Chapter 13
Henry
Eighteen Summers Ago
Two weeks Henry had been away from them. He had done the maths and worked out that fourteen nights amounted to three hundred and thirty-six hours – and he’d pined his way through every single one of them.
It had been Violet’s suggestion that he travel out to Mallorca ahead of her and Luke, so that he would have time to make at least a few of the rooms in La Casa Naranja safely habitable for a baby. Both of them had been desperate to see the island again after more than a year’s hiatus, but money was tight, and a hotel or even rented apartment was far beyond their financial means. Henry could’ve asked his father to put them up, but pride prevented him. Antonio had been disparaging to say the least when he heard about Violet’s pregnancy, urging his son to reconsider, telling him they were too young to be parents, too inexperienced in the ways of life. It had taken all of Henry’s self-possession not to shout back in his father’s face. Ironically, the one lesson Antonio had taught him was how not to raise your child.
Besides, La Casa Naranja was still his house – their house, his and Violet’s and Luke’s – and Henry wanted to make it as good a home for them as he possibly could. Since arriving at the still half-dilapidated dwelling a week after they celebrated Luke’s first birthday, Henry had worked on the repairs and refurbishment from dawn until dusk every day, often staying up late into the night sanding, sawing, priming, or painting. He’d sourced a fridge from a restaurant in Puerto de Pollen?a that was going out of business, paid next to nothing for a sofa and armchair that had been used as display items in one of the shops in the town, and accepted a generous gift of towels, bed linen and kitchen utensils from Ynes. Determined that his son would not have to rely completely on hand-me-downs, Henry spent his nights building Luke a cot from reclaimed olive wood and splashed the few euros he had spare on a selection of toys.
On the day Violet’s flight was due, Henry set off for the airport in Palma feeling as satisfied as he could that the house, for the main part at least, was clean, safe, adequately equipped, and ready to welcome his little family.
The first flash of red hair emerging through the crowd in the arrivals lounge caused his heart to expand with joy, and running forwards, he scooped Violet up into his arms.
‘I’ve missed you so much,’ he breathed, kissing her cheeks, her ears, her forehead, her wide, smiling mouth.
‘We’ve missed you too,’ she said, her gaze dropping to the buggy. ‘Haven’t we, Lukey? You missed Papá, didn’t you?’
Henry squatted down on to the balls of his feet and reached across to stroke his son’s cheek, marvelling as he always did at the softness of the baby’s skin, the unblemished newness of him. Luke blinked but didn’t smile, and Henry tried his best not to be miffed. The poor thing must have been through a lot these past few hours, he reasoned. First time in an airport, first time on a plane, first ever time in Mallorca, unless you counted the months shortly before he was born. He had been conceived on the island – of that there was no question – and that made him a Mallorcan in the truest way, regardless of what might be printed on his birth certificate. It had been the same for Henry himself, and the fact that he and his son now shared this characteristic made him feel closer to the boy somehow. Violet had done the most – carried him, birthed him, breastfed him – so it stood to reason that she’d be Luke’s most treasured person. Henry understood that, but he still looked forward to building a bond with his son that was all their own.
‘Vamos,’ he said, taking both Violet’s suitcase and the handle of the pushchair. ‘Ynes lent me her car, so we don’t have to get the bus for once.’
‘My hero.’ Violet sighed, her hand closing over his. Together, they strolled with their son out into the Spanish sunshine. Henry didn’t think he’d ever felt more proud or happy, he wanted to stop every passer-by, turn to them, and say, ‘Look, this is my family. See how beautiful they are, how much we love one another.’ He would get a loudspeaker and announce his adoration to the world if he could, fly a banner through the skies and shoot a rocket up to the moon – whatever it took to spread his joy. Somehow, he’d ended up with everything he wanted before even working out what those things were, and Henry could scarcely believe how lucky that made him.
‘Wow,’ was Violet’s first word as she made her way cautiously into La Casa Naranja’s new and improved lounge. ‘We have a sofa?’
‘And a chair,’ Henry said proudly. ‘Give me a few more weeks, and we may even have shutters at the windows, too.’ Unclipping Luke’s straps, he lifted the baby out of the car seat he’d carried inside, nuzzling his nose against his son’s face only to recoil. ‘Uh-oh – I think we have a poo-nami situation.’
Violet folded her arms. ‘Definitely your turn.’
Using his free hand, Henry fished the changing bag out from underneath the pushchair. ‘I’ll go up and change him in our bedroom.’
Violet wheeled around from where she had been examining the freshly painted stone wall. ‘We have a bedroom?’
Laughing, they made their way upstairs, careful to keep to the wall side. Henry had long since demolished what had been left of the rotted banisters but had yet to source or craft any replacements.
‘I put us in the biggest room,’ he told her. ‘The one that faces the mountains. I thought Luke could have the turret room, once he’s old enough.’
‘Perfect.’ Violet hurried up the final few stairs so she could wrap her arms around him. ‘It’s all perfect – you’re perfect.’
‘Hardly!’ He laughed, nodding towards another room that had a pile of rubble at its centre and little more. ‘But at least the roof won’t leak on us any more.’
