Call It Fête - Bonus Epilogue

VISITING THORPE PARK IN the middle of July was a fucking mistake. It’s full of people, it stinks as bad as Rory’s bedroom, and it’s hotter than the fiery pits of hell. God, I think I’m going to die here. My death will be Rory and Chloe’s fault. Only an idiot lets their kids decide where we go on a day off. I’d hoped they would pick a beach, or a water park or something. But no, we’re roasting in a giant fire pit instead.

The trees above me rustle and I lift my head to catch the breeze, hoping it’ll cool me down. Instead, a warm blast of air hits my face from the roller coaster car roaring overhead. My skin melts.

To make it even worse, we hit a bottleneck and the thousands of park goers squeeze in around me. Stale sweaty armpits stir around the smell of fried onions, and the massive breakfast I ate this morning threatens to make a reappearance.

That last ride was a bad idea, especially with its one hundred-degree drop and countless bloody spirals. My head bounced around the cart with every quick change of direction, blurring my vision. The headache forming at the base of my spine tells me it rattled my brain just a little too hard. The kids had to help me out of my seat at the end like I’m a fucking old man. My legs are still jelly now.

As I creep closer to forty, a lot of the stuff I used to love now gives me a headache. Or heartburn.

Bloody hell, I’m turning into my dad.

The crowds part, giving me a glimpse of Chloe’s blonde hair, swishing away in front of us. Rory bounds along beside her, as always, eager to get into the hour-long queue for the next ride.

Another cart thunders overhead and I watch as it goes round and round and round. Nope. No fucking way. I’ll puke if they subject me to ten fucking inversions.

“Oy, you two! Wait up!”

Rory and Chloe respond straight away, which is a surprise since they usually prefer to ignore me. They freeze in place, altering the course of everyone else around them. People frown as they pass them, which only amuse the idiotic pair. 

As I get closer, the cracks in the kids’ facades grow. Their lips twitch first, then Rory’s head turns the slightest amount. When their eyes connect, they erupt into giggles. You’d never guess that there are nine years between them. They’ve been as thick as thieves from the very first day.

Our weird little family set-up works, even if it is a nightmare to explain to anyone curious enough to ask.

“You know Nate can’t keep up with us,” I tell them once I reach them. “Not with all that extra weight he’s carrying.”

“Oy!” A sharp jab to my arm tells me that Nate has in fact caught up with me. 

“Ow! That’s abuse that is.”

“All the extra weight he’s carrying,” he mimics, catching my Devonshire accent in a way that might offend me if he didn’t knock me off my feet every time he speaks. “That’s your baby daughter you’re talking about. Plus, I’m thirty-eight now, and you lot steal all my gym time.”

“Yeah, but you still get a good workout most nights.” I kiss him, careful not to squash the sleeping baby in the carrier strapped to his chest. The kiss doesn’t last for long. I peel back the top of the sling to stroke my fingers over the tuft of dirty blonde curls. “Look at her, all content and cuddled up to her dad. That’s my favourite place in the world, too. She’s totally like me.”

“Yeah, she’s a lump. Does she feel warm to you? Maybe bringing her here was a bad idea. We could have left her with my mother.”

“We didn’t know it was going to be this hot, love.” I give him another kiss. He’s worse than Mum with all his clucking around. “Please stop worrying. I’m sure Gracie will tell us if she’s feeling uncomfortable. Maybe try some cold water in her bottle before her next feed or something, like Mum suggested.”

Yes, I listen to Mum’s advice now. Strange how things change. A baby is hard fucking work, and it’s been years since Nate last did it. Despite all the research we — okay, he — did, nothing could have prepared us for the whirlwind that is Grace Webster-Jameson. So we take on board anything our families throw at us. The baby has us wrapped around her teeny tiny fingers and she’s only seven months old. 

As if she knows we’re talking about her, she stirs and gazes up at us with those beautiful wide brown eyes. Nobody can say no to her; she’s far too adorable. She gives me a sleepy smile before muttering a string of nonsensical babble.

Before he realises what I’m up to, I unstrap the carrier and lift her out, planting a firm kiss on her sleep-warmed cheek.

“Alex.” A whine and a tug on my elbow interrupts my brief moment with her. Chloe and Rory have lost their statue-y forms. She stands with her hands on her hips and he’s the one pulling on me. “Can you put baby Grace down? We need to join the queue now. Otherwise, we’ll be late to meet everyone else for lunch.”

“What do you reckon, Gracie?” I give her all my attention again. I just can’t help it. She’s perfect. “Shall we let your big brother and sister ride yet another rollercoaster? Do you think your old dad can take it?”

She blows a raspberry then reaches for Chloe, who pokes her tongue out at the baby. She has no intention of taking Grace, though; her gaze is fully back on the growing queue and she shifts from one foot to the other.

“That’s a yes, then.” I hand the baby back to Nate. “If I puke, then I can take the baby and you can ride, right?”

“Nope. I don’t fit. Too strong and muscley.” He flexes one arm and I swoon.

“Damn, you sexy sexy man.”

He gets the baby back into the carrier with my help. “I’ll wait with this one near the exit, giver her a drink.”

“All right, love. Try and find some shade. Maybe top up her suncream, yeah?”

“Yes, boss.”

“We’ll wave to you Nate when we’re upside down.” You might be able to, Rory. I’ll be too busy holding in my breakfast.

Like a man being sent to war, I give Nate one last lingering kiss before letting go. “Come on then, kids. Let’s get me well and truly killed off.”

Chloe and Rory pull me away from Nate and Grace. “You’ll be fine, Alex,” Rory tells me. “It’s only a rollercoaster.”

“Easy for you to say when you’re only nine and it doesn’t matter if you’re not the right side up because you’re used to running around like an idiot.”

One more ride shouldn’t hurt. At least, I hope it won’t. And if I do puke at the end of it, it’ll be worth it for the memories that’ll last well after all three kids have grown up and abandoned me and Nate.

I glance back at the man of my dreams, who is already settling on a shady bench, chatting away to the baby. When we met at the Beechmill Primary School PTA meeting all those years ago, I never expected my life to change this much.

But I’m glad it has.