Three-And-A-Half Heartbeats Read Online Free PDF

Tom flexed his muscles.
    ‘Man stuff? Like what?’ Grace laughed.
    Tom closed the dishwasher door. ‘Like meeting in Costa and going for a large latte with a hazelnut shot.’
    ‘A hazelnut shot!’ Grace put her hand to her mouth. ‘That’s serious man stuff! Who’s got their kids and that bonkers Border terrier?’
    ‘Paz’s mum and dad.’
    ‘Well, give him my love. While you’re gone, Chloe and I are going to do some cooking!’
    ‘Hey, hear that, Chlo? You’re going to have to teach Mummy how to do some cooking, because she’s useless! What is she, Chloe?’
    ‘She’s looseless!’ Chloe shrieked.
    ‘I’m not that bad!’ Grace protested.
    ‘Yes, you are! You are absolutely looseless,’ Tom said.
    Grace balled the tea towel that had landed on the table and threw it back at her man. Chloe clapped her delight. She loved it when they were all together and it felt like a party.
    An hour later, Chloe sat at the kitchen table in her special seat, a hideously expensive Scandinavian invention that Tom had had shipped over, having seen it in one of his fancy interior design magazines. She was raised high enough to see everything that was going on, at just the right level for conversing with the adults without having to look up. Wearing her shiny navy blue apron with its front patch pocket, she was kneading the cookie dough with her little fists, pulling it apart and sticking it back together into random shapes. She thumped and thumbed the mixture on the table in front of her until she had formed a structure not dissimilar to Mount Vesuvius, post eruption.
    ‘You are making a great job of that, Chlo! It looks lovely.’
    ‘I doing cooking!’ She nodded confirmation.
    ‘I can see that. You’re very good at it. And whatever you do, Chloe, never forget all you can do is your very best.’
    Chloe nodded. Lesson learnt.
    It was a tactic that Grace employed regularly as a way of buying time. Engaging her daughter in an activity might mean as much as half an hour of work time while she was engrossed. Some days it was painting, on others she could be found sticking shells and small stones onto loo-roll tubes, but today it was baking. Grace didn’t feel too guilty. It was a mutually beneficial arrangement; she got a small amount of work done, while Chloe had fun. She consoled herself with the fact that some mothers would shove their tot in front of the television for the same reason; at least Chloe’s time was being eaten up constructively.
    Grace recalled her own childhood, when her mother would not have dreamt of leaving her alone to perform any task with an arts and crafts slant. Instead, Olive would have been at the helm, getting stuck in with her sleeves rolled high, often quite literally elbow deep in paint and glue or mixing batter or dough.
    Grace looked up from her screen and surveyed the culinary delight that her daughter was absorbed in. Her thoughts turned to the previous night and Tom again pushing for another baby.
    ‘I heard that Olly has got a new little brother. That’s exciting, isn’t it? I bet he’s teeny tiny and cute!’
    Chloe ignored her. Concentrating on her task.
    ‘Would you like a little brother or sister, Chloe?’ she asked, keeping her tone casual.
    ‘No.’ Her answer was clear, definitive and instant.
    ‘No?’ Grace queried. ‘I thought you’d like a little baby that you could dress up and play with and look after. Like a real dolly!’
    ‘No.’ Chloe again shook her head. ‘I don’t want a baby. I want a green bike with a basket.’
    ‘Instead of a baby?’ Grace pushed.
    ‘Yes. ‘Stead of a baby.’ Chloe gave an exaggerated nod.
    Grace laughed loudly. Well, that was easy then. Decision made. A quick trip to Halfords was a darn sight more attractive at that point in time than going through nine months of struggle and then a grotty labour. She smiled at her baby girl. ‘And I must say, what a lovely cookie you’ve made, honey. Is it for you?’
    ‘No! It’s