Callum hesitates, his hand opening and closing around the key. “You're right,” he replies, finally. “In that case I owe you a drink. Coffee, tea, gin, the choice is yours.”
“It wasn't a problem, honestly, so there's no need to buy me anything. It's all in a day’s work.” I grab the buggy's handles. “I suppose I'd better get this little monkey home and give him some tea. Otherwise I won't be his favourite auntie anymore.”
“I suppose you should.” Callum doesn't move. He's still standing in front of me, as if he's reluctant to let me leave. “Are you babysitting all night?”
I tip my head to the side. “Why? Do you have a better offer?”
Somebody walks out of the office building, brushing past Callum. I watch him pass, relieved when I realise it's nobody I know. In spite of the innocence of our conversation, making small talk with my boss, somehow makes me feel guilty.
Callum swallows, making his Adam's apple bob. His tongue snakes across his dry lips. “I'll be spending the evening fine combing this contract with Daniel Grant and his team, so unless that constitutes a better offer...”
I wrinkle my nose up. “I think I'll stick with dirty nappies and puréed carrots.”
He nods slowly. “A wise choice.”
“Thank you.” I mime a curtsy in a rare bout of playfulness. “I suppose I should go.” I wave my hand in the direction of the bus stop. “Do you need anything else?”
This feels like one of those telephone conversations where neither of you wants to hang up. I linger, not wanting to leave, unable to find an excuse to stay.
Callum takes a step forward and brushes his palm against my arm. Even through two layers of clothing I swear I can feel his fingertips.
“Thank you. I mean it. I know I gave you a hard time when you started, but...” He shrugs. “This was above the call of duty and I appreciate it.”
There isn't the slightest hint of sarcasm in his voice; nothing remains of the superiority I heard when we first met. I'm unsure if it's me who has changed or if it's him, but right now all I want to do is step into his arms.
That's why I stagger back, pulling the buggy with me. Because it isn't Callum I don't trust, with his friendly words and kind face, it's me. I've just ended one relationship and it's clear I'm rebounding on to my boss. It would be funny if it wasn't shameful. “It was no problem, honestly. I'll see you on Monday.”
A gust of wind whips around me, brushing my heated cheeks and lifting my hair from my neck. Max's legs move in his sleep; his tiny, sock-covered feet kicking at the blanket. I give Callum a wave and turn the buggy around, walking towards the main road.
By the time I get to the bus stop I'm a big, messy bundle of hormones and desire.
* * *
Max goes to bed nicely, sucking at the tips of his fingers as he bundles up beneath the covers, his breathing rapid and loud. I stand there for a minute and stare, marvelling at the way his tiny eyelids flutter as he dreams. Every now and again he moans softly, wriggling until his covers pool around his ankles, and I lift them up again, draping them across his shoulders, running my fingers across his soft, plump face.
Callum was right; Max is beautiful. His skin is smooth and unmarked, his lips a perfect bow. His eyelashes—dark and thick like Alex's and mine—are so long they almost sweep his rosy cheeks. I hate the thought that one day somebody's going to break his heart. I want to claw their eyes out already.
Closing his door gently, I tiptoe back into the living room, curling up on the sofa and scrolling through my phone. My back twinges and I try to sit up straight, aware that I should have gone to yoga this morning.
I while away the next hour uploading pictures of Max to Instagram and listening to music through one headphone. The other dangles down as I keep an ear free to listen out for his cries.
At nine o’clock Luke adds a photograph to his account. He's standing outside a bar with a goofy grin on his face, his arm around the same girl he swore he wasn't sleeping with. In the background I can see Nick and Sophie, and it makes my chest hurt.
The fact I'm more upset about my friend’s betrayal than that of my ex-boyfriend doesn't escape me. It feels reassuring, somehow. The wound is scabbing over, new skin growing beneath.
Alex and Lara get home a few minutes after midnight. From the noise they make on the stairs and the way Alex's voice echoes through the house, I can tell he's been drinking before they even walk in the door. I bite down a smile; Alex drunk is always a sight to be seen. He's silly, funny and completely larger than life.
The door opens, the handle banging against the plastered wall, and Alex walks in; his face flushed, his words slurred. “Amy! How's my favourite sister? Come here, gimme a kiss.” He throws his arms around me, his bristled cheeks scratching against mine. The sensation makes me giggle.
“Don't let Andie hear you say that.”
Alex steps back, holding me at arm's length. “She's my favourite older sister. You're my favourite baby sister. There's a difference.”
Lara walks in. “Has he got to the 'I love yous'?” she asks.
“Not yet. But it’s inevitable.” I grin back at her.
Alex stumbles and I steady him. “I'd say it's bedtime.”