Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
FRANCIS
A few days later
Kennington Park Road
I open the front door without the faintest idea of what kind of outfit my new babysitter might have concocted this time, and I must admit, he doesn’t disappoint.
If anything, it seems like he’s made a special effort to give the very best of his... let’s call it “creative flair.”
He tilts his head ever so slightly, gives me a tight-lipped smile, then waves at me. I try to respond, croaking out a feeble “Good evening…” but my eyes are too busy, darting up and down his body like they’ve gone haywire, unable to process what they’re seeing.
From the rolled-up jeans hitting just above his ankles, to the red and white jumper with some sort of hood half-swallowed by his tousled fringe, to the bomber jacket covered in strange, colourful patches, I don’t even know which of these tragic fashion choices I’m supposed to focus on first.
I’ve got about a million things on the tip of my tongue I’d like to say, but after spending the first three days of parental leave with my mother, my sense of self-preservation, for once, does its job and stops me from voicing any comments about his outfit.
Unfortunately, I can’t say the same for my facial expression, which, even at the ripe old age of twenty-six, I have yet to master. That sly little fox has definitely read exactly what I’m thinking all over my face, and, regrettably, that gives him the upper hand in this situation.
The thought of calling my mother back here, or worse, dragging Emma up from Cornwall, feels far more terrifying than putting up with Jack McAvoy’s fashion experiments.
So, when he pulls his hood down with a sly grin, sending a mess of tousled hair flying everywhere, and says, “You alright, Francis? You look… weird,” I can do nothing but force a smile and reply, “Erm… absolutely. Never better. Why don’t you come in?”
I gesture toward the living room and step aside to let him through.
At last, I welcome the young dancer into the narrow hallway that opens straight onto the lounge, without, of course, taking my eyes off Adele, who’s playing safely in her playpen.
Without a word, Jack pulls off his black combat boots and places them neatly by the door. A small gesture, but it lands the final blow.
“What… what are those on your feet?” I blurt out, despite my best intentions, unable to stop myself as my new babysitter steps daintily onto my hardwood floor wearing a pair of fuzzy, glittery socks decorated with green and white stripes, possibly the most hideous thing I have ever seen.
They look like the fever dream of a drunk Grinch, and I highly doubt I’m managing to hide the horror currently passing across my face.
“Why?” he asks, shrugging with exaggerated nonchalance. “You don’t like them?” he adds, as if daring me to say it out loud.
I catch just a flicker of something behind his tone, maybe a touch of resentment, definitely a hint of nerves. Despite the way he acts like he doesn’t care; I notice Jack keeps shifting his weight from foot to foot.
Since lying has never been my strong suit, I try to dodge the question with a vague nod, clearly unconvincing.
To my surprise, though, he starts explaining in a serious voice as I lead him into the living room.
“Before and after training, dancers need to keep their feet warm. And since I came straight here from the academy… Anyway, where’s my favourite redhead?”
I gesture toward the playpen in the centre of the room, perched on the soft rug. Adele, who’d been peacefully playing with her blocks, suddenly lights up like she’s just seen a unicorn. She grabs onto the edge of the playpen with her chubby little hands, trying, and failing, to pull herself up.
She can’t quite manage it yet, but I have a feeling it won’t be long before she does, and honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if she started walking earlier than the usual twelve months.
There you have it. I’ve officially been a father for less than a week, and I’m already bragging about how advanced my daughter is.
But Adele really is a force of nature, and I’m clearly not the only one who thinks so, judging by the look of pure delight on Jack’s face as he lifts her into his arms and greets her with a string of soft, affectionate words.
He talks to her with such disarming gentleness, holding her on his hip like it’s the most natural thing in the world, while she responds with cheerful little gurgles and reaches out to explore his impossibly long eyelashes, probably one of the most remarkable features of the young dancer.
Ollie’s skills as a make-up artist feel oddly unnecessary in his case. With his quirky clothes and that elfin face, Jack has such a distinctive look that no amount of make-up could ever truly enhance or diminish it.
Whether that’s a good thing or not, I genuinely have no idea. All I know is, he throws me off balance.
But Adele adores him, and right now, that’s all that matters.
After giving him the full tour of the house and pointing out anything and everything that might be helpful when taking care of the baby, we return to the living room. Jack gently settles Adele on the rug, then sits beside her and immediately dives into play mode.
