Nestled inside the box like a cuddle were two slices of what looked to be a rich chocolate cake and two slices of vanilla and peach cake. He thought about getting a fork from the drawer, then just reached in with his fingers and grabbed the vanilla cake first, took a large bite and let the moist, delicious sponge dissolve in his mouth. Jemima reached out to grab the cake, but he moved it from reach. He wasn’t sure if cake and cream were good for babies. Peaches were though, weren’t they? One of her five a day?
Her hand reached out again almost instantly and this time he put a bit of the cake in her grasp. She shovelled it into her mouth with delight and he laughed. ‘I know! Cake is the dog’s bollocks, isn’t it? Don’t let your mother know I said bollocks though – or that I gave you cake,’ he said conspiratorially.
Before long, the slice was gone and Jemima was wearing cream from one ear to the other.
‘It would be remiss of us not to taste the chocolate too, don’t you think?’
He was sure Jemima nodded.
The chocolate was just as rich and decadent as he expected. The slice was gone in minutes, shared with Jemima to an extent, but mostly consumed by Greg.
For a second he considered eating the other two slices in the box too, but then thought better of it and got up to find somewhere to stash the box where Gemma wouldn’t find it. He could save them for later. She had another yoga class booked tomorrow evening and he knew exactly how he would spend the time while she was out.
As he got to his feet, his throat started to itch and he coughed a little, then a lot. Within seconds, it felt like a hand had reached up, shoved some razor blades down his throat and then begun to squeeze his neck so that he couldn’t breathe past the blades slicing the inside of his oesophagus. The pain and asphyxia caused spots to bloom in his vision. The spots swam in and out as he gasped for breath and lurched into the kitchen to the tap, hoping that perhaps some water would dislodge whatever was obstructing his windpipe.
But he knew what it was and he knew water wouldn’t help him now.
He hadn’t had a reaction like this in decades. In fact, since he was at school. But now that it was happening, he recognised the signs of anaphylactic shock. There must’ve been nuts in one of the cakes. He hadn’t tasted nuts though. And if Maddie had sent them, she knew how allergic he was and had always been so careful about it.
He stumbled out of the kitchen on weakening legs. He had a syringe of epinephrine in the bathroom cabinet upstairs, but he couldn’t remember when he last checked it or if it was out of date. It would have to do though, because he was starting to feel light-headed and he could hear himself wheezing as his throat closed up and slowly cut off his air supply.
He stumbled and fell in the corridor and had to drag himself up the stairs. His heart was racing, his eyes were streaming and he was properly terrified for the first time in his life. As he crawled up each Everest of a stair, his thoughts turned to Jemima, her beautiful little face and her delightful smile. The sound of her giggle and the way she opened her mouth and clamped her gums onto his cheek in her version of a kiss. Then he thought of Maddie, her face filling his brain. His eyes were streaming, but now with tears rather than from the exertion of trying to suck in air.
*
When Gemma opened the front door, the first thing she heard was Jemima screaming from the kitchen.
So much for calm and relaxation.
‘Greg?’
She threw her yoga mat down in annoyance. She’d only been gone a couple of hours and it sounded like all hell had broken loose. And she was thinking it wouldn’t hurt to go for a green tea with Emilia after their class; Greg could cope for a bit longer. In fact, lately she’d been thinking that Greg could cope much better than her altogether. He was so much calmer than her, so affectionate with Jemima. Gemma had to admit it annoyed her that he had adapted to fatherhood so easily. Greg and Jemima were like a little compact unit and she felt like the outsider most of the time.
Well, clearly something had gone wrong today.
She stomped into the kitchen and found Jemima in her highchair, tears streaming down her cheeks and leaving track lines in what looked like cream on her face. Gemma unclipped her from the chair and lifted her at arm’s length. She really didn’t want to get that white stuff on herself.
‘Greg? Where the hell are you?’ she shouted.
There was no answer. Grabbing a wet wipe from the pack on the table, she wiped Jemima’s face and gave her a brief cuddle before noticing the cake box on the table. That explained the cream then.
‘Greg! Where did these cakes come from?’ No wonder he hadn’t lost much weight this week.
Now she was really annoyed. Jemima was still screaming into her ear. All she could think to do to get her to stop was to grab a bit of the chocolate cake left in the box and hand it to her. Jemima stopped screaming, her little body heaving in sorrow as she sucked on the chunk of cake.
Thankful the screaming had stopped, Gemma headed into the hallway to see if Greg was in the loo. Either he was hiding because he knew he had been caught in the act or he was on the phone in his office. Either way, she’d be having a word. Her mind switched to a few days
