Noah closed the door to the sound studio after he and Cedric had left, and took Emily out of Cedric’s arms. “C’mon, Emmie. Come and stretch out.”
Amy’s lounge room was large and comfy, walls covered in tour posters, with a rack of guitars, and Noah put Emily down on her back on her lambskin. She promptly rolled over onto her belly and squealed.
He rolled her back again, laughing, and she rolled onto her belly again.
Cedric squatted down beside Noah and Emily. “You could be there a while.”
Noah rolled Emily onto her back again. “Yep. Though she’ll be off the moment she works out how to roll the other way. We’ve got gates on the stairs ready for her.”
Emily squealed and rolled back onto her tummy. “How are you? I haven’t seen you since just after the birth.” Cedric said.
“I’m great,” Noah replied, his smile evidence enough. “Emily is just amazing. I’m loving working again.”
“And Vincent?”
Noah rolled Emily back again as she chortled. “He’s been wonderful. We were both zombies for a few weeks after Emmie was born, but she sleeps a bit now, and adores Morgan, her nanny, so I think our brains are defrosting again.” Noah watched Emily roll onto her tummy and said, “You can stay there for a moment,” to her. He looked sideways at Cedric. “We had… something happen between us a couple of weeks ago. Not an argument really, just some stuff that needed to be said. It’s been great since then.”
“You look better than I’ve ever seen you before. Back to being yourself after Emily. Happy even, and I don’t think you’ve been happy.”
Noah considered. “You might be right there.” Emily grizzled a little and Noah carefully rolled her onto her back again.
***
The hotel porter came out to help Noah help unload the back of the rented SUV. Morgan stood beside him, lifting out wash baskets of baby supplies. Emily was still in her car seat, shouting at them to be picked up. “Dadadadada,” she was calling, and she kept going until Vincent brought her around the back of the car so she could see Noah.
Noah put down the pack he was lifting out and took Emily from Vincent. “Alright, you little monster,” he said affectionately.
She sucked her fingers for a moment, then shouted “Daaaaaaaa,” and held her arms out to Vincent.
Vincent handed the suitcase to the porter and held out his arms, saying “Baby ping pong time.”
She was still calling, “Dadadadada,” as Vincent carried her through the sliding doors of the hotel.
Noah caught the familiar shriek from Emily. Morgan was holding her in her arms in the crowd, Emily clinging to one of Morgan’s braids. “Dadadadada,” she was calling, alternating with “Daaaaaaa!”
“There’s Emily,” Noah said to Vincent, and he walked across to where Emily was jiggling like crazy in Morgan’s arms.
Morgan grinned at him, and prised Emily’s fist off her braid and handed her over the barricade to Noah, who walked back to stand beside Vincent, Emily shouting “Daaaaaaa!” as she spotted Vincent.
Vincent turned to kiss Emily and she rested her head on his shoulder and sucked her fingers, content to let Noah hold her there. A camera flashed and Emily blinked then her eyes went wide. A photographer waved at her and she took her fingers out of her mouth and waggled them back, wet with drool.
Morgan was waiting to take Emily back when Noah handed her over the barricade, Emily now shouting, “Momomomo,” and Noah shrugged mentally. There was nothing he could do about whatever assumptions people made about Emily and her parentage.
.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Noah buckled Emily’s car restraint straps and kissed her, then climbed into the passenger seat while Vincent started the car. Vincent reached for the stereo and Emily took her hand out of her mouth and said, “No, Da, play Beadles.”
“You spoil her rotten,” Vincent said, and Noah turned around in his seat to look at Emily.
“Say ‘Please play the Beatles’, honey.”
Emily considered her fingers then looked up. “Please play Beadles, honey.”
Vincent laughed out loud as Noah reached for Emily’s favorite CD, and Noah muttered, “Shut up,” at him.
Emily squealed and said, “Rude, Dada, bad boy.”
***
“Are you sure the Beatles are suitable for a two year old?” Vincent asked, watching Emily in his rear vision mirror.
Noah looked back at Emily too and she was smacking her hands together wetly and singing, “Rida the meder maid,” along to the CD.
