service.
All of which meant that even if by some strange twist of fate Angus ever saw Lucinda in the same light in which she saw him, he would still not be the man for her.
For Lucinda liked entanglements. She yearned for constraints.
So, she, Lucinda Starling, planned to put an end to her self-imposed emotional wasteland.
None of which Angus ever needed to know.
“Honey, I’m home!”
Voice echoing down the hallway of her small cottage in suburban Abbotsford, Lucinda took off her jacket and scarf, not bothering to disentangle either from the handle of her bag as she dumped the lot in a heap on the hall table.
“In the kitchen!” called Catriona, Lucinda’s big sister, housemate and godsend.
Lucinda sniffed the air in the hope there might be a little leftover dinner she could snaffle and caught a whiff of chicken and potato wedges—the good ones she’d found on sale. She hoped Cat had added a little chopped carrot for colour and health. Maybe some baby spinach leaves.
Then she sighed as she kicked off her heels and padded down the hall.
Cat was in the kitchen, one foot tucked up against the other knee, chomping down on a piece of buttery toast.
Her sister had inherited their dad’s lanky genes. Lucinda was shorter and curvier, like their mum. She grabbed a carrot stick in lieu of the toast.
Thinking of her parents gave Lucinda a sad little clutch behind her sternum, as it always did, even though it was over ten years since the crash that had taken them.
Then she looked past her sister to the small room beyond. Her heart swelled, her lungs tightened and her head cleared of any and all things that had seemed so important only a moment before.
For there sat Sonny. Her beautiful boy. Hunched over a book at the tiny round table tucked into the nook beside the small kitchen, distractedly polishing off the last potato wedge. His plate was wiped clean bar a few spinach stems. Go Cat!
“Hey, sweet pea!” Lucinda called.
Sonny looked up from the adventures of Captain Underpants, hair the same dark brown as Lucinda’s hanging into his eyes. A blink later, his face broke into a smile filled with gappy baby teeth, one wobbly. “Hey, Mum!”
She edged around the bench and pressed back Sonny’s hair to give him a kiss on the forehead, making a mental note to book in a haircut. She caught scents of sweat and sunshine. “Good day?”
“Yup.”
“What’s the newsy news?” she asked as she headed into the kitchen.
Cat tilted her head towards the microwave, where a plate sat covered in a little mound of cheap, easy goodness. Lucinda nodded her thanks then plonked onto a chair tucked under the kitchen bench.
Sonny looked off to the side, searching his data banks for whatever snippet he’d tucked away, knowing she’d ask. “Mr Fish, the fighting fish that lives in the library, is missing.”
“Missing, you say? That is news.”
Sonny nodded. “Jacob K and I went to the library at lunchtime and saw the tank was empty. Jacob K asked if it was dead. Mrs Seedsman said, ‘Many believe they know what happens when a creature is no longer with us, but nobody knows for sure’.”
“Did she, now?” Lucinda looked to Cat who was biting back a laugh. “Quite the progressive, Mrs Seedsman.”
“I like her hair. It has purple bits on the ends.”
“Then I like Mrs Seedsman’s hair too.”
Happy with that, Sonny gave her another flash of his gorgeous smile before easing back into his book.
Lucinda turned to Cat. “Jacob K?”
“New kid,” said Cat. “Sonny was put in charge of him.”
“Of course he was. He’s the best. Anything else?”
Cat finished rinsing the plates and popping them in the dishwasher, before reaching for a glass of wine she’d clearly had airing in wait for Lucinda to get home and take over Sonny duties.
“All good. Came home chatty. Didn’t touch his sandwich again.”
Lucinda sighed. Once he was down, she’d be online searching for lunchbox ideas for kids who refused to eat sandwiches, as heaven forbid Sonny eat something she could prepare and freeze in advance.
She glanced at the clock on the wall. “Bath time, kiddo.”
“Okay,” said Sonny, not moving from his book.
Lucinda considered that her five-minute warning, knowing by now she’d have to ask at least three more times before he actually moved. It gave her time to unwind and settle into the different pace and sounds at home compared to the office.
Time to shed her work persona—proactive, sophisticated, tough, respected—put on her Mum skin—reactive, threadbare, fingers crossed she was making all the right choices, and a massive soft touch when it came to her boy—and remember that, whatever worries she dealt with at work, they always came second to this.
And always would.
A half-hour later, Sonny was bathed and dressed, his hair a little wet from being washed, his pyjamas soft from the two nights they’d already been worn. She could get another night out of them. He only had one other pair that fit. The joys of owning a growing boy.
Once he’d given Cat a goodnight hug, Sonny ran back into his room.
Lucinda carried him the last few metres, just because she could. It might not be an option for much longer. At eight years of age, the kid’s feet were nearly dragging on the floor.
Once Sonny was settled, Lucinda tucked herself up on his bed, making sure not to block his bedside lamp so he had enough light to read. They took turns reading and listening. When she dozed off for the second time, Lucinda gently closed the book and went through the rest of the night-time routine: butterfly kiss, nose-tip kiss and kiss on both cheeks, followed by a seven-second cuddle.
Special toys were found and tucked into their respective nightly positions—Dashy the Dog behind Sonny’s neck, Punky the Penguin behind his knees. Blankets were moved up to the chin, star-shaped night-light put on low.
This was the time of day when she felt so lucky to have this all to herself—this routine, this sweetness, this boy. Her heart filled her chest. She loved the kid so much.
Though give it ten more minutes and if he called her name needing a drink, or a trip to the toilet, she’d wish with all that same heart that she had a partner to shoulder the load.
Such
