The Captain and the Prime Minister

by Catherine Curzon

  “Sometimes I look at them and I just… I can’t believe they’re mine. Because they’re such perfect little people.” He circled his head and rounded his shoulders for a moment, as though shrugging off the last cares of the day. “And a lot of that is down to all that you’ve done to keep this household sane.”

  “Takes a village to raise a child and all that.” Yet Tom couldn’t help but remember him and Alex, bleary-eyed in the kitchen, trying to warm the twins’ milk in the middle of the night as they cried and cried. Caring for the babies had helped Alex deal with Gill’s death, Tom was sure, but seeing the prime minister in a dressing gown testing milk on the back of his hand was a unique sight.

  And they’d muddled through together, the four of them, and when he saw the prime minister in a dressing gown these days, there were happily no screaming babies to soundtrack the moment.

  “You know, you could just accept that you’re incredibly good at what you do.” He tilted his glass toward Tom. “Say after me, I am very good at what I do.”

  Tom winced. “Come on, I’m British, you know I can’t do that!”

  “I am very good at what I do,” Alex said again, a mischievous smile lighting up his face. “Say it.”

  “If you insist.” Tom assumed a comedically bored tone. “I’m very good at what I do, which is make shepherd’s pie and wipe other people’s noses!”

  “And keep the prime minister sane and his children safe and happy.”

  “I reckon I’ve got the best job in the country,” Tom decided.

  “You get to listen to a middle-aged man in a management job complain about his day while he eats the supper you cooked.” Alex picked up the cushion next to him and threw it toward Tom. “And we’re not even married!”

  In a theatrically feminine voice, Tom said, “At least you put your socks in the laundry basket without being asked, oh husband of mine!”

  Imagine being his husband, though.

  No. Don’t torture yourself.

  “Well, you’ve got me well trained. I do as I’m told, Captain!”

  “Hit the floor and give me twenty, Trooper!” Tom laughed. “Your face! Every time I do that, for a split second, it looks like you really are about to fling yourself off the sofa and do press-ups!”

  “I’d never get up again if I did,” Alex declared, though they both knew that couldn’t be true. “The bloody tennis matches at Chequers are bad enough, you run me ragged!”

  “Keeping you nice and trim, sir!” Tom saluted him. Those tennis matches…those forearms… How Tom ever managed to win he couldn’t imagine, because the image of Alex in his tennis whites, panting, his face sheened with sweat, was a very distracting sight.

  “What’re you trying to say?” He patted his stomach and grinned. “It’s all the good food I get at home.”

  Tom threw the cushion back at him, laughing. Tum, indeed—Alex was gorgeous, even though Tom would never say so to his face.

  But then Tom heard a sound he recognized all too well.

  Scratch, scratch, scratch against the door.

  “I know who that is.” Tom wandered off to the door, and when he opened it Billy slid inside, rubbing herself against Tom’s legs as she passed. “Chief Mouser to the Cabinet Office has arrived for her evening fuss, sir!”

  “Too late for supper, Billy,” Alex commiserated with the new arrival. “Come and tell me all the gossip you’ve been overhearing, I know you don’t miss anything that goes on around this place.”

  The calico cat leaped up onto the sofa and wandered round and round in a circle, miaowing in her creaky way until she settled against Alex’s thigh. She pawed his leg, purring so loudly that she seemed to be passing into happy delirium.

  Bloody hell, I’m jealous of a cat.

  He wasn’t saying he’d want his ears scratched, of course, but it would be quite something to curl up next to the Right Honourable Alex Hart MP, Prime Minister and First Lord of the Treasury. And there was a fairly good chance he’d end up purring.

  “There’s a mouse in your trousers, Alex!” Tom said. Then he hid behind his cushion.

  No, I don’t mean that!

  For a moment Alex just looked at him, as though he wasn’t sure what he’d just heard. Then he raised one eyebrow and asked coquettishly, “And how would you know?”

  “I mean, Billy’s found it.” Tom spluttered with laughter. “Sorry—it sounds like I’m talking about something else entirely, and I… Sorry.”

  And Alex laughed too, though Billy barely moved from her comfortable spot. Thank God he hadn’t taken it to heart or anything worse, even if Alex’s unexpected wine-fueled detour into sheer flirtatious mischief had come as rather a surprise.

