Belsize Park || Kate & Leo

☆ Eight ☆

I tap on my phone, sending a facebook friend request to Jill Barclay. Did we ever know her last name? I run their names through my head. Jill Barclay, David Barclay, Verity Barclay. All very prestigious, very regal. The sun is high in the sky now, and is bursting through our net curtains. Bear lies beside me, still softly breathing in a peaceful sleep. I stretch my arm slightly, careful not to disrupt him. 

My phone vibrates. Jill has accepted my friend request, and she sends me a text. She lives in Camden town, one of the richest areas in London.

“Morning. Did you get home safely? You left in quite an… outlandish mood.”

Outlandish? Hm. I dart my tongue out to wet my lips, and type a response.

“Yeah, I guess I did, sorry. It was just a lot for five a.m. after no sleep, you know?”

“Sorry.”

“No, I mean it was… nice. I’ve not really talked about… her properly in so long. It’s difficult with the kids and— oh shit.”

“What?”

“I’m probably interrupting your time with Verity. So, this sounds strange but… how would you feel about coming round for dinner later?”

I wait for her response, tapping my thumbs at the side of the screen. 

“Verity’s brought her fiancé down, Max, he’s from Oxford.”

“He’s more than welcome to come.”

“I just asked Verity and Max. They said they’d love to.”

“Great! See you at–” I check the time. It’s 11:04.a.m. Shit. “Six?”

Thumbs up emoji. 

“We live at 29 Parkhill Road, London NW3 2YH”

“Fab. Thanks.”

I click my phone off, and sit up slowly, freeing my arm from beneath Bear and stretching my hand out to try and get some feeling back into it. I pull the duvet back over him and slowly pull on some jeans, a t-shirt, and creep out the room, and down the stairs. I can hear some strains of today’s piano song: The Portrait. I shake my head, grinning like an idiot as I halt on the top step, letting the memories flood back. 

***

You were laying on the couch, your hand up by your face, your eyes on me, whilst I pretended to draw you. Jim was standing behind me, his hand flickering over the paper, and back over to you, getting each detail right. I took a mental photo of you then, listening to our heavy mingling breaths, saying our sporadic lines.

“I believe you are blushing, Mr Big Artiste.”

I noticed my cheeks heating up and looked down to where Jim’s hand was drawing your breasts, and smiled giddily, like a little boy. It was the first scene we shot, and I knew, even then, that we had a connection. 

“AND CUT!”

You blinked, stood up, covered yourself, and smiled shyly as if you weren't just lying down naked in front of us, and put on the kimono which, may I point out, was kind of see-through…

***

I get to the bottom of the stairs, and your memory drifts away, and so does the music, as a last final dying strain of the lilting chords. I smile, feeling my heart ache with a proudness only a parent could feel. I feel a lump form in my throat, and I send him a text, not wanting to interrupt.

“Great work, Joey :)”

Our son is a prodigy, Kate. 

I walk into the kitchen, and Mia is setting out breakfast onto four plates, filling them with the contents of various paper bags, with a sticker on each. “Roni’s bakery – Belsize village.”