A Father Beyond Compare. Alison RobertsЧитать онлайн книгу.

       CHAPTER THREE

      FOR the second time that day, someone was suggesting that Tom Gardiner was not thinking straight.

      His younger sister, Phoebe, was being even more unkind. She was laughing aloud.

      ‘Oh, man! This is great. What were you thinking of, Tom?’

      He gritted his teeth. ‘I was trying to help someone.’

      ‘By babysitting? Night and day? For days and days and—’

      ‘Yeah, I get the message. Stop gloating, Phoebs.’

      ‘But, Tom…’ It took a moment for Phoebe to get real control. ‘You hate kids.’

      ‘I don’t hate them. I just don’t know what to do with them. They make me nervous.’

      ‘So you offer to be in loco parentis for an unknown length of time? You’re nuts!’

      ‘Look, I thought you might be able to help. I didn’t ring up for a dose of sibling abuse.’

      But Phoebe giggled again. ‘Just wait till Mum hears about this. Oh…that wasn’t you we just saw on the news, was it? Dangling over some van that was getting washed out to sea in a river? I told Mum it probably wasn’t cos she was having kittens.’

      ‘It was me, actually.’

      ‘Holy heck! Just as well you’re OK, then. Mum’s gone to a lot of trouble making a roast chicken dinner for us. She’d be mad if you didn’t show up.’

      ‘I probably won’t be able to show up. I’m going to be looking after Mickey, remember?’

      ‘Bring him along. Mum could pretend he’s one of those grandchildren she’s got her heart set on.’

      ‘I don’t think so. He’s a tired, frightened four-year-old, Phoebe. He doesn’t need another batch of strangers to deal with.’

      ‘Where does he usually live?’

      ‘Wales.’

      ‘Oh…’ The penny seemed to be finally dropping. ‘Is this something to do with that van in the river?’

      ‘Yeah. I pulled Mickey out before his mother.’

      ‘Is his mother all right?’

      ‘She’s injured, but not too badly. She’ll be in hospital for a few days and she wasn’t keen to have her son handed over to Social Welfare.’

      ‘Hmm.’ Phoebe sounded very thoughtful. ‘So this mother—she’s cute, huh?’

      Tom ignored the bait. The batteries on his mobile phone were due to run out any time. ‘Phoebe, I’ve got someone from Social Welfare turning up at the hospital to interview me any second to see if I’m acceptable as a caregiver,’ he said crisply. ‘I would prefer not to come across as a total idiot.’

      ‘Which you are, of course.’

      ‘Probably. Are you going to help me or not?’

      ‘Tempting as it is to see you try and pull this off by yourself, big brother, I’ll see what I can do.’

      ‘Thanks.’ Tom let his breath out in a huff of relief. ‘What do I need?’

      ‘My friend Alice has got kids. Her little boy is three and her daughter’s just turned one. She’ll know what you need and I’m sure she’ll lend me some stuff.’ Phoebe laughed again. ‘She won’t be able to resist if I promise to fill her in on all the gory details later.’

      ‘How soon could you collect stuff?’

      ‘I’ll do it now.’ Tom could hear a heavy sigh. ‘Mum’s giving me the evil eye here, Tom. You’d better talk to her. She’s not going to be very happy about the meal. What time will you get to your house?’

      ‘I don’t know. There’s a bit to sort out here first.’

      ‘I won’t wait for you then. I’ll drop the stuff on your doorstep and then come back here. That way, at least one of us will get to eat dinner.’

      ‘I’ll make it up to Mum.’

      ‘You’ll have to. How old did you say this kid was?’

      ‘Four. Nearly five but he’s very small for his age. He’s got spina bifida.’

      There was a moment’s shocked silence on the other end of the line, which was disconcerting. It was hard to shock Phoebe.

      ‘Tom…? Are you sure you know what you’re doing?’

      Nearly two hours later, Tom could almost smell the roast chicken dinner he was missing out on. He wished he had been able to attend the planned family gathering.

      Emma was still in Theatre. The pleasant young woman from Social Welfare had been easily persuaded that Tom was up to the job of caring for a small, slightly disabled boy and had whisked him off to the nearest supermarket to help him purchase disposable nappies and other items deemed necessary.

      Tom had collected Mickey from the care of the emergency department nurses to find his young charge was very displeased with the whole arrangement despite having had it explained to him by his mother before she’d been taken into the operating theatre.

      ‘I don’t like you,’he reminded Tom, as he was carried to the car park.

      ‘I’ve got a dog at home,’ Tom offered. ‘Do you like dogs?’

      ‘No. Dogs bite.’

      ‘My dog doesn’t bite.’ Tom couldn’t think of anything else to offer as an inducement. At least Mickey had been fed and toileted by the nursing staff while Tom had been at the supermarket. With a bit of luck, he could just put him to bed once they got home and then have a quiet beer or two while he thought about how to get through tomorrow. He tucked Mickey into the booster car seat the paediatric ward had supplied, along with a small wheelchair.

      ‘It’s only for a day or two until Mummy gets better.’ Tom was reassuring himself as well as Mickey, he realised. ‘It won’t be so bad.’

      It was bad.

      Mickey caught sight of Max—Tom’s elderly, long-haired German shepherd—and shrieked with fear.

      He refused to be placated with any offers of food or drink and Tom’s delight in finding that Phoebe had left a bag of toys, along with a selection of clothes and even a plate of chicken dinner covered with foil on his doorstep, was rapidly diminished as Mickey hurled one offering after another across the floor of his living room.

      Max obligingly picked the rejected toys up and brought them back, one by one, to where Mickey was sitting, howling, on the couch.

      ‘I don’t think you’re helping, mate,’ Tom told his dog sadly. ‘Maybe you should go outside for a bit.’

      And