Ch 5.

Phillip stood dumbstruck. He couldn't utter a sound, even if no was right on the tip of his tongue. This wouldn't be the one attractive male tenant. This would be him and three, THREE, three children. There were alarms bells ringing in his head, but none of them seemed to engage his mouth.

Rather than wait for Phillip's negative response, Gareth gestured towards the van, and the children spilled out. Phillip took in a deep breath while his brain raced. He was so very far out of his comfort zone, no matter how attractive he found the man, the father. Three kids, none looking very old, made their way to the front of the house, walking solemnly. Two girls, one quite little and one bigger, and a boy in between who was the spitting image of his father. They all looked like they'd seen better days, but if their mother had kicked them out, he supposed they had.

As they made their way up the steps, the youngest reached out to take Phillip's hand for help. "Are you going to let us stay, mister?"

Phillip looked down at the little girl, her warm (and slightly sticky) fingers curling around his, her tousled ringlets sticking out in funny directions and flat in the back from her car seat. "Uh... Phillip. My name's Phillip," he managed to respond, not to her question, but whatever. At least he said something.

"I'm Franny and I'm five. I have a Timbit left in the car. Do you want it?" She smiled up at him with her big blue eyes wide and shining in the porch-light.

Well, that explained the sticky hand, anyway, doughnut glaze. "Um, no. Thank you." Phillip stared, unsure of what to do next.

Gareth watched the exchange with some amusement. Of his three children, Franny was definitely the most bold. The least crushed by her mother, Abby was fond of saying.

"That's Daisy, she's ten, and Gabe, he's almost seven, but actually still six. Daddy's twenty-nine. How old are you?" She looked pleased to be handling the important details.

Phillip was shocked that someone as young as Gareth could have three kids, especially a ten year old. He knew these things happened and all, but not to anyone he knew--not that he really knew anyone, but still. No wonder the father sounded so exhausted. Phillip remembered taking care of just one other person as being completely draining.

Gareth seemed to mistake Phillip's hesitation for offence, "Franny, it's not polite to.." he began to lightly chide.

"Twenty-eight." Phillip wasn't exactly sure what he was doing, but he knew he couldn't send this family out so late at night. He was certain they would be able to find something more fitting in the morning, so this didn't have to be permanent or anything. Phillip took a deep bracing breath and smiled cautiously down at Franny, unsure that he could even smile in this situation. The alarms in his brain were still going, but this time his mouth seemed to move all on its own. "Get inside." The words shocked him even as they passed his lips and he stiffly held the door for the Lewis family.

...............................................

After a few minutes of shifting laundry baskets and other various pieces of luggage, everyone adjusted for the time being. The screen door was propped open and the heavy exterior door was cracked enough to allow for the easy back and forth of the two men. Phillip helped Gareth carry some things in while the children sat on the couch, tracing patterns on the swirled 1970's green velveteen fabric watching a cartoon at low volume. A row of little winter boots were lined up near the front door on the mat, their coats hanging on the hooks, and Phillip was strangely fascinated. Usually it was just his coat, just his boots (or shoes, depending on the weather). It was like something of another time or from a completely different house. Certainly nothing like this ever occurred here before in his lifetime.

Another few minutes and a bedtime routine was established. Teeth were brushed, ablutions attended, kisses given. Each child dutifully said goodnight to Phillip, and he seemed touched, but perplexed, by the gesture. The girls were settled in the guest room, cuddled together with a few stuffed animals, and Gabe was laying down in the master. Gareth was going to share with his son when he finally made it to bed. Since he could finally sit and think for a minute, he needed to make a list of everything he needed to take care of in the next few days.

"Landlord, car insurance, uhh, the kids' school..." Gareth was thinking out loud while chewing on the uncapped lid of a pen from his messenger bag. Phillip sat uneasily in the drab olive velour loveseat across the coffee table, watching, presumably, the tv that sat at one end of the couch, but instead he was clandestinely sneaking peeks at Gareth. His white teeth and pinkish lips in contrast to the black pen lid his fingers were twirling against his mouth, lost in thought. The glow of the tv highlighting the contours of Gareth's...It was too odd to see someone in his house. A male someone, an attractive someone. It was even more than odd to consider there were three children sleeping just footsteps away that belonged to the male on his sofa. Phillip was still unsure as to how they were even in his house.

Every so often Gareth leaned forward and added another entry onto the growing list he was scribbling on the back of some sort of school paper. Phillip watched the gentle movement of Gareth's fingers as the pen skimmed across the page, and how he had to flip his head to the side to get his slightly shaggy bangs out of his eyes. It was engrossing in a most unusual way.

