Chapter 7 #2
Noah rolled onto his hands and knees, tucking his head under himself.
He looked poised to perform some kind of roly-poly manoeuvre, but instead he kicked the back of the sofa in time with his singing, “Dunno dunno dunno!” like his own personal percussion.
After thirty seconds of this, he climbed to his feet and jumped instead. “Dunno dunno dunno!”
I watched him for a while, this bundle of chaos and energy, bemused and a bit dumbstruck by the realisation this was my life now.
How did I get here again?
“Alright, okay. How about we sit down and figure this out?” I patted the seat beside me, then thought twice about it. He’s not a dog, Jake. It wasn’t like I could click my fingers and he’d do what I asked.
Although…
No.
I needed to do this right. For Ellie.
“Tell me, Noah. What do you usually do when you’re with Maggie?”
He stopped jumping, wobbling upright on the cushion. “We do puzzles and she reads to me. Sometimes she lets me watch Bluey.”
“I don’t know what that is but okay.” Television, I could do. “Let’s do that. Let’s watch Bluey.”
“Yessssss!”
In less than a minute, Noah had found an episode on YouTube and pressed play. When he finally sat down, he shifted closer until he was almost plastered to my side.
“Oh. Uh. We don’t understand personal space. Okay then.”
“I love Bluey.” His head settled against me. He rubbed the material of my hoodie sleeve like it was some kind of comfort to him, and my body relaxed for the first time since Ellie left for work.
Jake
Update: We’re watching something called Bluey. No blood or hanging limbs so far.
Ellie
You should be a comedian, but thanks. Let’s keep it that way.
“So, what do you think?”
Noah poked at the sandwich on his plate, his upper lip dotted with milk and curled in disgust.
I couldn’t blame him. Despite making lunch exactly how Ellie’s planner suggested—with some gross-looking chicken paste from a jar that was supposedly high in protein but more like high on my gag reflex—Noah had only touched the chunks of cheese and cucumber so far.
“I don’t want it,” he said. “It doesn’t make me happy. Why are you making me sad?”
Fuck.
“Your mum said you liked this though.”
Noah plucked a strawberry instead, sending me a sincere look of sandwich betrayal.
“Wait. I’ve got an idea. Hang on.” I rifled through the contents of every kitchen drawer until I found some cookie cutters, then pressed them into Noah’s sandwich until his plate was filled with bread-shaped hearts and stars. “Happy now?”
He sniffed one of the sandwich stars, then did a happy chair dance as he nibbled on one of the points.
Once his plate was mostly cleared except for the odd half-eaten wet chunk of strawberry, I washed the dishes with a smug grin and gave myself a mental pat on the back.
This isn’t so bad.
I can do this, no problem.
Two hours, or perhaps two years later, we’d watched two episodes of Bluey, read two picture books about Zog, and completed half a puzzle before Noah left the table mid-sentence to play with his other toys.
Toys now strewn across the living room and kitchen floor, along with a ton of books, and half the cushions from the sofa.
He’d played Doctor to his teddies and dolls for a while too, listened to my forehead with his plastic stethoscope and told me I had two days left to live, and was now banging the bottom of three upturned saucepans with a couple of wooden spoons.
I wasn’t sure when he’d found them. I’d been right here the whole time.
I cannot do this.
This is a problem.
I debated for a good ten minutes on whether to text Ellie, but I couldn’t bear her disappointment, so I rang my mother instead.
“What do four year olds like to do?”
A pause. “Jacob?”
“Yeah, it’s me. What do four year olds like to do?”
“You don’t even say hello now?” she muttered sharply. “And why would you ever need to know that?”
“I’m looking after my friend’s kid, but I’m running out of ideas to keep him entertained.”
“I didn’t realise you had any friends who had children. How lovely.”
I sighed, exasperation bleeding into the sound. “Can you help me or not?”
“I don’t know. It’s been a long time since I had to care for a little one. Of course, I assumed I’d be surrounded by grandchildren by now—”
“Mum. Please.” I winced as Noah pterodactyl-screeched to accompany his saucepan beat. “Now’s not the time.”
“Fine,” she huffed out. “You can’t go wrong with colouring or painting. Arts and crafts. Creative play is very important. Make sure you lay down some newspaper so you don’t make a mess. I know what you’re like.”
“Jesus. I’m not an idiot.”
“I’m not saying you are. It’s a friendly reminder. Oh! I just remembered Talia used to love dancing at that age, but you boys were all about going to the park and running around. Always wore yourselves out.”
“Yes! The park! Swings and slides and shit.” Wearing himself out would be a nice bonus. “Thanks, mum. I gotta go. Bye.”
