Best Served Cold

Cold Blood

Up in the nursery, it’s beginning to feel like a losing battle.

I tug at Cara’s hair, which has sprouted tangles overnight to form its usual punk-rock spikes. After two minute’s fruitless effort, I sigh, surrendering to the inevitable, ready to launch my daughter to the world with her usual satellite antennae hairstyle.

Michael has Harry, barely big enough to fill his hands. Not bothering to hide a rather silly grin, he rocks him in his arms, cooing and murmuring, and seems unlikely to release him any time soon. Cara tiptoes to see.

The man who waited…

But…

“Michael, you have to put him down sometime. If nothing else, it’s time for his feed.”

sometime.“Yeah. That’s not something I can do for him.” Grin fading, my reluctant husband passes him back to me, peeling away unwilling fingers, then checks his watch. “I’d better go. I’m already late for my rounds.”

“Then, go. Harry’ll still be here when you get back.”

Michael’s smile blooms again. “I know.” He shifts on his feet as though to leave, but then moves close again, peering to the bundled blanket. “What d’you think he’s going to look like as he grows up?”

know.”I scrunch up my face. “It’s a bit hard to tell right now. He’s still at the bald, red prune stage.”

“His eyes are blue,” says Michael. “He could be taking after me.”

“Maybe. But lots of babies have blue eyes. The colour can change.”

“True.” He pokes in a finger, strokes the tiny face. “See you later, Harry.” Then, sighing, he turns to Cara. “Are you going to come and help me at work?”

“Ya!”

“C’mon, then.” He lifts her into his arms, kisses me on the cheek. “See you lunchtime.”

“Sure.” I kiss him back, then listen as his footsteps clomp down the stairs. After a few moments I hear muffled words. Michael’s voice. Then Beth. Then, childish Yays from Cara and Adam.

Yays *****