Dickens and Me

CHAPTER SEVEN
(copyright 2009 Anita Birt)

"Damned woman," Greg muttered and strode down to the swing. He thought he was getting to know her while she doctored his heel. Then all of sudden it was as if he'd said the wrong thing, pressed a hot button and she'd shot off the terrace like a bat out of hell.
He pushed harder on the swing until it teetered slightly threatening to topple. Easing back on the slats at his feet he let it glide slowly to a stop.
No point taking his frustration out on the old swing. It'd be useful to sit there with his nephew and tell him stories. Minding the baby would keep his mind off Caroline.
He propped his feet on the opposite seat and studied her handiwork. She'd taken care of him. Had laughed when he paraded out with the beer. It'd been good to see her lighten up. The accident had taken its toll. He'd get to know her better after he'd finished minding David.
Whistling the Markbridge High School marching song, he quick stepped around the house to the terrace, picked up the beer bottles and gazed longingly at the pool. Caroline had ordered him to keep his heel dry and cautioned him about the possibility of an infection.
He fished the prescription she'd written from his pocket. She'd referred him to Dr. Halliday.
Great, no doctor/patient conflict to get in the way of establishing a relationship with her.
He called the dog. "Come on, Kim. Chow time for you, me and the cats."
* * *
Tuesday, Baby Day. Greg had set the alarm for six o'clock. He shaved, almost stepped in the shower and didn't, ran water in the tub, eased into it with his bandaged foot propped on the side and had a half decent bath.
Hurrying over breakfast he checked his baby supplies one last time. In mid count of baby food on the cupboard shelves he realized Laura hadn't mentioned what David drank or how. From a bottle? A cup? Something to be mixed? Or milk straight from a cow?
Stay calm. Rely on Laura to spell out exactly what the baby required. He ran upstairs, examined his nephew's bedroom, opened a window to freshen the air and sat on the rocking chair. It had been in the family as far back as he could remember. Newly padded with brightly colored fabric it matched the nursery animals printed on the wallpaper.
Greg grinned at the blue giraffes, yellow elephants, candy striped tigers and green monkeys. His mother had an eye for the bizarre. The kid would either love the room or have nightmares.
Edgy as a newly minted father he set off for the airport hours before Laura's flight was due. The drive from Markbridge usually took an hour depending on traffic but anything could happen on the web of highways in and around the airport. A fender bender or worse would screw up his timing.
He lucked into a space on the first level of the parking garage. With time to spare he prowled the airport shops, bought a Blue Jay's baseball cap for David and a paperback edition of Bryce Courtney's latest novel.
As zero hour approached apprehension pinched Greg's stomach. What if he messed up?
How could he mess up in two days? Get real. David's an amenable baby. "He won't be a bit of trouble."
Greg remembered Laura's exact words and hoped she was telling the truth. Truthfulness was not an exact science where his sister was concerned. A little fiction added to the mix, a few tears to stir the pot and she had a winning combo that worked like a charm.
He'd been charmed, bent would be a better word, into doing his brotherly duty. She'd be tired after the flight from London with a baby. He pushed into the mob scene in the arrival's area and grabbed a trolley for her luggage.
Pacing up and down on the periphery of the crowd he watched the stream of people rushing like suicidal lemmings through the swing doors. Burdened with back packs, dragging huge suitcases, they shouted at the swarm of relatives waiting to greet them. Immediately overwhelmed by joyful, flower carrying family members, they hugged and kissed, picked up tired children and like a force of nature pushed their way through the crowd.
Suddenly Greg saw Laura and waved. She held the baby in one arm, had a large multi-zippered bag slung over her shoulder and towed a bulging black suitcase as big as a small car. His nephew had on a blue jacket and a blue hat. For seconds Greg panicked. From the back the baby looked too small and vulnerable for an amateur uncle to manage. How was he supposed to hold the little guy?
"Steady on," Greg told himself. He couldn't quit now. The die was cast, and come hell or high water he had to keep his promise to Laura.
He pushed the trolley through the thinning crowd. He hadn't seen Laura for over a year and she looked fabulous. No red, green and purple hair, simple ash blonde, her natural color.