  Hearing snuffling on the baby monitor, Tom turned, his ears pricked up. He wasn’t sure which child it was, but the snuffling soon transformed into a cry, and Tom got up from his seat.

  “I’ll go, Alex—you stay there and chill.”

  “It’s Mads, isn’t it?” Alex listened for a moment, then held out his hand to Tom. “I’m sure she wouldn’t mind us both making a fuss of her, if you can drag me off of this sofa.”

  “Come on, then, Dad.”

  It didn’t matter what sort of a day Alex had, he always managed to wring out energy from somewhere for his children. Tom grabbed his hand and pulled him up from the sofa, and together they made their way through the flat to the bedroom where Madeleine was wailing and soon, both men knew, her brother would join in.

  Tom grabbed Madeleine’s ragdoll as they came into the room. Her little face was screwed up, but her crying had already seemed to dissipate. It had to be the presence of her father that had calmed her.

  It calms all of us.

  “What’s going on, Trouble?” Alex whispered as he sank down onto Madeleine’s bed and gathered her to his chest. “We’re all here together. Even Billy’s wondering if you’re okay.”

  Madeleine appeared to be doing her best not to cry now. The wailing had stopped and instead she sniffled and hung her arms around Alex’s neck. “I dreamed you were gone, Daddy.”

  “That’s never going to happen,” he promised, holding her close. “Are you going to go back to sleep if we stay with you?”

  Madeleine nodded. Meanwhile, in the nearby boat-shaped bed, Tom heard whimpering followed by crying. Alastair was awake. Tom stroked the little boy’s curved cheek, but Alastair rapidly wound himself up to a pitch and Tom lifted him out of the bed, holding him against his shoulder. He jogged him, trying to calm him and get him back to sleep.

  It wasn’t working.

  “You get to bed,” Alex instructed. “I’ll get them settled.”

  “I’m the manny, remember, this is what I’m supposed to be good at.” Tom winced as Alastair yelled in his ear. “Allegedly.”

  Madeleine pouted at Alex and told him, “Daddy, I can’t sleep now. Al is shouting.”

  “Really, Tom, you need to get some rest too.” But Madeleine’s arms were still around her father’s neck and the next step was inevitable, because only one thing would settle her now, Tom knew. “Well, Mads, how about you kip in the big bed? And Al too?”

  “Yes, please, Daddy.” Mads sniffed again.

  “Al, how does that sound?”

  Mention of the big bed seemed to have worked and Alastair was calmer now.

  “Good,” said Alastair. “I like the big bed best of all.”

  “Because Tom needs his bed, you too,” Alex whispered, cradling Madeleine as he rose to his feet. He looked exhausted, Tom thought, but he knew from experience that there was no point in arguing. Alex’s children came ahead of everything, as many a visiting dignitary had discovered and, luckily, found rather endearing. “Tom, would you mind bringing Al through for me? Then I promise that’s it, your bed awaits.”

  “I’ve got him.” Tom hugged the warm, sleepy little boy, and brought his toy duck along too.

  He followed Alex into the corridor. The sleepy group made its way along to the room that Alex had shared with Gill
for a scant few months, barely even a year. Now he slept here alone, though the press speculation into the prime minister’s heartbreak and subsequent lack of companionship was as quietly insistent as it tried to be respectable.

  Alastair glanced around the softly lit room, then burrowed his face against Tom’s neck and sagged in his arms.

  “I think he’s nearly asleep again,” Tom whispered. Alex smiled softly and drew back the covers, settling Madeleine and her ragdoll before he reached for Alastair.

  As he did, his gaze met Tom’s and he said, “I mean it, I don’t know what we’d do.”

  At that moment, Tom had to fight the urge to kiss Alex on the cheek. To tell him it was all right and that he wasn’t going to abandon them. He passed the sleeping child in his puppy-patterned pajamas to Alex, kissing the top of Alastair’s head as he did so. Cuddled in her unicorn-print pajamas, Madeleine was watching from the enormous bed, looking far more settled now. Yet Tom knew her well enough to know that she had something to say. She was simply waiting for her moment.

  “Are you going to wish Tom goodnight, Mads?” Alex asked.