"Tea?" The question shot out of Phillip without much elegance, but he knew it was proper to offer a guest a beverage. His mother would be proud that he was remembering proper etiquette; she was always very proper. And they were guests; they'd be leaving first thing in the morning. Well, after breakfast, anyway.

Gareth tilted his head up catching Phillip's eyes, the light from the television reflecting in Phillip's guarded dark pools, and gave him a small smile. "That would be fantastic, thanks." Tea was, to Gareth's mind, a pleasant memory of his childhood, especially his grandmother who always had a pot ready, like a lot of older Canadians who still thought of themselves as more British than anything else. Queen on the currency and all.

Contemplating his growing list of separation tasks, Gareth gave a little jump when the mug was placed on the coffee table in front of him a few minutes later, steam dancing upwards. "I didn't know how you take it." Phillip placed a tray with milk, sugar, and two slices of apple pie down as well.

"Black is fine, thanks. You didn't have to go to any trouble, really." Gareth wrapped his hands around the warm mug, allowing the heat to comfort him, inhaling the aromatic blend with a sigh.

Phillip smiled slightly at Gareth's reaction. He was glad he could do something of comfort for the troubled man. "No trouble. Earl Grey." Phillip thought for a second. "Ice pack?" he added.

Gareth had forgotten all about Leeann's punch from earlier, but now that he could sit and think, he could feel the swollen skin aching, pulled taut over his injury. "I supposed I'd better," Gareth sighed. He was rather embarrassed Phillip noticed, but it wasn't like he could hide it, either.

While Phillip went out the kitchen, Gareth pulled out his phone and snapped a picture of his latest bruise. Abby would be happy for that much and it was more important than ever now that Leeann had kicked him out. As much as he hoped she would just leave them alone, he was sure that probably wasn't likely. After all, she'd probably miss the kids, and she'd certainly miss the money.

"What happened?" Phillip asked, handing over a bag of frozen peas. Ordinarily he wouldn't have asked, but ordinarily he wouldn't have anyone in the house, either. Normal was kind of out the window for the time being.

"Leeann. The kids' mother. She gets violent sometimes," Gareth answered as simply as possible. There was so much more to say, but it was far too much for a new acquaintance and landlord. "Just with me," Gareth clarified. He didn't want Phillip to think he allowed or approved of the kids being beaten.

"Hmm." Phillip wasn't sure what to say, as domestic discord wasn't in his realm of experience. His parents seldom fought from what he could remember. And unless it was plant related, not much was in his realm of experience. Instead, he took a bite of his pie and gestured for Gareth to do the same.

Gareth did as Phillip suggested, letting the sweet tartness rest on his tongue for a moment while he considered what to say. "We were together simply to share responsibility for the children and I guess today she decided she'd had enough."

"No one deserves to get hit." Phillip wanted to ask if she verbally abused them, too, but it wasn't his place. He truly hoped she didn't, they seemed like a nice family as far as he could tell. Besides, even if they were intolerable, it still wasn't right.

Gareth went back to his list and Phillip went back to watching the tv. After a lengthy time of companionable silence, Phillip stood to clear away the dishes. They were sitting on the table for much longer than necessary. Gareth waved him away, kindly offering, "No, don't worry. I'll get them. You were good enough to make it."

Phillip bit his lip and looked anxiously between the dishes and Gareth for a second, "Okay," he acquiesced, giving up control was very difficult, but he was going to try. "Good night," he added, rigidly with a nod of his head.

Gareth watched Phillip's retreating figure down the hall, contemplating the man he just met. He seemed very reserved and very definitely unused to being around people, but nice in a peculiar sort of way. Good looking, too. It didn't really matter, he supposed, as long as Phillip let them stay. He stood and put his list and pen back into his school bag, leaving them neatly in the hall closet. After checking the lock on the front door, Gareth made extra sure to clean everything thoroughly, including wiping down the counter, before going to bed an hour later.

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His morning routine was completely disrupted.

Destroyed.

It took a moment for Phillip to fully take in the chaos in his kitchen. Normally he got up, made a pot of coffee, read the paper with his toast, and then possibly had an egg, poached or fried. This morning there were people in his kitchen. More specifically--little people. Three of them. In pyjamas. There was a pot on the stove with something cooking and the oldest girl stirred it while standing on a chair. The two younger ones were hovering around the toaster, butter and jam open on the countertop, each brandishing knives. Butter knives, thankfully.

"Good morning," Daisy said softly, looking nervously up from the pot. "Would you like some oatmeal?" Her dirty blonde braids were frizzy now, messy from having been slept in, and swung over the pot while she prepared food.

