He chortles. We walk back, his trainers squelching.
‘You take Benji around the back,’ I say. ‘He can do his shaking dry in the kitchen.’
Inside I am met with the unmistakable acid pong of vomit and Nick is on his hands and knees with a cloth and a bucket.
‘Not again,’ I say, peeling off my coat.
‘He’s up in bed.’
‘Maybe it’s an allergy,’ I say.
‘Wouldn’t he swell up or get a rash?’ Nick says.
‘Possibly.’
Finn comes squelching out of the kitchen.
‘Go back and take your shoes off,’ I tell him.
He pulls a face. ‘Urgh – that stinks.’
‘Off you go… I’ll make an appointment,’ I say to Nick, ‘get him checked out.’
He sits back on his haunches, looks up at me. ‘Fine.’
‘Any luck?’ He has been waiting for a reply from a job application. It’s similar work to what he has been doing but down in Walsall in the West Midlands.
‘No.’ He gets up, lifts the bucket. ‘I’d have heard by now. Not even a bloody interview.’ He walks away.
The smell lingers. Nick has cleaned the floor but there’s a splash against the wall, speckled liquid, that he’s missed.
I go upstairs and look in on Isaac. He’s awake but seems woozy, eyes bleary.
‘You had a drink?’ I touch his forehead, definitely hot.
‘Yes.’
‘More?’
He nods. I pass him the water and he shuffles up and takes it, has a sip.
‘Poor Isaac. Did you eat your lunch?’
‘No,’ he says.
‘Did you feel sick then?’
‘Yes.’
‘I think we’ll get the doctor to have a look at you and see if you need some medicine.’
He nods solemnly.
‘You have a little rest, then.’
In the bathroom I soak a cloth in disinfectant and go to clean the wall in the hall. This way Nick won’t see me completing his efforts and have the chance to take my action as criticism. Pussyfooting around each other, that’s what we’re doing. Skirting hostilities. Somehow no longer on the same side.
Sunday, and we’re unloading the car. A trip to B &Q. I’ve been buying bedding plants and bird food, and he’s got all the materials for a DIY project. He’s going to move the boys into Lori’s room, set up their bunk beds in there, move her bed into the garage for now, then convert the boys’ room into a home office. He’ll start offering freelance consultancy work. I’m relieved that he’s got something constructive to do, something where he can see results, feel he’s achieved a goal even if it doesn’t mean any paid work yet. He’s asked a mate to do him a website design. Nick doesn’t particularly want to be a one-man business – he would much rather have the stability of employment and a regular income, along with paid holidays and the like, but needs must. Thanks God he’s recognized the need.
