I watch in growing dismay. Since when was having a second baby a sore point?
‘Maybe I would like to have more than one child,’ he says at last. ‘In theory. One day.’
Well, he couldn’t sound less enthusiastic.
‘Right,’ I gulp. ‘I see.’
‘Becky, don’t get me wrong. Having Minnie has been … amazing. I couldn’t possibly love her any more, you know that.’
He meets my eyes directly and I’m too honest to do anything except nod silently.
‘But we’re not ready to have another one. Face it, Becky, it’s been a hell of a year, we don’t even have our own house yet, Minnie’s a handful, we’ve got enough on our plate as it is … Let’s just forget about it for now. Enjoy Christmas, enjoy being the three of us. Talk about it again in a year’s time, maybe.’
A year’s time?
‘But that’s ages away.’ To my horror my voice shakes slightly. ‘I was hoping we might have another baby by next Christmas! I’d even got perfect names planned for if we conceived it tonight. Wenceslas or Snowflake.’
‘Oh, Becky.’ Luke takes hold of both my hands and sighs. ‘If we could get through just one day without a major incident, maybe I’d feel differently.’
‘We can easily get through a day. She’s not that bad!’
‘Has there been a single day in which Minnie has not created havoc of some sort?’
‘OK,’ I say a bit defiantly. ‘You wait. I’m going to start a Minnie Incident Book and I bet we don’t have any entries. I bet Minnie will be an angel tomorrow.’
Silently I resume wrapping presents, breaking off the Sellotape with extra snap, just to show how hurt I feel. He probably never wanted any children at all. He probably resents me and Minnie. He probably wishes he was still a bachelor, zooming around in his sports car all day long. I knew it.
‘So, is that all the presents?’ I say eventually, plonking a big spotted bow on the final package.
‘Actually … I’ve got one more thing.’ Luke looks sheepish. ‘I couldn’t resist.’
He heads to the wardrobe and rifles at the back, behind his shoes. As he turns, he’s holding a scruffy cardboard box. He puts it down on the carpet and gently pulls out an old toy theatre. It’s made of wood, with faded paint and real little red velvet curtains and even tiny footlights.
‘Wow,’ I breathe. ‘That’s amazing. Where did you find that?’
‘Tracked it down on eBay. I had one when I was a child, exactly like this. Same sets, characters, everything.’
I watch, agog, as he pulls the tiny ropes and the curtains swish creakily back. The stage is dressed with sets for A Midsummer Night’s Dream, painted in incredible detail. One’s an interior scene with pillars, another is a woodland copse with a little brook and mossy bank, another is a big forest with distant spires of a castle on the background. There are tiny wooden characters in costumes, and even one with a donkey’s head, who must be … Puck.
No, not Puck. The other one. Oberon?
OK, I’ll quickly Google A Midsummer Night’s Dream while Luke’s downstairs.
‘I used to play with this with Annabel.’ Luke is staring at it as though entranced. ‘I must have been about … six? It was like going into a different world. Look, all the sets are on runners. It’s superb craftsmanship.’
As I watch him pushing the characters back and forth, I feel a sudden little pang for him. I’ve never known Luke display any nostalgia for anything, ever.
‘Well, don’t let Minnie break it,’ I say gently.
‘She’ll be fine.’ He smiles. ‘We’ll put on a father-daughter Christmas performance tomorrow.’
Now I feel a bit guilty. I take it back. Maybe Luke doesn’t resent me and Minnie. He’s had a hard year, that’s all.
What I need to do is have a little Mummy – Minnie chat. Explain the situation to her. And she’ll reform her ways and Luke will reconsider, and everything will be perfect.
THREE
OK, Christmas doesn’t count. Everyone knows that.
You can’t expect a toddler to behave perfectly when it’s all so exciting and there are sweets and decorations everywhere. And it’s no wonder Minnie woke up at 3 a.m. and started yelling for everyone. She just wanted us all to see her stocking. Anyone else would have done the same.
Anyway, I’ve already torn out the first page of the Incident Book and shredded it. Everyone’s allowed to have a false start.
I take a sip of coffee and happily reach for a Quality Street. God, I love Christmas. The whole house smells of roasting turkey, carols are playing over the sound-system and Dad’s cracking nuts by the fire. I can’t help feeling a glow as I look around the sitting room: at the tree twinkling with lights and the nativity scene we’ve had since I was little (we lost Baby Jesus years ago but we use a clothes peg instead).
