Bad Boys of London: The Complete GYPSY HEROES Collection (47 page)

She starts bouncing up and down. ‘OK.’

I get my phone out and dial up YouTube—how to get a diaper on a baby in less than one minute. I put my phone on the table and we watch the video together while Tommy spreads ice cream all over his face, clothes, and chair.

When it
’
s over, I look across at Liliana. ‘You ready?’

I pull a couple of kitchen towels, and as I
’
m walking toward Tommy, he manages to spin his bowl and it flies in the air and crashes dramatically to the ground, breaking and spilling ice cream everywhere. Christ! Liliana covers her mouth with both her hands. Over her hands, her eyes are round and full of an ‘oh, oh, look what you’ve let happen now
’
expression.

‘Want i cream,’ Tommy bawls.

Jesus. This is turning out to be much harder than it looked.

Liliana uncovers her mouth. ‘Uncle Shane always uses Tommy’s plastic bowl.’

‘Great. Thanks for the early tip,’ I mutter.

I stop for a moment. I need to think. And I can’t think with all this noise. These kids are doing my head in. First: stop that kid from howling. He wants ice cream. She says plastic bowl. Right.

Ice cream.

Plastic bowl.

I open the cupboard and find a green plastic bowl. I show the kid the bowl and he stops howling. I toss a couple of scoops into it and plonk it in front of him. He sticks his spoon into it and shovels it into his mouth.

‘He’ll be sick,’ a small, knowing voice says.

‘No he won’t,’ I snarl.

‘You shouted at me, Uncle Dom.’ Her lower lip starts trembling.

Oh no. Oh no. ‘No I didn’t,’ I deny, while plastering a big, fake smile on my face.

‘Yes, you did,’ she wails and scrunches up her face.

For fuck’s sake! I start walking toward her. ‘That was just a joke, sweetie. I wasn’t shouting. Look, do you want more ice cream?’

She sniffs and nods.

I grab the tub and put four generous scoops into her bowl. I look at her, and she stares at me with her spoon lifted meaningfully above her bowl.

‘More?’ I ask incredulously. This is the drama queen who claimed sugar is bad for children.

She nods vigorously.

I don’t believe this. I throw another couple of scoops in.

‘Thank you, Uncle Dom,’ she says solemnly, and drops her spoon into the ice cream. While they
’
re eating, I pick up the broken pieces from the floor. The ice cream is melting fast, but I manage to mop up the largest blobs with paper towels. However, I can see that I
’
m going to have to settle them in the other room and come back to clean this mess.

SEVENTEEN

A
fter they
’ve
eaten, I clean Tommy’s face and hands, pick him up, and, with Liliana following behind, carry him to the spare room. It
’
s a surprise to see it done up colorfully with two cots in it. They must stay with Shane often.

I put Tommy on his back on the table with the plastic mat spread on its surface.

Liliana wrinkles her nose. ‘Tommy stinks.’

‘You bet he does.’

There
’
s a pile of nappies, and I take one and unfold it, and place it on the table. I undo the straps on the sides of Tommy’s diaper and lift the front flap away from his tummy. The sight and stench of the kid’s shit just makes me want to gag. I mean, seriously gag. I actually start to retch. And I would have been sick too if I
’
d not very quickly re-closed the diaper and taped it back on.

‘That’s not how you change it,’ Liliana says.

‘I know that,’ I say, turning my head to the side and taking deep breaths of clean air. I pick up my phone and dial Ella’s number.

She answers on the third ring. ‘Hey, sexy,’ she breathes into the phone.

Not feeling sexy right now. ‘How do you feel about changing a very smelly diaper?’

‘Um … Is this a trick question?’

‘No.’

‘It sounds like one.’

‘Look, I need to change a diaper, and I can’t get past the gag reflex.’

She begins to chuckle. ‘I’ll be right over. Where are you?’

‘I’m at Shane’s apartment. I’ll text you the address.’

My phone rings again. It’s Lily. Oh fuck! ‘Hey, Lily,’ I say too brightly.

‘Hey, Dom. Shane called to tell us you’ve taken over. How’s it going?’ she asks casually, but I can hear the thread of panic in her voice.

‘Great.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah,’ I insist confidently.

‘Er … Can I speak to my daughter, please?’

‘Sure,’ I say, and, looking at Liliana, put my finger on my lips to warn her not to say anything about the ice cream.

She nods conspiratorially. I smile at her approvingly and show her the thumbs-up signal.

She takes the phone, listens for a moment, then says, ‘Yeah, but Uncle Dom gave us ice cream. Tommy had some, but I didn’t have any.’

I stare at the little lying rat in shock. What a bare-faced liar! She drops me in the shit and saves her own skin. Even I wouldn’t have lied like that at her age. Hell, her belly is still stuffed full of undigested ice cream.

‘And, Mummy’—she looks up at me before continuing sanctimoniously—‘Tommy’s diaper is full of poop, but Uncle Dom doesn’t know how to change nappies. He called someone to come and help him.’ She listens for a bit more then she says, ‘Nope. Nope. OK, Mummy. I love you too, too much too.’ The little minx then hands the phone back to me. ‘Mummy wants to speak to you.’

I bet she fucking does. You little rat, you. I glare at her as I snatch the phone from her.

‘Hi, Lily.’

‘Is Ella coming round, Dom?’ Lily asks crisply.

Bloody hell. She’s sharp. ‘Yeah,’ I admit.

‘Oh! Good … er … when?’

‘Fifteen minutes tops.’

‘That’s fine, then. We’ll be back in an hour’s time. Is that OK?’

‘Yeah, that’s just fantastic.’

‘See you later. Oh, and, Dom … Don’t give my daughter any more ice cream,’ she says, and I can fucking hear the laughter in her voice.

