“Uncle MARRRKISSSSSS!!!!!!”
Jolted awake, Marcus shot up from his curled position on the settee, eyes wide and hair wild. There was just enough time to brace himself for impact as the owner of the sing-song voice barrelled for him, fixed determination in blue eyes. Hands planted on the armrest, Maisie’s bright and excited giggle lulled Marcus into a false sense of safety, thinking she would stop there only to be thrown back down as she vaulted herself over the edge and threw herself at him with more force than any five year old should possess.
His niece was many things but graceful and gentle weren’t ones.
Tiny arms wound tightly around his neck, sickeningly devious laughter filling the room. “I told you, be a ninja, super stealth mode,” Oliver said, wearing a smile that matched his laughter. “He’ll never see you coming and you’d knock him over easy as.”
“I take it you’re still mad that I beat your arse in the friendly match,” Marcus groaned, trying to untangle himself.
“Bum,” Oliver corrected. “You cheated and you know it.”
Marcus snorted derisively. “Piss off, you’re being the same old sore loser you always-”
Maisie grabbed his face and squished as hard as she could until Marcus stopped talking. “Don’t be a meanie, grumpy bear to Uncle Ollie.”
“We’re just teasing each other, Maisie Moo. He knows-”
She pulled Marcus in closer and waited until her nose touched his before she simply sat and stared him dead in the eye. “Tell him you’re sorry.”
Seconds ticked by, each one more unnerving than the last before finally, Marcus lost what he thought was a staring match and glanced to Oliver for some help. “Sorry.”
He loved Maisie, treated her as if she were his own kid and would have done anything for her. It didn’t bother him that Olivia and Terence teased him by saying she had him wrapped around her finger, or that she was proof that deep down he had a heart.
He had never been good with kids. It was easier with Maisie, just as it had been with Cian, but that was because they were his; they were Flints, but even with them the overwhelming terror of it all consumed him. He always felt lost with no clue on how to help them or care for them beyond the very basics; the constant fear that he was doing everything wrong and he was permanently damaging them in the back of his mind.
And yet, Maisie still gravitated toward Marcus despite all of it. Out of everyone beyond her parents, she had chosen him as her favorite. He was the one she wanted to be around when Olivia and Terence weren’t there, and even sometimes when they were and Marcus cherished it.
“I have a super big question for you.”
“Can you not be touching my face when you ask it?”
She shook her head slowly, eyes not once leaving his and Marcus suppressed a shudder. It was as if she were trying to look into his soul.
“I want you to make me-” She pounced off him, arms extended out as she hit the ground in a stumble and ran in wide circles around the coffee table, giggling madly. “FLY!”
“You want me to . . .” He made a throwing motion, bemused as she lapped the table again.
“Marcus!” Oliver choked. “No!”
“I was joking, of course I know that.” Marcus stuck his arm out, catching Maisie as she tried to dart past him. “You didn’t mean throw you like a quaffle, right?”
Maisie cackled. “No silly! I wanna fly like you and Uncle Ollie fly. Super-SUPER fast. And I wanna play Quizitch.”
“Quidditch?” Marcus watched her face screw up in a way that screamed it was obvious what she mean. “We do that at Little Dragons, and you are already top speed on your kiddie broom.”
“That doesn’t fly.”
“They do too.”
“Nah-uh! They hoover.”
“Hover,” Marcus corrected. “And it’s so you don’t get hurt.”
“To be fair, I use them to clean the floor sometimes,” Oliver interjected, sitting beside them.
“Uncle Ollie gets it,” Maisie said smugly. “I want to fly on a real broom. Can you teach me? Please.”
Her eyes went doe, a small wobble to her lower lip and instantly Marcus looked to Oliver. He would have loved nothing more than to get her a top-end broom and teach her how to properly fly, but as much as Marcus wanted to he knew better.
“I’ll have to ask, that’s for your mum and dad to decide, Mais.”
“Yeah,” Oliver added sympathetically. “Your mum nearly took hiss his head with the kiddie broom when you were born.”
The pout increased, her eyes suddenly glassy. “But Uncle Marcus . . .”
“Out of my hands, Maisie-Moo. I’m sorry.” And he was. “Why don’t you ask your dad, he was a decent enough flyer, used to be my seeker while we were in school.”
Maisie rolled her eyes dramatically, the pout and tears gone. “Daddy is the best daddy but he’s not the best flyer. I wanna be the best and you are the best in the whole wide world Uncle Marcus.”
Oliver whistled, mumbling under his breath something about pulling out all the works.
“You trying to soften me up?”
“Aye, like butter,” Oliver mumbled as Maisie shrugged.
“Is it working?”
“A bit, yeah?”
“Is that all it takes, a bit of feeding your ego?” Oliver teased, nuzzling in. “Mo ghraidh, you know you’re the best quidditch player in the history of quidditch, right? We should celebrate that . . . at dinner in that new restaurant-”
“Piss off, let me have this,” Marcus laughed, handing Maisie a pillow to throw at him. “I still have to talk to your mum and dad. If they say it’s okay we can-”
“Mummy will say no! And . . . and . . . She took my broom.”
“Why?”
Sheepishly, Maisie looked around the room, catching Marcus’ curious stare every so often before shying away again. She mumbled under her breath, frustration building as she was asked again why.
“Cuz stupid Rhys Jenkins! He told me I was rubbish and wolfy looking and smelly like one too-”
Both Marcus and Oliver reacted instantly, each on one end of the spectrum.
“Did you tell your mum?” Oliver asked.
“You point that little f***ing twat out next time and I’ll-”
“Marcus!” Oliver warned.
“Fine, the little . . . no, I stand by it. The kid is a f***ing twat and I’ll-”
“You can’t beat up a five-year-old,” Oliver chided, grinning as he kissed his cheek. “What else did this Rhys say or do?”
“Mean things about you Uncle Ollie. And you Uncle Marcus. He said his daddy said your . . . ummm . . . mummy said it’s a horrible word and shouldn’t be said but . . .”
She leaned in to whisper it, but Marcus leaned back and held up his hand to stop her. He didn’t need her to say and while Marcus and Oliver both knew what she was about to say it didn’t stop the way Oliver stiffened next to him. They were used to hear it, had been hearing it for years now but it always affected Oliver more than Marcus.
“But I told him that his daddy is stupid because I have the best Uncles and I’ll be a . . . whatamacallit like you and that I’ll be the best flyer ever!”
Marcus snorted as Oliver still sat unamused. “Doesn’t explain the broom.”
“Oh that’s because he went on saying that girls can’t really play because we are stupid and like ponies and sparkles. And you’d be so proud Uncle Marcus, I told him I’d race his stupid ugly toilet face and when I win he has to wear sparkles and change his name to princess sparkles bum. So I HAVE to win!”
“The broom Maisie, why did you lose the broom?”
Maisie threw herself sideways, lying across both of the laps. “Because after he said you were that mean thing I told him I was going to stick my broom up his ugly ass and use him to clean the toilets and chased him. It wasn’t my fault he was so stupid to run into the bathroom.”
“You didn’t?” Marcus and Oliver whispered in unison.
“He was this close,” she said and pinched her fingers together, “to licking the toilet bowl but mummy heard him crying.”
“Maisie no,” Oliver groaned just as Marcus yelled, “Yes!!!”.
“So mummy took my broom because his daddy had a big baby tantrum. Now he still wants to race otherwise I have to eat a bug!”
Laughing, Marcus scooped Maisie back up and gave her a tight hug. “Let me and Uncle Ollie talk to your mum, we’ll have you flying by tomorrow.”