Noah said, “Watch this,” to Vincent quietly. “What’s Ben’s favorite song? Can you sing it for Da?” he asked Emily.
Emily nodded, put her hands on her pony tails, fingers pointing up and shouted, “Sadan!”
Vincent said, “Shit, where’d he get that from?”
Emily said, “Bad word, Da.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
“Gngh.”
There it was, the catch in Noah’s breath that Vincent had been waiting for, the change in breathing that meant he was close to coming.
Vincent kept the slide of his hand slow and steady, pausing to squeeze the head of Noah’s cock. This was how Noah liked it, smooth and slow, and Vincent bit gently on Noah’s shoulder, feeling the tension build in Noah’s body, responding to the touch of Vincent’s hand.
Noah’s hand was on Vincent’s cock too, stroking him firmly, more quickly.
This was how they were in the mornings. Noah would come soon. Vincent wouldn’t. They’d worked out that if Vincent came in the morning, he wouldn’t be horny enough to fuck in the evening. So, only Noah would come. Vincent thought that the unresolved desire added an edge to his painting, added an edge to everything, and he liked that. He could wait until evening, and they could fuck each other senseless then.
There was a thud at the door, just as Noah shivered and arched his back, and Emily called out, “Da, Dada, wake up!”
Vincent squeezed hard, and Noah began to come, biting hard on his bottom lip to stay quiet. Vincent pressed kisses to the damp skin of Noah’s shoulder and kept stroking through his orgasm, until Noah lay back bonelessly on the pillow, his eyes closed.
“Fuck,” he whispered to Vincent, and Vincent wiped his hand clean on the bottom sheet and kissed Noah’s cheek.
Noah would be out of action for a few minutes yet, so Vincent rolled out from under the quilt, ignoring his own cock.
After pulling on yesterday’s jeans and carefully zipping them up, and grabbing a T-shirt off the dirty clothes pile, Vincent unlocked his bedroom door.
Emily put down the shoe she was banging on the door with and looked up at Vincent. “Pooey, Da,” she said and she patted her pajama pants.
There was the sweetest face in the world looking up at him from under the mop of brown curls, and a dreadful stench wafting up to him.
“I can smell, sweetheart. How about a shower before breakfast?” Vincent asked her, bending down to pick her up.
“Yes, Da. Very yucky.”
Vincent carried her into the bathroom Emily shared with Ben when he was home and put Emily down in the shower recess. Experience with two children had taught him that a child who smelt as bad as Emily did should only be undressed somewhere that could be hosed down. She clutched onto his hair as he knelt down and peeled her pajamas off her, then her water proof pants and triple thickness night nappy, dropping the whole lot into the diaper bucket they kept in the bathroom ready.
Emily was in a dreadful mess, and Vincent said, “Have you got a sore tummy?”
Emily patted her stomach and nodded and said, “Hungry is sore.”
“OK, sooner you’re clean, the sooner I can make you some breakfast, honey. Stand back and let me get the water right,” Vincent said.
Emily shrieked and pressed herself against Vincent. “Cold, Da.”
Vincent kept his hand under the stream of water, waiting for it to warm up. “It’s warm now, you can get under,” he said and Emily j
umped under the flow.
Vincent left the sliding shower door open so he could watch her and took the opportunity to relieve himself too, washing his hands in the water from the shower, knowing that if he turned the taps at the sink on, it would interfere with the temperature of her shower.
He yawned and knelt down again, face washer in his hand, and began to try and get Emily clean.
“Can Dada make porridge?” Emily asked hopefully while Vincent washed her.
“Dada’s got to go work today, Emmie. I’ll make you oatmeal if you like.” Oatmeal was Noah’s specialty, and Emily’s favorite.
“With ‘tanas and syrup, like Dada does?” Emily asked, making Vincent smile with her eagerness.
“Yes, with sultanas and golden syrup, just like Dada does,” Vincent promised. “OK, you’re all clean, out you come.” He turned the taps off and lifted Emily out of the shower, wrapping her in a towel and carrying her to her bedroom.
“What do you want to wear today?” Vincent asked her as he rubbed her quickly dry.
“Jeans like you, Da,” Emily said, yanking open the bottom drawer of her dresser and pulling out a pair of jeans.