  “No,” she replied, and Tom tried not to laugh at how frank she sounded. She shook her head so vigorously that her curls sprang into her face. “Tom’s not going, Daddy.”

  “But I have to go to my bedroom, don’t I? That’s where I sleep—in my bed.”

  “No,” Madeleine insisted. “You can sleep in this bed too.”

  Tom glanced at Alex. “Erm…”

  Alex gave a rather embarrassed smile, but there was still a hint of mischief in his eyes when their gazes met. “I think Tom would rather go to his own bed, Mads. Just because you don’t want to sleep in your room, it doesn’t mean Tom doesn’t want to sleep in his.”

  “But he can’t go, Daddy! He can’t!” Madeleine started to cry again.

  Tom perched on the edge of the bed and brushed Madeleine’s hair from her face. He had no idea if Madeleine remembered her mother, but she knew her from photographs and videos, and from the letters she received each birthday. She knew her as an absence.

  “I’m not going anywhere. My bedroom’s just down the corridor. You’ll see me in the morning, won’t you?”

  Madeleine shook her head. “But what if I don’t?”

  “Oh, darling, you will,” Alex told her, but in his tone Tom heard the helplessness of the father who had been left bewildered just as Madeleine had, cut adrift in a world where once Gill had been an anchor. “Please don’t be upset, Mads, Tom won’t be far away.”

  “I want him to stay.” Madeleine pouted just as her brother woke up again beside her, his face creased into a frown, his lower lip wobbling into another cry.

  “Come on, Mads.” Tom pushed himself onto the bed and put his arm around her as he tried to comfort Alastair too by stroking his cheek. “You be a good sister—Alastair keeps waking up. Time to sleep.”

  Madeleine grabbed his T-shirt as Tom looked up at Alex. He shrugged. And that same helplessness was in Alex’s eyes now, faced with his daughter’s determination and the distress that was threatening with every wobble of her lip.

  “I couldn’t ask you to—” he murmured.

  “What if…” Tom looked around the room. There was a decorative sofa, but he didn’t fancy his chances of sleeping on it, as it wouldn’t accommodate a man of his height. Then he glanced at the foot of the bed. “What if I lie across the bottom of the bed? I’ll bring my duvet. I used to sleep in tents and ditches with loads of blokes all the time in the army. This’ll be surprisingly comfortable compared to that, and there won’t be as much snoring!”

  “That’s way beyond the call of duty,” Alex replied, but Madeleine seemed a little less distressed at the merest hint that things might be going her way, and the night was ticking past. “If you don’t mind a bit of indoor camping…just for tonight? Are you sure?”

  “Yeah, it’s fine! Does that sound fine, Mads?”

  She nodded and finally relinquished her hold on his T-shirt. Alastair snuffled and was back to sleep.

  Tom wasn’t sure how much sleep he’d get—not from sleeping across the foot of someone’s bed, but being so close to Alex. In his bed. In Alex’s bed.

  “I’m definitely going to make those trainers up to you after this.” Alex reached out and patted Tom’s shoulder. “Thank you, I think it might’ve been a challenging night otherwise.”

  Madeleine’s large eyes began to close and she settled against the pillow.

  Tom covered Alex’s hand with his own. He whispered, “She’s convinced that everyone she loves will leave her. I know we should’ve tried to put her back in her bed, but what does that tell her?”

  Alex nodded, studying Tom’s face. “We’re lucky to have you.”

  “And I’m lucky to be here. Do you want to hold the fort while I get my duvet? I just sleep in shorts and a T-shirt, so…” So that won’t be awkward at all, will it? “I’ll keep my trousers on tonight, though.”

  “I sleep in feathers and Chanel Number 5,” Alex told him. Then he grinned and admitted, “And sometimes in sensible pajamas, so don’t look so worried.”

  “Sensible PJs are good,” Tom replied.

  He carefully rose from the bed, watching Madeleine as he did so. She stirred, then dropped off back to sleep again. Tom crept to his room and brushed his teeth, then he bundled his duvet into his arms and headed back to the bedroom.

