‘Could you hold him for a sec?’ the husband had asked, unclipping the infant from the carrier on his chest and passing him to me. ‘We’d just like to check out the shower.’ For a worrying moment, as they’d both kicked off their shoes, I’d thought they were about to strip off and give it a test run. Thankfully they’d stepped into the enclosure still fully clothed.
The viewing continued to be a contender for one of my weirdest ever, when they’d once again passed me their baby as they both insisted on scaling the loft ladder to examine the attic for possible conversion.
I’d waited in the hallway below, bouncing the infant – whose name I believe was George – on my hip, because that’s how I’d seen it done in films. It didn’t feel exactly natural, and George certainly wasn’t shy in making his feelings known about being left with a total amateur in the baby-rearing department.
‘I bet Mel would know how to do this,’ I muttered as the little boy began to cry, growing redder and redder in the face until it looked like I was holding a human beetroot instead of a tiny person.
He looked hot, thirsty, and incredibly angry, and yet despite the fact his indignant wails were now filling the street, his parents didn’t seem to be in any hurry to reappear.
‘Come on, George. They’ll be out soon,’ I told the distraught infant, feeling terrible when I saw there were genuine tears rolling down his overheated chubby cheeks.
‘I’m so sorry. I don’t know what you want,’ I apologised, my eyes going once again to the bedroom window of the property, which George’s parents probably weren’t even going to buy anyway. ‘Two more minutes,’ I promised him. ‘If they’re not out by then, we’re going in to get them. Okay?’
It was mid-afternoon on another uncommonly hot day, and the shade on the pavement was practically non-existent. A tall fern in the front garden afforded a narrow pocket of shadow, which I manoeuvred us both into. The quiet residential street was deserted, or so I thought until I heard the rhythmic slap of rubber on concrete when George paused to take a breath. I peered out from beneath the leafy fronds and spotted a man in shorts and sports vest who’d emerged at speed from a side street.
‘Hush, hush,’ I urged George, not wanting the stranger to think I was kidnapping the baby, or totally inept at calming him. The first was unlikely, the second was undeniably true.
I heard the steady tempo of the runner’s feet as they approached, and focused my attention on George, blowing raspberries into his face, which for some reason made him bawl even harder.
I saw a pair of expensive running shoes jog past me and then come to a stop. I rearranged my features into those of someone who doesn’t look like they haven’t got a clue what they’re doing.
‘That’s not a happy face.’
I wasn’t sure if the stranger meant George or me. To be honest, it could have been either of us. But mine changed almost instantly when I recognised the man standing before me, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet.
‘Rhys, hi,’ I said, my voice sounding equal parts delighted and embarrassed. ‘This is a weird coincidence.’
‘Isn’t it? And it’s one that keeps happening to us.’
He smiled and his eyes dropped to the screaming baby in my arms.
‘And this is . . . ?’
‘This is George. He hates me.’
Rhys chuckled softly and gave the baby the kind of smile that was guaranteed to make anyone stop crying. It almost succeeded, as George peered up at the tall man who’d joined us on the pavement.
‘I’ve been showing the house behind us to his parents, and they’ve gone back in for one last quick look and left me – quite literally – holding the baby.’
Rhys reached out a finger and gently touched the tip of George’s nose, making a soft beeping sound as he did. The crying stopped like a switch had been flipped. Rhys repeated the action and George, who I’d started to think might be possessed by the devil, actually giggled.
I looked at Rhys in total awe. ‘How did you do that?’
He gave an easy shrug. ‘It always used to work with Tasha. I thought it was worth a try.’
‘You’re a genius.’
‘No. You just pick up a few tricks along the way,’ he said.
‘Well, thank you.’ I shot a look over my shoulder at the open front door of the house. There was still no sign of George’s parents.
‘Are you in a hurry to be somewhere?’ I asked.
‘Do you ask that because I was running?’ he teased.
I felt my cheeks turn every bit as scarlet as George’s had done.
‘Sorry,’ Rhys said, smiling at the baby when he reached out a pudgy hand and grabbed hold of Rhys’s finger. Something inside me, something that I didn’t even know lived there, melted.