Love to Hate You: Three's a Crowd

Chapter Twenty-Nine - Baby Steps

Xander was doing his Saturday morning workout in the garage; glad of the time alone because living with four females was too much oestrogen for any man. He'd always enjoyed sculpting his body to perfection but since the birth of his triplets, he'd found his gym a place of sanctuary. A female-free zone. No crying or lactating. No burping or faffing with bottles and sterilisers. No baby smell, which – although not unpleasant – was not reminiscent of the luxury lifestyle he'd led before fatherhood. Also, no Horatio.

Alas, with four females and a dog in his life, he was destined never to have the peace he craved. The door connecting the garage to the utility room opened and Amy walked in holding a child in a bouncer. He thought it was Francesca or Isabel. He couldn't tell which. It didn't really matter. A baby was a baby, as far as he was concerned.

'I need to leave Cesca with you. She keeps crying and she's disturbing her sisters.' Xander stopped mid-cable-pull and looked at her in consternation.

'We have a big house. Surely, you can put her in one of the other rooms to give the girls some peace?'

'I don't want her left on her own. Besides, I thought the noise of your gym equipment might settle her.'

'Can't you put her in front of the washing machine?' he asked, giving up on the cable pull entirely. 'There's always endless washing to do so we may as well get our money's worth out of it!' He was still sore about the washing machine. He saw it as a millstone about his neck; a punishment for having not worn a condom. The triplets, he could accept. Gladly, really, because they were quite sweet, but the washing machine held no such appeal.

'No, I can't,' Amy told him. 'She'd be on her own and the girls would still hear her.'

'Fine,' he sighed, as Francesca wailed. 'Put her in the corner. I don't want to exercise too close to her.' Amy did as she was bid and left, closing the door behind her. 'Hush, now,' Xander said, crouching down in front of his middle child. 'Daddy's got to do his work out. You can watch. If you watch quietly, we can put some music on.'

Sadly, Francesca only liked James Blunt.

It was mid-way through Your Beautiful, where James had a plan but he didn't know what to do, when the door to the utility room opened once more. This time, Amy carried the prettiest baby in a bouncer.

'Sorry,' she told him, 'but Olivia kicked off when Cesca left. I've tried to settle her but no luck. She's disturbing Isabel and working herself into a state. It seemed kinder to just bring her in here.'

'Kinder to who?' Xander asked indignantly, over the din of his first-born's screaming.

'To the girls.'

'What about me?' he asked, quite seriously.

'You've been working all week. Surely you want to spend time with them?' But he didn't. Not really. No man ever does. He might, if he has no access to his children, but when they're readily available, no thank you.

'Of course, I do,' he lied, because he knew that no other response was appropriate. Besides, he harboured hopes of one day having sex again. He needed Amy to like him.

'Perfect. Thank you.' She kissed his cheek. It was sweaty. Exercise sweat, not sex sweat. She didn't recoil. Promising, he mused, forgetting that after childbirth, after breast feeding and burping, and changing nappies – times three – Amy was as good as oblivious when it came to bodily fluids. Xander waited for Amy to leave. Waited for Olivia to settle. She did not. The wailing continued.

It turned out she did not like James Blunt. Probably because he sacrificed all semantic merit in his song lyrics in a bid to make them rhyme. Olivia preferred Lady Gaga. This wouldn't have been a problem if Xander was not a heterosexual, forty-four-year-old male who took himself quite seriously.