Wounded Beast (Gypsy Heroes)

‘I cream,’ Tommy demands, banging the tray.

‘Right,’ I say, and fill Tommy’s bowl with three scoops of ice cream, because one just seems so mean.

I pull a chair out and raise my eyebrows at Liliana. Very primly, she walks over to the chair and slides in.

I put a bowl down in front of her. ‘Do you know how to change a diaper, Liliana?’

She shakes her head solemnly. ‘No, but Mummy knows how. We can call Mummy.’

I pick up the ice cream tub and start scooping it out. ‘No. No, let’s not.’

‘Daddy knows how, too. We can call him,’ is her next brilliant suggestion.

I put the tub of ice cream down. ‘I know what,’ I say in an unnaturally high voice. ‘Shall we learn it together on the Internet after you finish eating your ice cream?’

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.