The Gift of Girls

Chapter Fifteen: George

Okay, I won't lie. Sleeping is my favourite thing to do. Only I don't get to do it very often because of something called parenthood. Serenity wakes me up way before six every morning, and I have to haul my sorry self out of bed to pick her up and comfort her.

That's what happened early on Christmas morning.

Serenity woke up and started shrieking.

"Oh, God," I groaned, opening my eyes and waiting for everything to come into focus. "Shush, Reeny. It's okay, don't cry. It's way too early to be up."

Serenity didn't care. She went right on screaming. I heard someone banging on the wall behind me. Paul's room is directly beside mine so he can hear virtually everything that goes on within my walls. It's a curse having a neighbor's room that close, it really is. Paul was hammering on the wall.

"George!" he called. "Shut that baby up! It's too early for this!"

"I know!" I shouted back. "I'm trying to keep her quiet!"

"Hey!" Now John was shouting and banging on the wall. "Stop all that shouting! If you're going to have a barney, do it somewhere else!"

"Oh, ever so sorry, your royal laziness," Paul retorted.

John made a very rude noise. "I'm going back to sleep, so keep it down!"

"With pleasure! George!"

"What?"

"You heard John! Keep the noise down!"

"I'm trying!" I cried. I was now bending over Serenity's cot and picking her up for a cuddle. She was still squawking like a demented bird, her little clenched fists punching the air. I rocked her back and forth and made little shushing noises. She didn't take any notice and screamed harder. I heard Paul sighing irritably.

"Quieten your damned baby down or I'm not giving you your Christmas present!" he shouted.

"Don't call her a damned baby!" I snapped, outraged. "And I'm trying my best to calm her down! If you think you could do better, then come in here and be the father, okay?"

Paul went quiet. I think I got my point across. Serenity was still crying, but it was just soft little sniffles now. She reached out and tried to grab my pajama shirt pocket.

"Sorry, bub," I said, prising her little fingers away. "No food in there."

Serenity sobbed mournfully, like a baby whale.

"You're hungry, I understand," I whispered. "I'll give you something to eat as soon as you stop all this silly crying. Uncle Paul doesn't appreciate it. He's an old grouch, isn't he?"

Serenity stopped crying and gave a little giggle.

"That's better," I said. "Cheer up, sweetheart. It's Christmas!"

"Santa?" Serenity said questioningly.

"I think Santa might have come." I glanced over at the little pink stocking hanging on the corner of Serenity's cot. It was stretched to bursting point with all of her little presents from Santa. I reached out and stroked the stocking. "Look, Reeny. Lots of presents from Santa!"

Serenity glanced over, saw her loaded stocking and squealed with delight. She tried to wriggle away from me and make a snatch at the presents. I held onto her as she struggled and kicked. She stared up at me, seemingly shocked, then began to cry again, big fat tears running down her cheeks.

"Don't cry, love," I said softly, joggling her in my arms. "You'll get your presents soon."

I soon realised she wasn't crying about not receiving her presents. She was crying about something entirely different. I felt something wet and warm pressed up against my pajama shirt. It took me a moment to figure out what had just happened.