“Jac—”
I quit the call and tossed my phone on the sofa. “Noah?”
I said his name four times before he stopped waving the spoons long enough for me to grab them.
“Okay, Dave Grohl. Enough of that. How about we go to the park?”
Noah lit up. “Can I go on the big slide?”
“I don’t see why not.”
We hit the big slide first, as requested, followed by the swings and a spring rider in the shape of a crocodile that Noah insisted was named Tick-Tock from Peter Pan.
Despite his age, Noah was bossy and particular about what he wanted, so I followed him around, happy to let him take the lead.
It was freezing cold, and a school day, so the playground wasn’t as busy as it would be on a summer’s day or weekend, but there were enough kids and parents for me to relax a bit, surrounded by people who actually knew what they were doing. Safety in numbers and all that.
“Which one’s yours?”
I peered at the blonde woman mirroring my slouch against the metal railing bordering the play area. I must’ve looked confused as she gestured at the kids running around, then stared at my ringless left hand and shot me a flirty grin.
Any other time, maybe I would’ve walked through the door she was clearly opening, but I wasn’t in the mood and there were more important things that needed my attention today. Case in point…
“Noah?”
He’d been right there, not even a foot away, but now…
I shot upright, alarm blaring through me.
Twenty seconds.
I only looked away for twenty seconds.
“Ha ha, very funny. You can come out now.”
Panic seized me by the throat. I circled the play area, checking every tube and chute and possible hiding place, growing more and more manic with every passing second.
Day one!
Day fucking one, and I’d lost Ellie’s kid.
What if someone snatched him?
I should never have left the flat.
I should never have volunteered to help.
Ellie was going to hate me forever.
Fuck!
I pulled my hair at the roots, and forced myself to take a breath and think.
Think. Think. Think.
Something touched my back, and my rapid spin of hope died at the sight of the blonde from before, eyeing me with concern.
“Have you lost your kid?”
“NO,” I bellowed, horrified by the thought, but maybe it was the guilt talking. “He’s here somewhere. He has to be.”
“Don’t worry, he can’t have gone far.”
Good point. Good point.
His legs were short.
Then again, kids were fast and sneaky and hid in places you wouldn’t ordinarily think about. I once hid in a broken industrial-sized tumble drier.
Oh my god.
“His name’s Noah,” I rushed out. “He’s wearing a bright blue puffer coat, jeans, and a navy jumper with a whale on the front.”
The woman nodded and her mouth moved, but she’d drifted off somewhere outside the realm of me giving a shit, all my focus on wondering how and where and why, and how?
It wasn’t even twenty seconds. More like ten. Maybe even a blink and he’d gone.
I checked the playground again, frantic now, and—
“Excuse me, is that him?”
I froze.
Sure enough, just past the gate, Noah stood at the edge of the duck pond, his little hands propped on his knees as he peered into the water.
“Noah!”
He glanced up and waved like he hadn’t propelled me headlong into premature aging.
I’d never moved so fast in my entire life, heart in my throat, stomach in my ass. I’d experienced my fair share of risky, sometimes dangerous situations on my travels, but this fear was something else.
“Oh, thank fuck!” I snatched him up and hugged him close, relief spreading through me. “You can’t run off like that, buddy. You nearly gave me a heart attack and I’m too young to die.”
“I wanted to see the ducks. Look, baby ones!”
“That’s nice, but I didn’t know where you were.”
“I was here.”
“Okay.” I lowered him back down, taking a second to adjust his wool hat and steady my thundering pulse. I wasn’t sure how to explain what he’d done wrong, but it felt like an appropriate moment to try. “You can’t walk off without telling me.”
“But the ducks missed me.”
I huffed out a laugh, strained and more than a little strangled. This would take some getting used to.
“I tell you what. Why don’t we come back tomorrow and bring some bread to feed the ducks and their babies?”
“They like peas and sweetcorn!”
“Then that’s what we’ll get them. But only if you don’t run off again. You wanna go somewhere, you tell me first and we’ll go together. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“High-five.”
Noah stared at my raised hand, not understanding my meaning. I laughed and patted our palms together, explaining the gesture, and we performed a few rounds until he was a giggling high-five pro.
On the walk home, I insisted on holding his hand tight, on alert, nerves still on edge.
After a few minutes, our pace slowed and Noah rubbed his eyes. I thought he might fight being carried, but he slumped the second I swung him into my arms, and the closer we got to home, the heavier he became as he relaxed against me.
“So, Noah. What do you think about naps?”
“They’re for babies,” he said, yawning.
“Well, then call me baby because I could really do with a nap right now.”
“Okay, baby.”
I barked out a laugh.