‘Not a drop,’ I say, and kill the call.

‘Is my Mummy mad at you?’ Liliana asks innocently.

Un-fucking-believable. ‘What do you think, you little troublemaker, you?’ I ask as my phone goes again. I glance down. It’s Layla. I groan. Now what?

‘Hey, Layla.’

‘Dom, where
’
s my son right now?’

I turn around to where I saw him last, and to my horror he is nowhere to be seen. I feel a flash of panic. The flat is eerily silent.

‘Oh fuck,’ I curse.

Layla’s voice is deliberately calm. ‘He’ll be in the kitchen, Dom.’ I start running toward the kitchen. Layla is right. He is. He
’
s sitting by the bowl of cat food. And … Oh! Damn! He
’
s fucking scooping up handfuls and
eating
it.

‘I found him,’ I say, lifting him up with my other hand.

‘What’s he doing?’ Layla asks.

‘Nothing,’ I say, as I stuff him into the highchair.

‘What did you call for, Layla?’ I ask, while I try to hook pieces of cat biscuit out of Tommy’s mouth.

‘Just to tell you to put the cat bowl up where Tommy can
’
t reach it.’

‘Yeah. I’ll definitely do that.’

‘Call me if you
’
re unclear about anything, OK?’

‘Right, will do.’

‘Bye.’

I press the disconnect button and throw my phone on the table. Jesus, kids and their crap. How do people put up with this shit? I clean his mouth out while he tries his best to swallow the brown mush down. I wipe his hands.

‘Uncle Shane doesn’t allow Tommy in the kitchen because he likes eating the cat’s food,’ Little Miss Perfect says.

‘Yeah?’ I have a new respect for Shane. I had no idea kids were such a handful.

‘You have to watch him or he’ll drink out of the toilet, too,’ Liliana chirps, nodding her head sagely.

I turn to look at her. She’s enjoying this. Well, she
’s
not going to win. A fighter can’t be afraid of anything.

I pick up the cat bowl from the floor and put it on the counter. Then I lift Tommy up and stalk into the living room. The truth is, I feel quite distraught. I don’t know if cat food will make the kid sick. I put him on the floor. I want to Google the effects of eating cat food, and I realize my phone is still in the kitchen. I go to get it, and come back to find Liliana standing in the middle of the room with her hands on her hips.

‘Tommy is sucking the cat’s tail,’ she announces in what can only be described as a passive-aggressive tone.

‘What the hell?’ I turn to look at Tommy, and indeed he
’
s sucking on its tail. I run to him, pick him up, and try to shoo the cat away, but it hisses at me and refuses to move. I drop Tommy onto the sofa. There
’
s a toy train on the table and I give it to him. He takes it with a squeal of delight. How much longer before Ella gets here? I really can’t handle this for many more minutes. I run my hands through my hair.

‘I’m bored,’ Liliana says.

I rub my hands together with fake enthusiasm. ‘So, what shall we do until Aunty Ella comes, huh?’

Liliana shrugs. ‘Shall we play hide and seek?’

‘Nope. Let’s not do that. How about we watch some TV?’

‘OK,’ she says agreeably.

‘Lee Jaw,’ Tommy says.

‘What?’

‘Little Lucien,’ Liliana translates.

I switch on the TV, find the video, and press play. Both kids settle on the floor. The doorbell goes. Oh! Thank God. I rush to open the door and by God Ella is a sight for sore eyes.

‘Hey, sexy,’ I say looking her up and down. To my horror, I see Tommy shoot out of the front door past my legs. Honestly, I
’m
way too shocked to do anything, but Ella catches him by the scruff of his T-shirt.

She smiles at me. ‘When they run away from you, they’re not really running away. They just want to be caught.’

‘Oh, boy, am I glad to see you.’

I pull her in and close the door. ‘Listen, Ella. Tommy ate a bit of cat food before I could get to him.’

To my relief she grins. ‘It won’t hurt him. Most things won’t. Kids are made to be as tough as old boots. To ensure the survival of the human race and all that.’

‘Really?’

‘Yeah. My brother took a dead cockroach from the mouth of a cat and ate it. My mother never recovered, but he was perfectly fine.’

I sigh with relief. ‘Christ was tested in the desert by Satan. I’ve been tested by my nephew.’

EIGHTEEN

I
walk into the kitchen and catch Dom on his hands and knees wiping a wet sponge on the floor in circles, an action that is only serving to smear melted ice cream all over the floor. I stand there looking at him, at his endearing helplessness, and falling in love all over again. I don’t know how grating an undomesticated male can eventually become, but right now, it
’
s like watching puppies fall asleep on the lip of their food bowls. Cute, cute, cute.

He looks up, sees me, and sudden panic flares in his eyes.

‘Where’s Tommy?’ he asks urgently.

‘Relax. He’s
inside
his playpen with a bottle of milk.’

I hear him exhale with relief.

‘And Little Miss Perfect?’

I bite back a smile. ‘Watching a cartoon.’

‘Is it normal for a three-year-old kid to talk like her?’

‘She is a bit precocious, but kids nowadays are more advanced than we were.’

‘Right,’ he mutters.

I smile at him.

‘Thank you,’ he says.

I start walking toward him. ‘Need some help?’

‘Nah, I think I’ve nearly got it all,’ he says, looking down at the mess.

I go over to the cupboard under the sink, and, opening it, find some cloths and a bottle of floor cleaner. I find a bowl and fill it from the hot water tap. I squirt a little cleaner into the bowl and walk over to him. I take the sponge out of his hand and replace it with a wet cloth. I toss the sponge across the room into the sink and squat beside him. I wink and begin to clean the floor. He copies my actions exactly.