ENSHROUDING LIGHT

THE WEEK OF CHRISTMAS

CHAPTER 9

THE WEEK OF CHRISTMAS

'Mornin', me Mummy.' Tom stood in his cot at the side of her bed, holding onto the bars, bouncing his chubby legs, grinding it across the wooden floor with his weight.

'Mornin', me Tom.' Nevaeh grunted as she lifted him over the bars and placed him on his potty. He had to be the biggest eight-month-old ever.

Tom clapped. 'Father kismas today?'

'That's right.' She helped him off. 'So no sitting in the ball pit all day today, okay?'

'Yes no.' Tom jumped on the spot, dimples appearing in his cheeks as he smiled.

Tom sat in the ball pit most days, in his element, which helped him escape from the hustle and bustle and from those who knew his age; the ones who weren't afraid to show their disdain. He was ostracised; as soon as anyone got close enough to him to realise his abnormality, they'd shun him. Despite this, and Winston having to lead her away whenever she began to retaliate, it was clear he loved going and enjoyed the routine. It was hard to admit but having Tom with her every day at the café, especially with Jack and Winston helping with the childminding, who Tom equally loved, was great.

'We can ignore the ignorant people, can't we?' It was fortunate the cafe provided a constant stream of new people, for Tom didn't seem to feel alienated much, although he liked his own space. Granted, he had some peculiar mannerisms, but there was still no need for blatant rudeness.

Tom jumped and clapped as she tried to dress him, giggling each time she struggled to get an arm or leg into his tracksuit. As she pushed his buggy down the road, he shouted "Father kismas" all the way there, his beautiful face lit with excitement. A warm feeling spread across her chest as she watched.

As she pushed him into the café, he squealed. In the corner stood a ceiling-high tree, surrounded by many decorations and, in the play area, taking up the whole left-hand side, a huge Santa's grotto had been erected, transforming the place into a wonderland.

'Father kismas!' He rocked his body back and forth. She undid his belt, and he leapt out. She ran behind him, bent over, her arms extended to catch him if he fell. He ran past the ball pit, straight to the small fence of the grotto.

'Good morning,' a male voice said, bending his large, chiselled body under the tiny doorway of the grotto.

Her heart panged. It was the handsome workman who helped Winston remodel the place months earlier. He stood tall and smiled at Tom, his scar curving on his cheek as he did. He then turned to her and, as his steel blue eyes locked with hers, an electric, skin-tingling feeling rushed all over her body. How on earth was he making her feel like this? She was never allured by mere beauty; the notion of vanity repulsed her.

She stared at him to work it out. He let her, too; just stood there with a pleasant, almost shy and unconfident look about him. His shoulders were hunched. He was fiddling with his unfashionable jeans like he didn't know what to do. That was it. Behind his ravishing features, he lacked even an air of machismo. As he stood, hair messy and in no style, it was apparent he didn't have a clue about the stunning beauty he possessed. This made him even more attractive.

'Hello,' he said with a thick, soothing tone.

'Ak.' It was more a grunt than anything coherent. Goose pimples shot up and down her arms. What was happening to her? Apart from her love for Tom, she'd never felt anything like it in her life. Thankfully, as she couldn't stop herself gaping, he turned his attention back to Tom.