It’s already dinner time, and I imagine that after a full day at the academy, he’s probably looking forward to going home and resting.
But my daughter is so happy playing with him, and besides, we still haven’t gone over the practical details of our arrangement...
“Would you like to stay for dinner?” I ask impulsively, before I even realise what I’m suggesting.
Jack lifts his big brown eyes to meet mine, that sharp little fox face looking partly suspicious, partly surprised, so I quickly clarify: “We still need to sort out the details, your duties, the pay, your weekly schedule…”
But seeing the doubtful look on his face, I add, “Adele seems really comfortable with you. I think she’d be happy if you stuck around a bit longer, but… don’t feel obliged. We can talk about it tomorrow, when you’re back.”
“No, it’s fine…” he replies cautiously, like he’s still not entirely sure of my intentions.
“Sounds reasonable,” he adds after a beat. “The more time I spend with her, the faster she’ll get used to having me around…”
If you ask me, Adele already seems more than used to Jack’s presence, but I understand what he means, and I’m genuinely glad that, at least on this front, we’re aligned.
Our shared priority is the baby. I’m confident that whatever personal differences we may have, they won’t get in the way of her happiness.
I don’t really know how I can be so sure. After all, I’ve only known him a short while, and it’s not like we hit it off straight away.
And yet, I feel like I can trust him, at least when it comes to Adele. And that’s no small thing.
In my line of work, I spend every day surrounded by suffering, dealing with people from every walk of life. Somehow, over time, I’ve developed a kind of sixth sense about the people around me.
Does the way Jack nervously giggles, covers his mouth when he smiles, twists his hands and hops from foot to foot still get on my nerves? Honestly, yes.
But I’m not blind. I see how gently he touches my daughter’s head, how instinctively he props her up on his lap, how carefully he checks that she’s safe.
The little fox clearly has all the qualities I was hoping for in a babysitter.
And on top of that, being Ian’s brother, one of my closest friends, means I’d be leaving Adele with someone unquestionably trustworthy.
“I’m not much of a cook…” I warn him, just to manage expectations, but Jack doesn’t seem fazed in the slightest.
“Who do you think does the cooking on Broadwick Street, hmm?” he snorts.
Not that I get the chance to reply, because he keeps going: “Between Kit, Ollie and my brother, I honestly don’t know who’s worse in the kitchen.
They are, however, top-tier experts in ordering takeaway…
” He chuckles, then adds, “Usually I cook. I’m pretty good at it, actually.
If you want, I could take care of dinner. ..”
“No, no,” I cut him off before he gets any ideas. “You stay with Adele. That’s what you’re here for, right? To get used to each other. If you’re okay with chicken and vegetables, I promise I’m not that bad.”
“Ok!” he shrugs, going right back to stacking foam blocks with Adele, who squeals in delight.
Once dinner is ready, I take the chance to show Jack how the high-tech highchair works, the one I bought under Remi’s meticulous supervision.
Yet another contraption with a NASA-level harness system, but my new babysitter doesn’t seem even remotely fazed.
Without missing a beat, Jack lifts Adele off the rug, sets her gently in the chair and fastens the straps like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
When I raise an eyebrow, clearly impressed, he chuckles. “Told you, my mum’s a nursery teacher, and she used to babysit part-time. Ian and I grew up surrounded by mushy food, nappies, and babies. Not that my brother was ever a fan…”
He shakes his head, laughing to himself like he’s just remembered something ridiculous.
“Actually…” I reply, handing him a silicone bib, “I can’t really picture the brooding Ian McAvoy as a doting babysitter. But who knows, if he ever falls in love for real and starts a family, he might just surprise us all with his hidden paternal instincts.”
Jack, predictably, shrugs and chuckles, like the idea of Ian becoming a dad one day isn’t completely out of the question.
But then he finally takes a proper look at the item I just handed him, and his eyes widen in pure horror. He shoots me a scandalised look as if I’d just placed a pair of furry handcuffs in his hands.
“What is this thing?” he asks bluntly.
“You seriously expect Adele to wear something this stiff?” he adds, wrinkling his nose.
“Um, well… she’s not a big fan of it either,” I admit reluctantly, “but what else am I supposed to do? I can’t let her cover herself in food every time she eats.”