Vincent closed the drawer and opened the next one up. “Choose your knickers and T-shirt too, then,” Vincent said, and Emily peered into the drawer too.
“Yellow knickers,” she said decisively, tossing them onto the floor. “And this,” she said, holding up a red and yellow striped T-shirt. “’Cause Dada says it makes me look like a bumble-bee.”
Vincent nodded and said, “It does,” to Emily as he helped her into her knickers. “And a bee is a good thing to look like.”
He had begun to run Emily’s brush through her curls when he heard the hot water system clunk back into life again. Obviously Noah had made it as far as the shower. Emily wriggled and pulled away from him as he brushed her, and he let her go. Morgan could deal with putting her hair into a ponytail later, at least it was brushed for the moment.
“What about shoes?” he asked Emily. “Want to put some on?”
“No way, Da,” she told him seriously, looking at Vincent’s feet where they protruded beyond the frayed hems of his jeans. “Like you.”
He couldn’t fault that argument, so he pushed himself back up to standing, his knees creaking in protest. His body was too old for him to be crawling around the floor dressing a two year old.
Emily was waiting at the gate at the top of the stairs when he got there, and he unlatched the gate and said, “Carefully,” to her as she charged down the stairs. He supposed she was old enough now for them to remove the gates, but everyone was used to them, and it did slow her down a little. He undid the bottom gate too, and Emily rushed ahead of him into the kitchen.
“Make porridge, Da,” she demanded, opening the cupboard and pulling out the oatmeal pan and handing it up to him.
He took it and said, “Coffee first, OK?” to her as he began to spoon the coffee grounds into the percolator. Noah wouldn’t be awake enough to drive if Vincent didn’t feed him coffee. At the first gurgle of the machine, Vincent opened the fridge door, Emily under his feet. “Do you want cow’s milk or bean milk in your oatmeal?” he asked her, pointing at the cartons in the fridge door.
“Slime,” Emily said, making Vincent laugh as he took the carton out. Ben referred to soy milk as soy slime, and Emily loved the word.
He yawned again as he poured oatmeal into the pan and added soymilk and sultanas, handing Emily a lump of sultanas while she waited. She took them and sat down on the kitchen floor to eat them contentedly.
Vincent leant against the cupboards and stirred at the oatmeal as it began to heat, pausing to take out three mugs. He poured Emily cow’s milk in her elephant mug and carried it across to the table, then found bowls and spoons in the dishwasher for them all. The hot water system was still running, so Vincent didn’t make Noah a cup of coffee when the percolator finished. There was no way of knowing how long Noah would be in the shower, though he should be quick since he had a beard for his current role and didn’t need to shave.
When the oatmeal was cooked, he served up three bowls and poured the golden syrup over the oatmeal. Noah and Emily adored the syrup which was kind of like maple syrup and came in a green tin. Sophie had kept Noah supplied from England until Vincent had found a local source of the stuff. He had to admit it did taste good on oatmeal.
“It’s hot, Emily,” Vincent warned as he put the bowls on the table, along with his cup of coffee, then lifted Emily into her high chair.
“’K, Da,” she said, picking up her spoon and sticking it into the oatmeal, then pulling it out and blowing on it, dripping oatmeal across her highchair tray. He took the bowl and spoon off her again, putting them on the table out of her reach, and she picked at the dropped blobs with her fingers, eating them that way.
Noah appeared then, hair damp and uncombed, drawstring cotton pants sliding down around his hips, striped shirt hanging unbuttoned. He was lean again, two years after Emily, though his body had not quite returned to the same shape as before. Vincent loved the changes, the smoothness to Noah’s hips, the stretch marks that had faded now until they were almost invisible, the muscle Noah had put on as his hormones changed. And of course, the pink ridge of scar tissue down low on his belly, a permanent reminder of where Emily had come from. The changed shape meant he had given away all his old clothes, all the classy black trousers and sedate shirts. They had been replaced with clothes he had chosen, not a stylist, a kaleidoscope of glorious colors that Vincent adored. Noah was back to dressing like the man Vincent had first known.
