Chapter 17
Max
Ihad no business behaving like that last night.
I know that.
I feel simultaneously sick with shame and giddy with relief that Molly didn’t kiss the dickhead who whisked her off in his Aston Martin and had his hands all over her when I saw them together. I hope he went home feeling as frustrated as I do.
Even if a tiny part of me, somewhere deep inside, suspects he’s not actually a dickhead, but a nice enough guy who happens to have spectacular taste in women.
And even if that same, well-hidden part of me knows I should be grateful to this man who wants to treat her like a queen.
Fuck, I want to be the one who gets to treat her like a queen.
I’m under no illusions about the strength of the feelings that have resurfaced these past few days.
And I’m equally clear that she’s in a different headspace from me.
Yes, I sense there’s still an attraction at her end, but she’s at a point in her life where the stakes are sky high.
Her husband abandoned her and her children.
If she can find it within her to take a leap of faith on another guy and let him into her heart, let him get close to Tobes and Daze, then she presumably needs to be insanely attracted to him and trust him with her life.
It’s a tall order. And, not surprisingly, not a role she’d even consider me for, given my past form.
So if I want to treat her like a queen, I’ll have to be content to do so in a way that actually makes her life better, not worse. Less cockblocking, more showing up and helping. Like this morning.
Something shifted for me last night. If I’m honest, I don’t just want to help her.
I want to see if this is something I can do.
If I can dig deep and be the man to give her what’s she’s always wanted from me.
Because I’m under no illusions. If I can’t, I don’t stand a chance with her.
And I don’t think I can bear to walk away from her again.
Molly may seem like an eminently sensible person, and in most ways, she is. She lives a traditional lifestyle. I’m the one who buggered off to Africa and has ostensibly been living a life of adventure. But, of the two of us, she’s never been scared of big emotions. Of allowing herself to feel.
She chose to walk away from the certainty of our love, of our happiness, into the unknown, and all so she could give herself the possibility of experiencing the kind of terrifying, life-altering experiences that come with parenthood.
She chose not to sell herself short. Her heart is huge, and her whole life, she’s chosen to fill that heart up with as much love as she can.
And all the while, I was playing it safe. I met Mol and felt like I’d won the lottery. Why would I fuck that up? Why would I gamble with our relationship?
Turns out the joke was on me, because I lost her anyway. My approach to keeping things safe and manageable didn’t work. The man I was wasn’t enough for her.
Now’s the time to put my money where my mouth is, and get outside of my emotional comfort zone, and see if I can be the man she always hoped I’d become. The man she needed me to be.
I just hope it’s not too little, too late.
The kids honour our agreement this morning and come to wake me.
I’m already awake, lying in bed thinking about blue eyes and rosebud mouths and golden plaits when I hear two sets of uneven treads on the kitchen stairs and two conspiratorial giggles.
I smile to myself and turn to face the door, closing my eyes and snoring theatrically.
I may have left the door slightly ajar, as the knob can be a bit tricky.
I hear and sense them drawing closer. I still my breathing and, just as I sense they reach the bed, I let out an enormous snort of a snore that has Daisy shrieking and Toby giggling.
‘He’s so noisy!’ she hisses.
‘Maybe we should leave him to sleep,’ he suggests. ‘Maybe he’s tired.’
And just like that, my heart fractures a little. Toby the caregiver strikes again.
‘No. Want pancakes.’
I laugh to myself. Daisy’s altruistic streak is still nowhere to be seen. She knows what she wants, and there’s no way she’s letting a sleeping man stand between her and breakfast. I fucking love it.
She pokes me in the shoulder, and I let out a sleepy but dramatic ouch.
They giggle again.
Somebody pulls up my eyelid, and I spot a blurry Daisy peering into my face.
‘Wake up, Max,’ she says in a sing-song voice, and I pretend to shift sleepily before sticking my arms out and grabbing her before she has a chance to react, tossing her into the air and throwing her down on the bed beside me.
She’s shrieking and laughing the house down as I pounce, my hands ready to tickle.
‘Who dared to wake me up?’ I ask in a deep, menacing voice as I go for her armpits.
‘I did!’ she gasps while Toby dances from foot to foot, laughing in delight. ‘I’m hungry!’
‘Hungry, are you?’ I growl. ‘Well, I’m hungry too, and I eat little girls for breakfast!’
I lower my mouth to her neck and blow out a giant raspberry on her skin, and she screams. ‘Again! Again!’
I oblige before pulling away in mock disgust. ‘Ugh. You’re not juicy enough for me. I’m having pancakes.’
I high-five Toby as I swing my legs out of the bed. ‘Good morning, mate. Ready for pancakes and cartoons?’
‘Yesss,’ he hisses, and I laugh. ‘After you.’
They clatter down the stairs in front of me.
Toby’s in his Star Wars pyjamas, his battered old teddy tucked under his arm, and Daisy has one pyjama leg cuffed somewhere around her knee.
I wouldn’t be surprised if birds have taken up residence in her hair.
The two of them make such a funny little pair.
I turn on the small kitchen TV, which has the instant effect of making both kids sit at the table to watch it, and shut the door through to the hallway so our Saturday morning hijinks don’t wake Molly.
I heat the pancake pan on the AGA top as I whisk up the batter.
‘Do you guys know when you’re getting your Christmas tree?’ I ask them.
‘When it’s December,’ Toby says with authority.
‘Newsflash, mate. It’s the third of December today.’
They look at each other in apparent amazement. ‘Is it?’ Daisy asks.