I can feel myself getting defensive, so I quickly tack on, “And anyway, don’t you know traditional bibs have been deemed unsafe?”
“Yes, yes, absolutely. But I’ve got a better system and… I’ll show you next time I’m here.”
He winks at me with that mix of shyness and arrogance I’m, reluctantly, starting to get used to.
Well, let’s look on the bright side: at least we can count on there being a next time.
I serve up a generous portion of chicken and vegetables for all three of us, and before handing any food to Adele, Jack carefully chops it into tiny pieces, making sure it’s safe for her to chew with the few teeth she has.
We’re finally ready to eat, although Adele makes her feelings about the uncomfortable bib painfully clear. Within seconds, she yanks it off and flings it across the room like a frisbee.
I’m already pushing back my chair, ready to retrieve it and go through the same old battle we’ve had every other day, but Jack beats me to it.
He picks it up from the floor, turns to face my daughter and says calmly, “We don’t throw things on the floor, sweetheart. But I get it, you don’t like this bib, do you?”
She stares at him, tilting her head slightly, and Jack carries on, “Tell you what, if you wear it just this once, little Adele, I promise I’ll bring you a softer one next time, okay? But even so, no throwing things on the floor…”
She doesn’t say many words yet but clearly understands more than I ever expected.
When the dancer brings the dreadful bib back towards her, she lets him put it on without the slightest fuss.
Then she grabs one of her tiny utensils and starts eating with a level of focus that’s almost moving.
“Good girl!” Jack praises her right away, his voice full of enthusiasm.
And when Adele lifts her gaze to him, glowing with pride, he asks, “What colour should the new bib be, hmm?”
To my absolute astonishment, she answers straight away: “Yelloh!”
Jack and I lock eyes at the exact same moment, both stunned and, oddly, touched by how clearly she pronounced a new word. But neither of us says anything.
We eat in a quiet, comfortable atmosphere I never thought I’d experience with him. What matters most, though, is that Adele seems completely at ease with Jack. And the thought of it is more reassuring than I would’ve imagined.
In just a few days, I’ll be back at work, and knowing Adele will be in good hands lifts a great weight off my shoulders.
After dinner, while she plays quietly in her bouncer, Jack and I tidy up the kitchen, moving almost in sync. As we work side by side, I take the opportunity to give him all the practical information about the nursery Adele will be starting soon.
Later, once she’s asleep, thankfully, she nods off within minutes, I make us both a coffee and decide it’s time to ask the one thing that’s still been nagging at the back of my mind.
“I wasn’t entirely sure you’d show up today,” I admit, handing him a steaming mug.
Jack brings it to his lips, cradling it in both hands like he needs the warmth. Then, after taking a careful sip, he sets it down on the table and looks me straight in the eye, blinking those long lashes of his in a way that’s almost hypnotic.
“Do you really think that little of me?” he asks bluntly.
“No, not at all…” I reply, feeling a flicker of discomfort. “I know you’re a good person. I wouldn’t have even considered leaving Adele with you otherwise. But you have to admit… we didn’t exactly get off to the best start. And to be honest, I still don’t quite understand why you took the job.”
Jack gives a slight shrug, then picks the mug back up and, before taking another sip, glances meaningfully toward the baby.
After swallowing, he continues. “The reason’s simple, Francis. Even though I don’t particularly like you, and I’d say you’re the one who got off on the wrong foot, I admire what you’re doing. And I think you deserve a bit of help.”
He pauses briefly, as if choosing his words carefully, then goes on. “But I want to be clear: this job isn’t my only option. Working for you was a decision based mostly on the circumstances you’re in right now. So, I need you to promise me one thing.”
He sips his coffee again, fixing me with those bright fox-like eyes. “When you find a proper candidate who’s ready to take over, you’ll let me go. All I ask is a bit of notice. Fair enough?”
I swallow hard, as if there’s a lump in my throat.
I should feel relieved by this arrangement, but instead, there’s an odd, nagging sense that I’ve been somehow… outmaneuvered.
Still, there’s no alternative.
I meet Jack’s amber gaze and nod, my heart picking up pace.
Then, almost cautiously, I reach out a hand towards him and murmur, “Deal.”