Emily shouted, “Dada, hugs,” as soon as he appeared, standing up in her highchair and holding out her arms to Noah.
Vincent grabbed her as she stood. “Let Dada get coffee,” he said, and she shouted, “Dadadada,” again.
Noah blew her a kiss as he poured himself coffee, then took her out of Vincent’s arms after he had put his coffee on the table.
“Morning, sweetheart,” he said to her, kissing her cheek. “Want to sit on my lap to eat your porridge?” he asked, and she squealed delightedly.
Vincent sat down opposite them, and he couldn’t help but smile. Noah moved Emily’s bowl in front of himself, and began to eat his own oatmeal. Emily, however, seemed determined to eat as much of the syrup and sultanas from both bowls as she could manage, diving her spoon in, spreading oatmeal across herself and the table.
Noah caught Vincent’s eyes when he reached for his coffee, and smiled back at him.
When Noah’s own bowl was empty, he pushed it away and kissed Emily’s curls. “I’ve got to go brush my teeth,” he said to her. “You finish up here in my chair, alright?”
Emily nodded. “OK, Dada.”
Noah stood up and put Emily back on his chair, and she knelt up so she could reach the table and keep eating her oatmeal, then he was off up the stairs two at a time.
Vincent was standing waiting for Noah when he bounded downstairs five minutes later, smelling of toothpaste, oatmeal stuck to his now buttoned shirt, and he slid into Vincent’s arms.
Noah’s head rested on Vincent’s shoulder, and his arms tightened around Vincent’s waist, and Vincent exhaled slowly.
They did this every morning, just hugged for a minute or two before either of them left the house. Vincent loved this moment almost as much as he loved the time when they were alone in their bedroom. This was when he knew they were a couple, that Noah cared for him. Noah’s breath tickled Vincent’s neck, and he had to remind himself that he hadn’t brushed his teeth yet, that he had early morning dragon breath still, that he shouldn’t kiss Noah with that.
Once, when Noah had just started working after Emily was born, he had slept in and was running late. Vincent had gone to pull back from their morning embrace quickly, and Noah had stopped him. “Don’t,” he had said. “The world can wait for another five minutes, this is more important.”
Noah was right of course. There was only one thing they would let interrupt
them, and she was tugging demandingly on Vincent’s jeans leg, saying, “Me too, me too.” Phone calls could wait. Appointments, messages, burning pans, traffic jams. Nothing else mattered.
Noah body was warm where it pressed against Vincent’s, and his mouth was on Vincent’s ear when he whispered, “Tonight, I’m going to make you moan.”
Then he was bending down and picking up Emily for them both to hug her too.
Emily pressed a lumpy kiss against Vincent’s cheek and he took her weight from Noah, then carried her to the front door to wave goodbye. Noah waved back, car keys and cell phone in his hand, then he was gone, his car reversing through the electronic security gates as they opened.
“Let’s go find the newspapers,” Vincent said to Emily, putting her down on the driveway and reaching back into the house to push the button to open the gates again. She scampered out ahead of him, bare feet on the dew damp grass, calling out, “I can see one, Da,” as she picked up the rolled up New York Times from under a tree.
Vincent retrieved the paper from the gutter and followed Emily back indoors, closing the gate after them.
Emily was waiting for Vincent, remote control for the DVD player in her hands in the family room. “Can I watch TV?” she asked Vincent, bouncing up and down a little with excitement.
“Half an hour only,” Vincent said. “And not the Teletubbies.”
The Teletubbies made him want to gouge his own eyes out with the remote control; even the soundtrack for them drove him nuts.
Emily said, “Bear in the Blue House?” and he nodded at her, following her into the family room to start the DVD playing.
“Sure.” He left her sitting on the couch, remote control in her hands, oatmeal and syrup spreading from her clothes over the couch. He poured himself a second cup of coffee and sat at the end of the table that didn’t have oatmeal smeared all over it with the two papers. “Just until the timer says ’30’,” he called out to Emily.
This was their routine. He got half an hour to read the papers in quiet; she got her fix of children’s television. He wouldn’t let her watch free-to-air TV because of the adverts, so she had a shelf of her own DVDs to choose from, and knew exactly which buttons to press to make them play.
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