That One Moment (Lost in London #2)(5)

“Stop being dramatic. You’d hardly be alone,” Tanner bellows. “You’d have us!”

“Are you f*cking dense? You lot are going to find nice girls to settle down with someday, and I’m not going to be the lonely sister tagging along with you on romantic holidays.”

“Oh Christ, be serious. We’re not going to settle down,” Camden mumbles into his glass.

Gareth at least has the cheek to look contemplative.

“You know what’s worse?” I groan. “I don’t even have a date. I made it up as a test and you buggers all failed miserably.”

I see Camden exhale with relief as Gareth murmurs, “Thank f*ck for that.”

Booker turns his quizzical brow to me. “This is good, then? So you don’t have a date?”

“No, I don’t have a date!” I shriek. “Let me out.” I shove against Tanner to move over. He eyes me sternly and doesn’t budge an inch. “You know what? I’m going to start throwing punches if you all don’t let me out of this booth right now.”

Tanner bursts out into a hearty laugh. “I love when you throw punches. You get that weird vein in your forehead that looks like Harry Potter.”

This sets Camden off too. “Fuck, you’re right! She does! It’s like a little bitty lightning bolt of ineffectual fury!”

When I see Gareth start chortling too, it makes me see red. “You know what? It’s my birthday and you guys are ruining it. I don’t have a date. I have nothing. I just wanted a quiet day at home and the opportunity to move on with my life. There’s nothing bloody wrong with that.” I’m surprised when I feel the sting of tears pricking at my eyes.

Tanner’s face drops instantly. “What’s this? No tears! Christ, Vi, we were only messing about.” I fight his huge embrace as he pulls me under his arm and rubs my shoulder.

“Bugger, I didn’t think you’d get emotional over it,” Camden says, reaching out and gripping my hand in an apologetic gesture.

“Vi, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it,” Booker says, which only makes me laugh.

“Book, you really need to stop apologising for these prats,” I giggle and sit up, dabbing the corners of my eyes.

“Camden’s the prat,” Tanner mutters. “He’s the one who always makes you cry.”

I hold my hand out and stop Camden from unleashing on Tanner. “Just stop. I’m fine. I’m just feeling a bit emotional today. It’s probably my period.”

I look up and see all their faces frozen in horror and disgust. “I thought you boys were all supposed to be tough footballers!” I exclaim, erupting into a fit of giggles.

They all shake their heads and, in unison, pick up their glasses and take long gulps of their beers. They even set their drinks down at the same time. Now my eyes are wet from tears of laughter instead of pain. These brothers of mine are a pain in the arse, but they’re mine. And the truth is it isn’t just them that upset me today.

They have no clue how incredibly hard it is to share a birthday with a ghost.





THE BABY WHISPERER


Sprawled out on the long grey couch in my brother’s flat, I flick mindlessly through the channels on the telly trying to stop myself from going upstairs to help my brother’s fiancé, Leslie. The baby has been crying for fifteen minutes straight, but Leslie made me promise to back off and stop helping so much.

“You’re not going to live here forever, Hayden. Theo and I have to figure this out on our own. She’s fine crying for a few moments.”

My jaw clenches as I stare at the clock, watching each passing moment that I’m forced to sit here and listen to my niece’s desperate cries. I unsnap and re-snap the brown leather cuffs on my wrists to try to distract myself. She wants me…I know it. I can feel it for Christ’s sake. She’s the most gorgeous and the most colicky baby you’ll ever meet, but for some reason she likes me.

“Colicky,” I huff. What an odd word for a single, twenty-six-year-old male to know. But f*ck, I couldn’t not read the baby books Leslie and Theo had lying around. Especially when I bloody well live with them and hear that poor child wailing every single night. The five S’s are like the bible around here. Swaddle, side, shush, swing, and suck. No five tips have ever helped a family more, I assure you.

I glance down at my watch for the fourth time in the last three minutes and see it tick over to 11:11. I pinch my eyes shut and exhale a wish for luck. A wish for a time machine. A wish for change.

Finally, as if Leslie could hear my silent pleas, her head pops up over the cast iron railing that looks down on the sunken living room. Her face looks flushed and she is near tears. Without hesitation, I spring up and take the steps two at a time all the way to her and my brother’s loft bedroom.

“She doesn’t even like the football hold right now. I’ve rubbed her tummy, but she’s not gassy. I thought if I could strap her to me while I got ready, she’d settle down…but she won’t. She’s tired…I know she is. She just won’t fall asleep.” Leslie’s voice cracks at the end.

“I wish you’d stop fighting my help,” I say, scooping up a besotted three-month-old Baby Marisa off the bed. I tuck her into that perfect place between my shoulder and neck where my voice can tunnel right into her ear. Then I begin shushing her loudly while I swoosh from side to side in short, fast spurts. Her tiny, rigid frame instantly relaxes. A few more loud puffs of air later and her wails morph from battle cries into the cry that sounds more like she’s saying, “It’s about bloody time you got here, Uncle Hayden. Mum’s been messing about with me for ages.”