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He’d do it now. He had nothing better to do, either, and it beat lying in bed next to Georgie’s room and listening to the sounds of her getting ready for bed. Although even in his study he could hear her, because she was immediately overhead.
He listened to the sound of water running, the creak of the boards as she crossed the room to the bed. A different creak as she climbed into it and lay down.
He tried to tune it out, but it was impossible, so he put the radio on quietly. Carols from King’s College, Cambridge, flooded the room and drowned out the sound of her movements.
Pity they couldn’t drown out his thoughts...
CHAPTER EIGHT (#udaadd2fe-d1f2-5493-b3f5-7368ff97c9ab)
‘MUMMY! MUMMY, WAKE UP!'
She prised her eyes open. Light was leaking round the edges of the curtains, and it looked—astonishingly—like sunlight. She propped herself up on one elbow and scraped her hair back out of her eyes.
‘Hello, Mummy!’
He was beaming at her, and she felt her heart melt. ‘Hello, darling. Are you all right? Did you sleep well?’
He nodded vigorously. He was standing in the cot, bobbing up and down with unchannelled energy, and he looked bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.
‘Want Bastian,’ he said. ‘Play in snow.’
The cot rocked wildly, and she sat up and grabbed the edge to steady it. ‘Let’s get up first, shall we? Nappy, drink, clothes on? Then we’ll see.’
He nodded and held up his arms, and she lifted him out. He was warm and he smelled of sleepy baby, and she breathed him in and snuggled him close for a moment, but he wasn’t having any of it. There was snow outside with his name on it, and he wanted out.
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