“Psss!” he said. “Psss, psss!”

“What’s a psss?”

He toddled over to the window to look out into the garden. “Oh, you’re talking about the pussycat, aren’t you? Yes, that’s Watson. He’s my pussycat and he just loves to tease the neighbour’s dog.”

They watched together as Watson picked his way along the branch of a tree that hung over Jamie’s wall and stretched into her neighbour’s property. The golden retriever next door went hysterical with fury at the sight of his enemy sitting just out of reach. Radiating smugness, Watson stropped his claws on the branch, then settled down to eyeball the furious dog.

Jamie giggled. “He always does that. It drives the poor doggie crazy.”

“Doddie,” said her new friend. “Pore doddie.”

“Yes, poor doggie.” She hugged him in delight. “And aren’t you just the cleverest little boy in the whole wide world?”

He stretched out his arms longingly to the cat. “Psss!”

“You want to go and cuddle the kitty? Of course you do. I bet he’ll love you. And maybe my other kitty will come along and say hello, too. His name is Holmes and he’s also super cuddly.”

She took his hand and led him towards the patio door. They had hardly gone two steps when the bell at her front gate rang.

“Now, who can that be?”

It rang again. And again, and again. Then the person leaned their thumb on the button so that the bell rang in one long, demented peal.

“Why do people have to be so impatient? Okay, okay, I’m coming. Jeez!”

Jamie peeped out the kitchen window. There was a man standing at her gate. He was hopping from foot to foot and grimacing. As she watched, he took his thumb off her doorbell and shook her gate with both hands. Then he turned back to the bell again. His brown hair was standing up in tufts all over his head.

He looked … unbalanced, Jamie decided.

“I think you’d better stay in here, angel.” She put the boy back down on the carpet and handed him a plastic spatula to play with. “I’ll go and see what the crazy man wants.”

She went out into her driveway, and the noise switched off like magic.

“Oh, thank God!” the man said when he saw her. “I’m looking for my son. Have you seen him? He’s eighteen months old and he’s wearing blue jeans and a red shirt. And … and trainers. Have you seen him?”

“Your son?” Jamie asked, puzzled.

“Yes! My son. He might have been on the sidewalk, or even…” He broke off to scrub his hands over his face. “Or even in the road. Have you seen him? His name is Ben.”

She was opening her mouth to answer him when he suddenly lost it.

“BEN!” he yelled, so loudly that Jamie jumped. “Ben! Oh my God!” Jamie whirled around to see that her little friend had toddled out of the door behind her, and was now standing and grinning at the
man.

“You found him! Oh thank God!”

Jamie would have been the first to admit that she wasn’t doing a superb job of looking after the little boy, but even she knew better than to hand him over to the first random stranger who came to claim him.

“I’m sorry, but I have to be careful. How do I know he’s your son?”

“Yes, yes,” the man said. “I’m white and he’s black. I know that. Big deal. But I can assure you he’s still my son. I adopted him at birth. He’s mine and I’d like him back. Look,” he added when she hesitated. “Ask him who I am. Go ahead.”

“Okay…” She bent down to pick the little boy up again, lingering over the action, loving the way his body fitted against hers. “Who’s that?” she asked, pointing to the man. “Who’s that man?”
He just giggled and turned his face into her arm.

“Who am I, Ben?” the man asked in a cracked voice. He had a slight American accent, Jamie noticed. “Who am I?”

The boy turned a laughing face toward the man and said as clear as a bell, “Dada!” Then in a louder voice, on a rising giggle, “Dada, Dada, Daddeeee!” He wriggled out of Jamie’s arms and ran toward the gate on sturdy legs, his arms outstretched. “Dada!”

***

Tell us: Do you believe this man is the child’s father?