Having laid Luke down on their bed, a clean towel unfolded beneath him, Henry set about the process of bottom wiping while Violet explored the rest of the house, her coos of amazement filtering through the walls. Luke had watched his mother depart through wide eyes, and now considered his father with open suspicion.
‘She’ll be back in a minute, buddy,’ he soothed, but his son showed no sign of crying. He rarely seemed to, not even when he woke hungry in the night, and Violet had confessed that some of the other mothers she saw at baby groups were at their wits’ end dealing with mewling infants. Henry had soon after nicknamed Luke ‘chico duro’, which was Spanish for ‘tough guy’, and was already harbouring fantasies of all the rough-and-tumble games the two of them would be able to play together as he grew. He’d missed out on that phase with Antonio and was keen to right the wrong when it came to his own little boy.
‘We’re going to have so much fun,’ he told Luke now, feeding his chubby arms through the sleeves of a clean Babygro. ‘You and me – we’re going to do it all.’
Luke remained impassive for a few seconds, then blew a loud raspberry.
‘Don’t hold back,’ Henry joked. ‘Tell me how you really feel.’
When Violet didn’t return, he carried the baby back downstairs and went out through the half-finished kitchen into the garden, where he found her crouched in the same place that he’d first seen her, underneath the lemon tree.
‘The whistling jacks have quadrupled.’
Henry smiled. ‘There’s a ton more out front, too – they all sprang up against the wall.’
Violet brushed dust from her hands off against her jeans. ‘In a minute, darling,’ she said to Luke, who having spotted her had stretched out both his arms to be held. ‘Mummy needs to check on her herb bed.’
‘I’ll show him the toys I bought,’ Henry said, swinging the now-grizzling baby up in the air to distract him. ‘Oh, and I hope you don’t mind, but I said we’d have dinner at the Rodríguezes’ house tonight.’
Violet frowned.
‘The whos?’
‘Our new neighbours down the hill. Juan and his – I think it’s his wife, although I’m not sure if they’re married. Her name’s Ana, and they have a little boy a few years older than Luke.’
‘How many years older?’ she asked warily. ‘I don’t want him being rough.’
‘I think he’s about four?’ Henry shrugged. ‘I’m sure it’ll be fine.’
Violet still looked doubtful.
‘We don’t have to,’ he hastened, as they made their way back inside. ‘I just thought it might be nice to have friends that are also parents. They might even have some baby things they no longer need.’
She smiled at that, urging him and Luke to ‘go and play’ while she set about making tea. So much of the stuff they’d accumulated had been donated, and Henry knew they were starting to run low on clothes now that Luke had outgrown the majority of his nine-to-twelve-month items. He probably should have spent the money he’d saved on practical things, rather than the elaborate toy toolbox he was now presenting to his son, but Henry had not been able to resist once he’d seen it. The set contained miniature versions of all the tools he himself used, and he couldn’t wait to show his son what each one did, perhaps send him off with his own list of toddler-appropriate DIY tasks to complete. Luke, however, did not seem enamoured with the gift. Having levered open the lid and inspected its contents, he turned and crawled across the lounge to the sofa. Henry watched as he pulled himself up on to two wobbly legs, before stretching a pudgy hand out to his mother’s discarded rucksack.
‘Peh,’ he seemed to be saying. ‘Peh, peh.’
‘That’s Mummy’s bag,’ said Henry, shuffling over on his knees. ‘Look, why don’t we play with this hammer?’
Luke took the wooden tool, gnawed at it for a few seconds, then dropped it.
‘Peh,’ he said again.
‘He means pens.’
Violet appeared behind them in the doorway, drying her hands on a tea towel. ‘That’s what he calls his crayons, because he can’t say the word yet.’
‘I wanted him to play with the things I got,’ said Henry sulkily.
‘Lukey,’ called Violet, immediately snaring her son’s attention. ‘Shall we play... tools?’
Henry attempted to pass his son the toy hammer again, but this time Luke shook his head.
‘Sorry.’ Violet grimaced. ‘Sometimes you just have to let him decide. He’ll make his own way to the toys when he wants them, you’ll see.’
Henry forced a smile. He’d so badly wanted to properly bond with his son – especially after two weeks away from him – but Luke could not have made it clearer that he wasn’t interested.
‘He’s just a baby,’ Violet said then, as if reading his thoughts. ‘It’s not personal.’
Henry got to his feet. ‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘I’m being stupid as usual.’
‘Why don’t you practise some walking with him?’ she suggested. ‘He’s getting so much more confident on his feet every day, aren’t you, baby?’
Buoyed by her obvious confidence in him, and by the idea of playing an intrinsic part in one of his son’s landmark achievements, Henry sat down again and scooted backwards until he was a few feet away from Luke.
‘Come on,’ he urged. ‘Come to Papá – you can do it.’
The little boy half turned towards him, one of his hands still holding fast to the sofa.
‘I’ll catch you,’ promised Henry, opening his arms wide. ‘Just let go.’
Luke did let go, and for a few seconds, as he wobbled precariously on his tiny bare toes, Henry allowed himself to hope.
He’s going to take his first steps and they’re going to be in my direction.
But almost as if he had considered that option and found it lacking, Luke turned away from Henry, shutting him out, and wobbled across the room towards his mother.