  The door to Alex’s bathroom stood ajar and from within he could hear the prime minister cleaning his teeth, preparing to settle for the night. A few seconds later he emerged, clad in nothing but the vintage watch he always wore and a pair of dark blue pajama trousers. He froze in the doorway, apparently rather surprised to find himself face-to-face with his much-swooned over manny.

  Tom’s gaze fell automatically to Alex’s bare chest. Good God. Living in the same home, it wasn’t the first time Tom had seen Alex’s chest, but they were now about to share a bed. And there was Alex with that broad, toned chest.

  He forced himself to look Alex in the eye instead. “I’ll just chuck the duvet here.”

  Tom fussed about with the duvet. Alex seemed just as unsure as Tom, and picked up a gray T-shirt from his pillow. He pulled it on then said, “They’re fast asleep already. I wish it was this easy on Christmas Eve.”

  Tom heard the mattress shift as Alex climbed into bed and settled. The bed they were, in one way at least, about to share.

  Tom went headfirst under his duvet. He had to curl up a bit so that his legs didn’t dangle over the end, but it wasn’t too uncomfortable.

  “We should do this more often!” Tom whispered.

  “You need only ask,” Alex replied, mischievous again. “Ready for lights out?”

  “Yes—lights out!”

  Tom closed his eyes and wondered if he was going to get any sleep being so close to Alex. The room slipped into shadow and he listened to the steady breathing of the children, peaceful and content.

  Tom hoped that the night would pass without interruption—without any emergency that would summon Alex from his bed. He needed rest—deserved it after the day he’d had in parliament.

  As Tom lay there he heard soft paws cross the carpet and Billy jumped onto the bed. She miaowed then found an unoccupied patch on the already full bed and proceeded to purr loudly. But it was a soothing sound, and Tom’s muscles relaxed one by one as he allowed himself to fall asleep.

  Sleeping with the PM. One way or another.

  Chapter Two

  Tom had woken up with small people in the bed before, but he’d never woken up with toes in his chest. Adult toes at that. When he lifted the duvet, he realized that at some point in the night, he’d ended up under the bottom of Alex’s duvet, and Alex was resting his bare toes against him as if he were a bolster. Tom peered at the feet, the toenails neatly trimmed, the skin soft.

  Perfect for being tickled, Tom decided. He shouldn’t, of course, but the urge was irresistible. And they were such nice toes.

 
From the other sounds in the bed, it was clear that the children were awake. Madeleine was talking to her doll and Alastair was humming merrily, bouncing his toy duck up and down atop the duvet as though it were bobbing on the surface of a lake. Occasionally he added a quack for good measure and Madeleine’s doll responded with a quack of her own. Was Alex still asleep?

  So Tom tickled the sole of Alex’s foot.

  At first the only response was the slightest flex of Alex’s toes accompanied by a gentle murmur of protest. Then he heard the prime minister warn in a soft, sleepy voice, “Don’t you dare, Captain.”

  Tom paused. Did he dare?

  Why, yes, of course he did.

  Tom grinned as he tickled across the base of Alex’s toes, then round and round in circles on his sole.

  “Stop it!” Alex laughed, snatching his foot away beneath the duvet. This got the attention of the children too and he heard laughter, with Madeleine’s growing sillier when Alex told them, “Your manny is tickling my feet!”

  “Give me back your foot!” Tom delved under the duvet and grasped it. Alex propped himself up on one elbow and peered down the length of the bed at Tom, rubbing the heel of his hand against one still-sleepy eye.

  “I’m horribly ticklish,” he admitted, chuckling. “Would you be so mean?”

  “Tickle Daddy!” Madeleine giggled and her brother joined her, the two of them chanting, “Tick-le, tick-le,” in unison as Alex implored them to show him some mercy.

  Of course they wouldn’t.

  “Alex, your children have made their decision.” Tom raised an eyebrow then pounced, tickling again.

  The sight of the British prime minister, hair tousled from sleep, howling with laughter and trying to kick away the man who was tickling him wasn’t one that Tom imagined many people would ever see. Alex finally succeeded in scooping Madeleine into his arms and warned, “Any more of that and Mads is getting some tickles of her own!”

  Madeleine whooped. “Tickle, tickle, tickle!”

  “Tickle Mads!” Alastair instructed, turning on his sister as only a brother could. “Tickle her, Daddy!”