‘Yep.’ I jerk my thumb at their advent calendar. ‘That’s what your advent calendar means. You’ve each had a chocolate so far this week, haven’t you? That means we’ve already had the first and second of December.’
‘Oh yeah,’ Toby breathes, like I’ve just solved the meaning of life for him.
‘So we should get a tree soon, no? Has your mum mentioned it?’
‘Daddy always taked us,’ Daisy says matter-of-factly.
‘Yeah,’ Toby agrees. ‘He used to take us for hot chocolate and to choose a tree and a wreath, and then when we got home we’d all decorate the tree together with Mummy.’
‘Ah,’ I say. ‘I see.’ And I do see. I look at each of them, and I suspect I understand why Mummy hasn’t mentioned getting a tree so far this year. Because it’ll be another reminder, for her as well as for the kids, of how utterly her useless fucker of an ex has failed all three of them.
‘I don’t know if you know this,’ I tell them, holding my arms up and flexing my biceps, ‘but I’m super, super strong. I’m very good at carrying trees to the car. So maybe, when you guys get a tree, you’ll let me come along and be your ox?’
Daisy giggles. ‘You can be the donkey.’
I mock-gasp. ‘Donkey, my arse. I’m not a puny little donkey. I’m as strong as an ox, and I’ll prove it to you.’ I hold up the spatula. ‘Now, who’s having the first pancake?
When Molly surfaces a couple of hours later, she looks like a woman who’s had a decent night’s sleep for once.
She’s all bundled up in a dressing gown over pyjamas, and the pinched, tired look is gone.
I’m feeling pretty proud of myself. Not only did I manage to pick up some of the slack this morning, but I’ve cleared up the breakfast mess and got both kids dressed.
(To be fair, it was a lot easier to get Daisy’s little dungarees on her than a pair of tights.) By the time Molly appears, we’re doing Christmas colouring at the kitchen table, thanks to a quick google and a spot of printing.
Her eyes widen. ‘My, my. Who are these two, and what have you done with my kids?’ she asks as she makes her way around the table to slide her arms around their shoulders and kiss the tops of their heads.
‘Just thought I’d better earn my keep,’ I tell her sheepishly. ‘Up my game from last night.’
She gives me a small smile in between kissing Daisy’s bird’s nest. ‘Well, I’m very grateful. And pretty impressed.’
Daisy tilts her head right back so she can see her mum. ‘Max says he’s going to be our ox!’
Molly frowns and looks over at me. ‘Huh?’
‘I asked them when you guys were planning on buying a tree,’ I say carefully, ‘and they explained that it’s always been something they did with their dad, so I offered my services if you need some muscle.’
‘Ah.’ She nods knowingly. ‘I see. Yeah, I haven’t given it much thought, to be honest.’ She rubs her temple wearily. ‘It’s one more thing to think about. We should probably get around to it at some point. I don’t even know how we’d fit a tree in the car.’
‘We can use Angus’ Landrover,’ I tell her cheerfully. ‘Nothing would make me happier than handing it back to my brother full of pine needles.’
‘That’s mean,’ Toby says with a shocked look.
‘So sue me.’ I stick my tongue out at him. ‘But seriously, Mol. I can help you take care of it. It’ll be fun. We could even go today, if you like.’
The kids both inhale sharply with excitement.
‘Please, Mummy, please,’ Daisy pleads, her little fingers intertwined in prayer. She white-knuckles them and shakes them at Molly. I roll my eyes. This one certainly knows how to lay it on thick.
I laughingly catch Molly’s eye and mouth sorry. She rolls her eyes right back at me, but she doesn’t seem overly pissed-off.
‘I suppose, if Max is offering to help, then it makes sense,’ she says. ‘The farm has lots of trees for sale.’
‘Do you have decorations?’ I ask.
‘Yeah.’ Her shoulders sag. ‘They’re all stacked right on the top shelves of the garage. I think. I haven’t seen them since we moved in. Could be hard to get them down, though…’
I raise my hand like a good boy scout. ‘Consider it done. Seriously. I’ll take care of it.’
‘Okay,’ she says. ‘That would be great, thanks. I suppose we have a plan, then.’
I excuse myself shortly after and lug box after box of baubles and rattan reindeer and statues of Father Christmas dressed in burlap back through to the living room.
If I read Molly’s body language right, her reticence was less about how to manage sacred family traditions that might trigger the kids and more about the sheer hassle factor.
I recognise exhaustion when I see it. A single good night’s sleep isn’t enough to combat the long-term fatigue of simply keeping the machine moving forward as a single parent.
Traditions that should represent meaningful highlights in the seasonal calendar become cumbersome extra tasks on top of the relentless daily grind.
My mission today, therefore, is simple.
Take the hassle factor out of Molly’s hands and make the experience of purchasing and decorating the tree as enjoyable as possible for the three of them.
After lunch, I drive us all to the farm in the Landrover. I have to admit, Daisy looks fucking cute in a beanie with reindeers all around it and a huge white pompom on the top. It’s a little too big for her and keeps slipping down over her eyes, and she keeps on gamely pushing it back up.
She doesn’t look as cute as her mum, though. I note with extreme interest that Mol’s wearing, as far as I can tell, the exact same outfit that she wore out for her date last night.
The exact same outfit she was wearing when I told her she looked beautiful.
Hmm.
She even has her hair in two long, slender plaits that lie over her breasts.
It’s been a punishingly long time since I had the privilege of seeing her naked except for those plaits, and even longer since she used them to tickle my balls and send me through the fucking roof.
More’s the pity.