going to stay all night with Mel, and I will pick you up in the morning,” I change the subject from my lack of having a woman in my life, and smile at both the kids. Mel, the local nanny, is, what can only be described as a godsend.

“Will Andy be there as well?” Kirsty asks about my station officer Davey’s 10-year-old stepson. He is known around the station as Naughty Norman, due to his bright red hair, and penchant for getting into scrapes that involve his mother Kathline having 999 on speed dial. Much like the kid on the Children’s TV program Fireman Sam. Andy is obsessed with getting his head wedged in the railings, or stuck-up trees, and one time went missing during a fire at his school. But that is a different story. Hell, it was, what? Three years or so ago now.

“Yes, he will,” I smile at her.

“YEAH!!!” she shouts excitedly, and I just hope that Andy isn’t one of the boyfriends she claims to have. Don’t get me wrong he is a canny kid, but a little too old for my girl, and I don’t want to argue with my station officer about how inappropriate that all is. He is a grumpy bastard at the best of times. However, nobody should let his sarcastic grumpy exterior fool them. The geezer has a heart of gold. Hell, he rented me this house for a lot less than it was worth, then to top it off, offered for me to buy it at a cheap price when I started my full-time hours around a year or so ago. If it wasn’t for him, I would have struggled a lot more than I have. Hell, I may be a single dad, but I have the best help and support system around me any man could wish for. I am damned lucky in that way.

“And Emilia,” tell her of her young cousin, my sister and her beast of a husband’s daughter.

“Why can we not stay at Nana Joanne’s?” Dante asks, finally prizing his eyes up from his tablet.

“Because it is Uncle Twinkle's retirement party. So, Nana Joanne and Grandad Kelvin are going to be there, along with Aunty Lucy and Uncle Ben,” I smile down at my son, ruffling his dark hair.

The kids all adore Joanne and Kelvin, AKA whip-me. After my old station officers forced retirement due to a heart attack, the pair look after my two, whilst I am on shift, along with my sister Lucy and her husband, the station officer at Marley Potts (Boo, hiss, boo. The rivalry is strong!) kids. Also, Moses, Whip-me’s grandson. She never treats Kirstie and Dante any differently than her own, she loves them all equally.

“And Uncle Davey and Aunty Kathleen, Andy’s mammy and daddy?” Kirsty reminds me.

I nod my head at her, giving her a small grin. God, I love my kids.

“Yes, everyone from the fire station is going to be there, along with some of our friends from the Police Station next door,” I tell her.

Hearing my phone ring, I look down to see it is the taxi firm I use, letting me know the driver is outside.

I pick up my daughter’s bright pink backpack, which is covered in unicorns, and my son’s blue one which has stickers of random stuff, even the ones from the bunches of bananas, and old barcodes he snatched from random items we have bought, all over it.

“Right, come on, the taxi is waiting for us outside,” I grin at them, then usher us all out the door.

Ensuring the kids are strapped into the back seat before I even close the door of the taxi, a habit I have picked up to stop any over-enthusiastic driver from speeding off before the kids are buckled in properly, I climb in beside them.

“Mount Road, please mate,” I tell the driver, shutting the door, and buckling myself in beside my kids.

“Did you see the match mate?” the driver asks me, about our local football team.

“No, I was working. How did they do?” I ask, already knowing they probably lost. They mostly do.

“One nil, to them. We were robbed like,” the driver huffs.

The team probably wasn’t robbed at all, but it is normally the excuse the fans come up with to account for the lack of performance.

The driver then goes on a rant for the rest of the journey to Mel’s house, which is thankfully only ten minutes away, about the ref being blind, and how the opposition’s goal was ‘definitely offside’. I nod my head, giving the odd ‘yeah’ and ‘no’ in response when we finally pull up outside Mel’s. I pay the man, and gather my kids, heading straight up the small path to the big, terraced house, and knock on the door.

“Hiya, you two. Andy and Emelia are already in the playroom,” she grins at the kids taking their bags from my hand and placing them beside my niece and the station officer's son’s.

“Do they both like Teddy Bears picnic to be sung at tucking in time?” Mel asks.

See, this is why she is a God send, she takes the time to know what each kid needs, especially when she is looking after them overnight.

“Yeah, all the way through,” I chuckle at her, as she smiles and nods her head.

“Well, you go have an amazing time. I have your number. Yes, I will call if there are any problems, and yes you can check in as many times as you like, but if you message after ten o’clock you may find my words offensive and not appropriate for little ears, as I will be in bed myself,” Mel tells me, laughing as she does so.

“Cheers Mel. Thanks for this,” I tell her.

“No, thank you. I charge extra for sleepovers,” she gives a light-hearted giggle.

“Bye kids,” I shout through, both of them already playing with their cousin and friend. Kirstie though runs over and hugs me.

“Bye-bye, Daddy,” my daughter tells me, as she grins up at me when I bend down and kiss her on her cheek.

“Bye, Dante,” I shout through, my boy too big now for hugs and kisses, just gives me a quick wave, as he continues his conversation with Emilia about his game. The three-year-old looks up at him nodding her head, but I doubt she has a single clue what he is talking about. I say my goodbyes to Mel, promising to not check in after ten on the kids, and head out the door.

Thankfully the Chesters Pub is only a fifteen-minute or so walk from Mel’s house, so rather than waste money on another taxi I set off. I could have brought the car. But. I fancy a good drink tonight. It has been forever since I had one and I am off shift tomorrow for the next four days, so I am determined to make the most of it.