Scarlett and Luke

Scarlett ran in with sticky fingers, cheeky chuckles and bright eyes.

“Is this the dining room?” “Is that a chair?” “Table?” “Stories?” she asked pointing to the wall of bookshelves filled with Rick’s precious books.

“Do you have a telly?” she handed me the remote control for the stereo. I gently took it from her and blew sugar-coated oats from between the tiny buttons.

“No,” I answered. “That’s a stereo. It plays music.”

Scarlett nodded wisely. “Yes,” she said. “Has that book got pictures?” A small sticky finger landed on the spine of Rick’s ‘History of Painting’. I removed it from the shelf, and turned the pages for her. “Don’t touch,” I said. “You’ll make the page sticky.”

Scarlett reached out and touched a corner of the page.

I persevered. She tried to turn the pages.

“Let’s put it away.” I gave up.

--

Luke, full of milk, grasped the sofa cushion and tried to pull himself up. The cushion had slid out from the sofa slightly, so that it overhung the edge. Luke wasn’t getting much leverage from it as it bent under his weight. Scarlett was not helping, edging closer and closer to him, sucking a bright pink lollipop.

Later, with Abi holding him, Luke reached out his arms towards me. I took both hands and he grasped them tightly and beamed at me. We had a little dance together, grinning broadly at each other as Abi jiggled him around. Spotting the wall, he let go of one of my hands to point at it – then realised he’d let go and hurriedly reached for my hand again.

He’s trying to talk already. “Mam mam mam mam mam,” he said, opening and closing his mouth like a goldfish.