As I turn back from the view, Archie’s words begin to sink in. “What were you doing in Uncle Van’s room?”
“I went to have a look. He did say to make ourselves at home.”
“I’m not sure he meant in the goldilocks sense,” I reply, watching as he drops his head to the mattress and spreads out his arms.
“I wanted to see if Hugh was right because he said you and Uncle Van might be sleeping in the same bed, like Daddy and Carly.”
“Oh.” A strangeness twists through my stomach at the thought.
“And Angel before Carly, and Candy before Angel, and—”
“Thank you, Archie, but there’s no need to list all of your father’s girlfriends.”
He gives a shrug. “Can’t remember all of their names anyway. That’s a little sofa, isn’t it?” He points at the linen two-seater which faces the end of the bed.
“Tiny,” I agree, “but, as you can see, Uncle Van and I have separate rooms.” Which had come as a relief. Mostly. It feels like a stay of execution, not that sleeping with Niko has ever been anything but enjoyable.
“I know. I already told Hugh.”
“My sons. The arbitrators of my virtue,” I mutter.
“What?” Archie lifts his head.
“Nothing.”
“You always tell me not to do that. Say nothing when I said something.” I send him the look when he flops back on the bed and begins to move his hands across the bedlinens like a snowless snow angel. “Mummy, we like Uncle Van. Me and Hugh talked about it, and we wouldn’t mind if he was your boyfriend.”
“I’m too old for boyfriends.”
“But Daddy is older, and he’s had loads of girlfriends.” The human starfish on the bed lifts his head again. “And you’re not old. You’re not losing your hair.”
“Thank heaven for small mercies,” I say with a laugh.
“Daddy got really cross when I said the hair on the top of his head had started to disappear.”
“Oh dear.” Not. I hope it all falls out and he has to carry it around in a basket.
“He was bending down to fasten his shoelaces and I patted the bald spot on the top of his head. I didn’t even say tut, tut baldy nut and he yelled at me,” Archie says, aggrieved. “Anyway, if you wanted to make Uncle Van your boyfriend, Hugh and me, we’d be all right with that.”
I turn from my suitcase. “And I suppose that would be nothing at all to do with holidays on private islands in the Caribbean while you should be at school, trips in private jets, or meeting the players at Arsenal Football Club.”
“Hugh says those are just nincidentals perks. We like him because he’s Uncle Sandy’s best friend and because he makes you smile, though you don’t seem to like him to see when you do. Hugh says that’s what girls do.”
“Does he now?”
“Yes. He says his friend told him that girls say to treat boys mean to make them like you. Or something like that.”
“Treat them mean to keep them keen,” I mutter.
“That’s it.”
“That’s not it at all. At least, that’s not what I’m doing to him.”
“Really?” Archie sounds unconvinced. “Because it seems to be working. When you’re not looking at Uncle Van, he watches you like Gertie does.”
“Like I have a biscuit in my pocket?” Like she’d lick me to death for it. What a way to go, though. Niko, not Gertie, I mentally amend.
“I don’t think Uncle Van would like dog biscuits. They don’t taste like people biscuits.”
“I don’t want to know how you know that.”
With a grin, Archie flops back and the sun-angel making resumes. “Gertie looks at you like you’re her favorite person in the whole wide world. And that’s how Uncle Van looks at you.”
Be still my foolish little heart.
“Knock knock.” The deep words are accompanied by two raps on the doorframe. “Am I interrupting?” Niko appears before us in pale shorts and a dark T-shirt. His legs are long and tanned and—
I pull my gaze away. I really don’t need this right now. Did he hear any of that? Talk of boyfriends and my son’s pimping me out for the perks. I chance a look his way and though his gaze darts between me and the boy on my bed, his expression is bland. In other words, it’s impossible to tell what he heard.
“Archie was just complimenting his accommodations,” I say, hustling my brain onward before it spirals away.
“I told Mummy that your bed is big enough for an army to sleep in.”
“Do you think so?” There’s more than a note of amusement in his reply.
“It’s far too big for one person, Uncle Van. You must roll about in it feeling very lonely.”
“Thank you, Archie.” My sons, the would-be merchants of my virtue. “Why don’t you go and see what your brother is up to?”
“He’s having some alone time.” Archie sighs.