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Authors: Jane Costello
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somersaults.
‘Um, this thing you’ve got to do today,’ I begin.
‘Yup?’
‘Well, is there anything I could do to help? So that perhaps you could spend some time with Ruby and Samuel.’ My intention is to sound thoughtful and efficient.
Ryan stares at me as if I’m something unpleasant stuck to the sole of his shoe.
‘It’s just that Ruby is obviously dying to spend some time with you this weekend,’ I continue, ‘and if there was anything I could do for you so you could . . . well . . .’
Okay, it doesn’t sound as persuasive as I’d hoped.
Ryan is taking a deep breath. The sort of deep breath parole officers take when they’ve learned that one of their charges has broken another bail condition.
‘No,’ he says. ‘There isn’t.’
‘It’s just that—’
‘Listen to me,’ he snaps. ‘You and I will get on really well if we understand each other.’
‘Okay.’ I’m already wishing someone had taped my mouth shut before I’d got out of bed this morning.
‘You may have come to the conclusion that I’m a bad father –’
‘Oh, God, no,’ I bluster, feeling heat rising to my face. ‘I didn’t mean to imply—’
‘– and maybe I am. Although, I gotta say, it usually takes longer than twenty-four hours for someone to work that out.’
‘But I—’
‘This is the way I do things,’ he continues. ‘And it isn’t going to change. Okay?’
My neck and chest are blazing like a rampant forest fire. ‘Fine,’ I manage.
‘Good. Because I’m not employing you for your opinion. I’m employing you to look after my kids.’
I cross my arms, suddenly defiant. ‘Fine,’ I repeat, refusing to look away as his eyes bore into mine.
After a couple of seconds it becomes apparent to both of us that we’re engaged in a playground staring competition. But I’m not to going to wimp out. My pulse is still racing but now it’s for a different reason than how chiselled his features are. Now an overwhelming thought whizzes through my mind: I might have felt sorry for this guy, I might have developed an annoying obsession with his bone structure – but there’s no way I’m going to let myself be pushed around. Not by him or anyone else.
‘You can do that, right?’ he continues, still glaring at me. ‘You can look after my kids?’
‘Of course,’ I reply frostily, my pupils dilating as I refuse to move.
‘Good. Now, I suggest you go back in there, pour yourself a glass of water and sit down.’ He turns his back on me and opens the front door. ‘’Cause you look a little stressed.’
Chapter 15
I read somewhere that sleep deprivation can be used as a form of torture. Well, move over the KGB, because my first weekend in the Miller household is proving so bad on this front that I must look like a chronic narcoleptic.
My eyes keep closing spontaneously because I still haven’t caught up on my jet-lag, and despite my determination to get the children to bed at a decent hour, it isn’t proving as straightforward as I’d hoped.
In Samuel’s case, this is because he insisted on having an afternoon nap – something he really shouldn’t be having at his age. Not just that, but he proved as easy to wake as an Egyptian mummy – and what was supposed to be a short sleep stretched for almost three hours.
Meanwhile Ruby, who definitely shouldn’t be having a day-time nap at her age, sneaked off to the sofa for forty winks while I was making lunch and wouldn’t move until I threatened to eat her Reece’s Peanut Butter Cups.
All of this means that at eight thirty p.m. (new bedtime), I’m treated again to the Jekyll and Hyde routine.
But what about Daddy, you must be thinking. Isn’t he around this time?
Although tonight he has graced us with his presence in the house, he has spent most of the evening holed up in the living room in front of series six of The Sopranos , a mountain of documents and his laptop.
When I finally get the children to sleep I decide that now is
‘Um, this thing you’ve got to do today,’ I begin.
‘Yup?’
‘Well, is there anything I could do to help? So that perhaps you could spend some time with Ruby and Samuel.’ My intention is to sound thoughtful and efficient.
Ryan stares at me as if I’m something unpleasant stuck to the sole of his shoe.
‘It’s just that Ruby is obviously dying to spend some time with you this weekend,’ I continue, ‘and if there was anything I could do for you so you could . . . well . . .’
Okay, it doesn’t sound as persuasive as I’d hoped.
Ryan is taking a deep breath. The sort of deep breath parole officers take when they’ve learned that one of their charges has broken another bail condition.
‘No,’ he says. ‘There isn’t.’
‘It’s just that—’
‘Listen to me,’ he snaps. ‘You and I will get on really well if we understand each other.’
‘Okay.’ I’m already wishing someone had taped my mouth shut before I’d got out of bed this morning.
‘You may have come to the conclusion that I’m a bad father –’
‘Oh, God, no,’ I bluster, feeling heat rising to my face. ‘I didn’t mean to imply—’
‘– and maybe I am. Although, I gotta say, it usually takes longer than twenty-four hours for someone to work that out.’
‘But I—’
‘This is the way I do things,’ he continues. ‘And it isn’t going to change. Okay?’
My neck and chest are blazing like a rampant forest fire. ‘Fine,’ I manage.
‘Good. Because I’m not employing you for your opinion. I’m employing you to look after my kids.’
I cross my arms, suddenly defiant. ‘Fine,’ I repeat, refusing to look away as his eyes bore into mine.
After a couple of seconds it becomes apparent to both of us that we’re engaged in a playground staring competition. But I’m not to going to wimp out. My pulse is still racing but now it’s for a different reason than how chiselled his features are. Now an overwhelming thought whizzes through my mind: I might have felt sorry for this guy, I might have developed an annoying obsession with his bone structure – but there’s no way I’m going to let myself be pushed around. Not by him or anyone else.
‘You can do that, right?’ he continues, still glaring at me. ‘You can look after my kids?’
‘Of course,’ I reply frostily, my pupils dilating as I refuse to move.
‘Good. Now, I suggest you go back in there, pour yourself a glass of water and sit down.’ He turns his back on me and opens the front door. ‘’Cause you look a little stressed.’
Chapter 15
I read somewhere that sleep deprivation can be used as a form of torture. Well, move over the KGB, because my first weekend in the Miller household is proving so bad on this front that I must look like a chronic narcoleptic.
My eyes keep closing spontaneously because I still haven’t caught up on my jet-lag, and despite my determination to get the children to bed at a decent hour, it isn’t proving as straightforward as I’d hoped.
In Samuel’s case, this is because he insisted on having an afternoon nap – something he really shouldn’t be having at his age. Not just that, but he proved as easy to wake as an Egyptian mummy – and what was supposed to be a short sleep stretched for almost three hours.
Meanwhile Ruby, who definitely shouldn’t be having a day-time nap at her age, sneaked off to the sofa for forty winks while I was making lunch and wouldn’t move until I threatened to eat her Reece’s Peanut Butter Cups.
All of this means that at eight thirty p.m. (new bedtime), I’m treated again to the Jekyll and Hyde routine.
But what about Daddy, you must be thinking. Isn’t he around this time?
Although tonight he has graced us with his presence in the house, he has spent most of the evening holed up in the living room in front of series six of The Sopranos , a mountain of documents and his laptop.
When I finally get the children to sleep I decide that now is
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