Lucien sat on the piano bench with little Luke on his lap. "What would you like to hear?" he asked the small boy. "Maybe one of your mum's favorites while she's making your very first birthday cake, eh?"
Luke bounced up and down. "Mmmmmm."
"Oh, you like mum's cake, do you? Well, young man, you have very good taste. She makes lovely cakes, your mum."
"Mmmmmm," Luke repeated.
"Yes, and her biscuits are also first rate, aren't they?"
This time Luke remained silent.
"Not a fan of her biscuits? I find that hard to believe. I've seen you devour mum's shortbread."
"Mmmmm," said Luke.
"So you agree after all." Lucien stopped to think for a moment, staring down at his young son. "Maybe it's not her baking after all. You just love your mum?"
"Mmmmmm," Luke agreed.
"Not her biscuits?"
Luke was silent.
"Mum?"
"Mmmmm," said Luke.
"Oh, you clever boy. Are you trying to say 'mum'?"
"Mmmmmm."
From the kitchen Jean called, "Where's the music you promised me?"
Luke again bounced on his father's lap. "Mmmmm. Mmmmm."
Lucien bent down to whisper to the small boy. "We'll keep it our secret until you can say the whole word, shall we?"
With Luke's "assistance" he began to play Beethoven's Für Elise.
Since he'd started walking, Luke's bedtime was a breeze. He tired himself out during the day and was only too willing to be put into his cot at night. As she lifted him in, Jean couldn't help but wonder how long it would be now before he started climbing out by himself. She sighed, remembering how Jack had managed to fall from atop the rail, breaking his little arm. Ever the rebel, her Jack.
She kissed the top of Luke's head and ran her fingers lovingly over his golden curls. "Did you enjoy the story your dad read to you, my sweet boy?" she asked him softly.
Lucien had begun reading Winnie the Pooh to him in the evenings before bedtime.
"Dududud," Luke said tiredly.
Jean smiled down at him. "I hope that means yes. Dad will be disappointed if you don't like reading."
"Dududud," Luke said again.
"Are you trying to say 'dad'?" she asked him in a whisper. "You darling boy, won't your dad be thrilled if that's your first word. Dad," she repeated.
"Dududud," said Luke, around a big yawn.
"All right, love, go to sleep. We'll try again tomorrow."
She tiptoed out of the room, hoping she could get him to repeat it for Lucien in the morning.
In the morning Lucien was out to visit a death scene before Luke even woke up. He hated not seeing his little boy in the morning, but sometimes it couldn't be avoided.
While he was gone, Jean got Luke up, bathed and dressed, and into his high chair for breakfast. She tried to get him to say 'dad' again but the baby was more interested in his toast and scrambled egg. He smiled happily but silently at his mother. When he was finished, she cleaned him off and put him on the floor with his wooden blocks while she did the washing up.
Lucien returned shortly after, since the autopsy showed the death had been natural causes.
Hearing the door, Luke quickly climbed to his feet and toddled off to greet his father.
"Good morning, young man," said Lucien, swinging him up into his arms for some kisses and hugs. "Shall we go say hello to mum?"
He waited for Luke to respond, but the boy merely gave his father some wet kisses and giggled when the beard brushed his tender cheek.
"Not talking this morning?" Lucien whispered. When Luke didn't respond he tickled him instead as he walked into the kitchen to kiss Jean.
All through the day whenever they were alone with the baby, Jean and Lucien tried to coach him, each wanting to give the other the pleasure of hearing his first word. But Luke had other plans. He even seemed to forego his usual wordless babbling.
By the time dinner was over and the washing up finished, they had separately decided not to press him further. Apparently Luke would speak when he was good and ready.
As bedtime approached, Jean changed him into his pyjamas and handed him over to Lucien for their nightly read while she picked up her knitting and sat across from them. Lucien kissed the top of the boy's head before opening the illustrated A.A. Milne storybook.
Luke patted the illustration of the round yellow bear with his pot of honey. "Pooh," he said.
Jean and Lucien stared at each other in shock.
"What's that, son?" Lucien asked, wanting to be sure it wasn't just a nonsense word.
Again Luke patted the page. "Pooh," he said, looking up at his father.
"Yes, indeed, that's Pooh," he laughed.
Jean joined in, putting her knitting aside and stepping over to kiss her clever boy. "He's certainly a Blake," she told Lucien. "His first word is a literary reference."
"And here I've been trying to get him to say 'mum' all day," Lucien chuckled.
"Really? I've been working with him to say 'dad'," Jean told him.
"I guess he didn't want to play favorites. Our son may have a future as a diplomat."
Jean smiled down at her son as she combed her fingers through his locks. "More than likely he's just inherited his father's kindness."
"Or his mother's generosity of spirit."
Luke merely patted the book more forcefully. "Pooh!"
Laughing, Jean said, "Definitely his father's lack of patience."
Lucien smirked at her, before lifting the book up. "Now, where we were. Ah, yes, Pooh."