‘On my author bio. It’s where I grew up.’
‘I thought your parents lived in Bath?’
‘They do.’
‘So what are you doing in Picklewick?’
Falling in love, that’s what he was doing. And he didn’t know whether it was wonderful or terrifying.
Beatrice was making a casserole for tea. She’d ummed and ahhed over what to cook, wondering whether to stick to what she was good at (and what the kids would eat) or whether to pull out all the stops and make something fancy. She’d ended up deciding to play it down. This was Mark, a man who’d been known to eat baked beans out of a tin, and cold pizza left over from the evening before.
He might be a hot-shot children’s author, but he was still the same bloke she once knew. She hoped. Anyway, he had two choices – like it or go hungry.
Beatrice was beginning to wish she hadn’t given in to Sadie’s insistence that she ask Mark to tea this evening, but at least if he saw first-hand the chaos that was her daily life, it would make him realise what he was letting himself in for, if hewasserious about wanting them to start over. After this evening, he may well change his mind. It was one thing knowing that she and her children came as a job lot: it was quite another seeing it in action.
As Beatrice tidied up the kitchen, the most recent copy of The Picklewick Paper caught her eye. Her mum had brought it with her when she’d babysat on Tuesday and had forgotten to take it home. Or had she left it on purpose, because it had a piece about Mark in it?
Beatrice had read the article twice, and the part she kept going back to was the bit where Mark had said he would be going home after Picklewick. She knew his home was in Bristol, but what she didn’t know was how long he intended to stay inPicklewick. And when he did leave – which he must – what would that mean for any future they might have?
Right now, Beatrice wasn’t sure of anything, despite what Mark had said, despite the way he’d kissed her. She supposed she would just have to take it slow, and try not to get in too deep, too soon.
When the doorbell rang, even though she was expecting it, she jumped. ‘Can you get that, please, Taya?’
‘I’ll go!’ Sadie yelled, charging to the door before her sister could respond.
‘Mark!’ Beatrice heard Sadie squeal, then she heard him say something in return, but she couldn’t make out the words.
When he entered the kitchen, he had a small child hanging onto him for dear life.
‘Sadie, leave Mark alone, he doesn’t need you clambering all over him. Taya, can you lay the table, please?’
‘Why doIhave to do it?’
‘Taya…’ The hint of warning in Beatrice’s voice was enough to persuade her daughter to do as she was asked, but wasn’t enough to wipe the sulky look off her face. Honestly, Taya was getting more teenagerish by the day. Goodness knows what she would be like when she actuallywasone. Beatrice dreaded to think.
Taya didn’t perk up much throughout the meal, but Sadie was lively enough for them both. She didn’t stop talking.
Right now, she was in the middle of telling Mark all about the toadstool costume that her nana was making for her. ‘It’s got sequins, and glittery thread, and it sparkles. I like sparkles.’
Beatrice laughed. ‘I never would have guessed. This child should be called Princess Sparkle.’
Sadie ignored her. ‘It’ll be the bestest costume and I’ll be the bestest toadstool. Even better than the fairies because I can do magic, can’t I Mark? You said so.’
‘Real toadstools can, but you aren’t a real toadstool. You’re a little girl.’
‘I want to be a fairy.’
‘I want to be an astronaut and fly into space.’
‘In a spaceship?’
Mark nodded.
‘Fairies can fly. Can you come watch the play? Mummy, can he?’
Beatrice saw Mark’s eyes widen and she decided to rescue him. ‘I expect Mark will be busy, so he won’t be able to come.’
Taya finally spoke. ‘Will Dad be there?’