"Greg!" Laden like a beast of burden, she dodged around the trolley and kissed him. "It's so good to be here." She let go of the suitcase handle, slid the bag from her shoulder, dropped it at her feet and shifted the baby from one arm to the other. "Greg, meet your nephew, David." She handed him the baby.
Momentarily struck dumb Greg stared at the infant. "He's black."
"Of course, he's black. Colin's black."
"Does that bother you?"
"Of course it doesn't. Do Mom and Dad know?"
"Sure. I sent them a picture. Anyway what does it matter? He's an adorable baby. I don't need the trolley. David's suitcase has wheels."
"Where's your luggage?"
"I've sent it on to Vancouver."
"Hold it a minute. You're supposed to stay and show me the ropes. I don't know diddly squat about babies. I'm not competent. I..." She cut him off.
"Not to worry. My flight is due out late tonight. We'll have a few hours for me to clue you in. Colin phoned from Vancouver just before I left my friend's flat. He's caught some kind of virus and is resting in a hotel. He's sick and wants me there."
The baby started to cry. Greg stiffened. "Here, you hold him."
Laura laughed. "Rock him a little bit and stop scowling. Poor David thinks you're mad at him. I'll hitch my bag on to the suitcase. I can manage both."
Greg smiled bravely and jiggled his nephew.
"That's the way to do it." She patted the baby's cheek. "David, smile at your Uncle Greg."
Greg jiggled and talked until the baby stopped crying. David studied Greg's face. Big uncle smiled and smiled until his face hurt. "Let's go," he said. "I'm in the parking garage." "Wait a minute. I can’t walk as fast as you."
Greg paused, glanced back and stopped jiggling the baby long enough to identify a woman greeting a distinguished looking man.
Caroline Balfour. He did a double take to make sure. Who was the man with her? He was tall and distinguished looking. His light gray suit hadn't a wrinkle. He must have changed before leaving the flight. No one could fly from London and emerge unwrinkled without a hair out of place.
Pompous ass probably.
Maybe he'd misjudged the guy. Maybe he was Caroline's father. Or maybe she preferred older men. She had never talked about her parents. She never talked about anything personal. Mostly she changed the subject when he tried to get to know her.
David started to cry again and Greg tried a different tactic. He held him over his shoulder and patted his back.
"There, there," he crooned in what he hoped was a pleasant fatherly voice. David hiccupped, coughed and puked. Baby vomit soaked through Greg's shirt.
Ready to hand the kid back to Laura and make a quick getaway, he was glued to the spot as Caroline and her perfectly groomed friend walked quickly in his direction.
A sour unpleasant odor drifted up from his stained shirt. He smelled like curdled milk. The mild scent from his aftershave had died under the onslaught of baby vomit.
David bounced happily on Greg's shoulder. Barely minutes into his forty-eight hours of baby minding and already he was the worse for wear. The kid jabbed his fingers through Greg's hair and yanked.
"Da. Da." David chanted.
Greg gently disengaged David's fingers and changed position. The kid hopped like a jumping jack now his stomach was empty.
"Come on, Laura." He didn't want to encounter Caroline and her friend in his present messy smelly state. He hustled across to the garage and ducked behind a large pillar as Caroline and her friend approached and hurried past.
"Greg, come and help me," Laura yelled. "You take the suitcase. A wheel just broke off."
Safe to emerge from his hiding place, he handed Laura the baby, slung her bag over his shoulder and grabbed the suitcase handle.
"Be careful. The handle's not very good. I couldn't afford a new suitcase."
Glancing around to make sure the coast was clear, Greg wrestled the unwieldy, muscle straining, wobbly monster over the concrete floor to the car, popped the trunk, heaved the bulging case in, sucked in a deep breath and closed the lid.
"What the hell have you got in there? River Rocks?"
"Baby clothes and tins of David's formula. I made sure you'd have plenty for him."
"Tins? You packed tins. Are you nuts? Can't we buy the stuff here?"
"It's a special brand made in England for colicky babies."
Greg's nerves twitched. Colicky. He'd never heard the word before. It didn't sound good. Fear of the future sank on his sodden shoulder. A sinister stormy cloud of uncertainty added to his gloom. Like the baby, he felt like heaving. Giving up. Throwing in the towel.
Swallowing hard, he opened the rear door for his untrustworthy sister. "I've secured the car seat. You can put David in."
A chilling thought struck him. "What do you mean lots of formula? I only have to mind him for two days. How much does he drink and eat? And what's a colicky baby?"
Laura buckled David in the car seat. "That's what we have to talk about. I might have to stay longer in Vancouver."

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