So that's what was strewn across the stovetop. And a portion of the counter. "Uh, no."

Phillip tried not to panic. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath while his heart pounded painfully. The idea of renting his house suddenly completely hit home, like a truck on a highway demolishing a smartcar. It wasn't just a room or two, he'd have to share everything, and for someone who was an only child, it was a terrifying prospect. He thought he figured this out already, dealt with it. But in reality, he hadn't. Nausea hit Phillip in waves and he felt faint.

He also felt something else. A small hand in his, pulling him to the table. "Hi Phillip. Did you sleep well? I did," Franny smiled up at him, encouragingly. "What do you usually have for breakfast?"

"Ahh...toast?" It was really all he could think to say. Besides, he wasn't sure how old that package of oats was, eyeing the package on the counter warily. He was pretty sure his mother bought it. You know, before she died, four and a half years ago. Did dry goods like that even go bad?

"Great! Gabe and I are making some right now. Do you want butter? Jam?" She held his hand tightly while bouncing on her toes, face shining as he settled in his chair.

"Butter." His heart began to slow a little following the initial shock. As an afterthought, he added, "Please."

A plate of toast delivered by Gabe landed in front of him and Phillip began to eat, still unsure as to what he should be doing as the adult in the room. Should Daisy be using the stove? Was it okay for Gabe and Franny to be using the toaster and have knives? Where was Gareth? How was any of this a good idea?

His questions were moot soon after when Daisy turned off the stove, poured three bowls of oatmeal, and set the pot in the sink to soak with warm water and dish soap. "Can we use some milk and sugar, please?" Daisy asked, carefully placing the bowls on the table.

Phillip nodded and watched. He was impressed as Daisy did it all. Added a bit of milk and sugar to each bowl and set them in front of her siblings. Then she put the milk away. She ate while standing, wiping the stove and countertop, then shaking the spilled oats into the garbage and rinsing out the rag. He was sure he was nowhere near as competent when he was ten. Surely this was a job for a parent?

"How did you know to do all that?" he managed to croak.

"Mommy sleeps in and Daddy's already gone to work most days," Daisy said slipping her chair back to the table then taking a seat and opening her novel when everything was tidy.

Phillip stood and got his paper from outside, then came back in and started the coffee maker, still in shock, and a little bit of awe, over the activity in his kitchen.

"Hmm," said Daisy, observing him.

Phillip shifted uneasily, slippers scraping on the floor, unused to the scrutiny. "What?"

"Now I know what to do for tomorrow," and she looked back down to her book.

"Uhhh..." Phillip really didn't know how to respond to that. There wasn't going to be a tomorrow. He certainly hadn't planned on it, anyway. No matter how good the kids were.

And where on Earth was their father?

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Gareth stretched and yawned. He'd slept remarkably well. Then he rubbed his hands over his eyes to clear the sleep away and met with a painful reminder of the night before with the swelling on his cheek. His eyes sprung open. Pink. The walls were pink, and floral. Suddenly where he was hit him like a ton of bricks, and the fact that the spot next to him on the bed was empty caused him to jump up quickly. Gabe wasn't in the room.

"Shit," Gareth muttered, running his hand through his hair before opening the door. He could hear his children. All three of them up, all three of them invading Phillip's space. Not that he was worried they would misbehave, his kids were generally good, but he was sure that Phillip probably wasn't used to company. Even though they were paying to be there, well, would be paying, he didn't want to look like an errant parent.

The damage to the kitchen wasn't as great as he feared. There wasn't too much of a mess, and everyone was seated. Four pairs of eyes looked up at him, all happy to see him, but one dark pair was certainly far more relieved than the others.

"I'm so sorry, I overslept. I never oversleep. I hope they weren't any trouble," Gareth offered quickly, then noting that they all had food, he added, "and I'll pay to replace any groceries."

Phillip shook his head, dismissing Gareth's concerns and trying not to stare at the very definitely bruised cheek, all purple and angry in the morning light. "Coffee?" The maker had just finished.

"Sure, thanks. I'll get it, and I'm assuming you want one, too?"

Phillip nodded, "One milk, one sugar."

Gareth got out the mugs they'd used last night and prepared the drinks. If Phillip was anything like him, the caffeine would be welcome since they both were facing big changes.

A/N: This is early because it's a long weekend, I need to go grocery shopping and a certain @Fhanth was nagging me. ;)  I'm not promising (okay, I am because I wouldn't say it unless I mean it) but I think I'll update on Monday, too, as a last day of summer break extravaganza (because something's got to be exciting, even if my story isn't).  Comment, vote, and whatnot if you so please.  :)

Stay safe! <3 JJ