ENSHROUDING LIGHT

THE TAKEOVER

CHAPTER 3

THE TAKEOVER

'You get his bottle!' Luke glared at her with cold, moody eyes. 'He doesn't like me, so why should I do anything for him?'

She'd imagined the first week in their maisonette with their baby to be perfect. Instead, an uncomfortable atmosphere lingered between her and Luke. She wasn't sure what had happened to Luke, the boy who she'd lived with for the last few months in utter bliss and who would've usually done anything for her, but he refused to hold Tom at all. She couldn't blame him; the only time Tom cried was when he went near him and, although he kept his distance from Tom, her new, protective, motherly instinct made sure she held him tighter than any other mother would whenever he was around.

'You're getting it for me! He's a baby, Luke! How you can take offence from a baby?'

Luke shot Tom, who lay innocently on the rug, a contemptuous look. 'Because he hates me!'

'I'm sure he doesn't hate...'

'Forget it.' Luke pointed the remote at the TV and turned it up.

It was understandable for him to be hurt. It must've been hard for him to watch her receive all Tom's strange but extraordinary smiles. He'd even squeal with joy when she spoke to him, his eyes wide and alert, apparently interested in whatever she said like he was months old. Luke, on the other hand, received nothing but blank, dull expressions—if a child with such vigour and sparkle could ever be called dull.

'Come on, handsome.' She lifted Tom from the rug in the middle of the room before walking away from the boy she thought she knew.

She'd been told that people can change once they have a child, but she never expected this. Granted it must be hard not being able to bond with Tom and to top it off he'd also fallen out with his mum, but it was still no excuse for his behaviour towards her. It wasn't just his temperament that had changed; he also looked scrawnier and less attractive than usual, like he'd forgotten how to take care of himself. Maybe he no longer cared? Not for himself, Tom or her.

She grabbed a bottle from the worktop in the kitchen, placed it in her changing bag and laid Tom inside his pram in the hall. 'Our Jack wants to see you!'

Tom beamed his customary response.

She closed the door of her ground floor maisonette without saying goodbye and pushed Tom up the busy main road to the café.

Tom gazed at the beige rows of two-story maisonettes as they strolled past. To him, it must've looked like a giant, boring flip book on repeat was whizzing past. He could've had a better start. She sighed but smiled to herself for having the thought. It wasn't one of the of best council areas in Manchester, but the people were friendly. At least she had a roof over her head!At least he was wanted. At least he was loved by a mother who would do anything for him. Perspective, Nev!

She slowed once they reached The TARDIS. Named so because from the outside, the café looked small; just one window to the left-hand side of the door, which made an alcove for the larger table, but from the inside, its length, and counter that ran from this window table, stretched back far enough to fit two rows of six tables which ran in front of the door, parallel to the counter.

She backed the pram in, lifting it over the ripped piece of linoleum flooring, making sure she didn't damage it any more than it already was. The table in the alcove by the window would usually be occupied by women and children but it was empty. Five of the other twelve tables, however, were filled with regular customers.