‘And some of the chocolate bread,’ added George, putting his hands together in a prayer-like stance.
‘I have no clue what you are talking about…’
But Cam’s words petered out as George had taken off over the road. With the door to The Old Bakehouse wide open, he was sitting on the floor tugging at his wellington boots. The second they were off he ran away inside.
‘I wonder what he’s going to think of the new baby?’ asked Cam.
‘He’ll make a brilliant older brother, I’m sure. I’d always wished for a sibling. At least they’ll have each other.’
‘And he keeps going on about chocolate bread and I keep saying I’ve no—’
‘Come on, Daddy!’ George was standing in the doorway dressed in a neon-green dinosaur onesie with bright pink polka dots. His hands were cupped around his mouth. ‘Come on,’ he shouted again.
‘And for your information the bread tastes absolutely delicious. If I didn’t know better, I’d think your reluctance to enter the star baker competition was all a ploy, and you’ve been perfecting that loaf for days.’
‘I really have no clue what either of you are talking about.’
‘And that’s your story and you are sticking to it but I don’t mind because my guess is you’re your own worst critic. It’s fine, I get it… You didn’t want to share your creation until you had it perfect, but if I was the judge, it would be a clear winner, even if I am a little biased as your biggest flag-waver.’
With that, Cam was left standing perplexed as Molly crossed over the road and opened the gate to Bumblebee Cottage.
‘I really do not have a clue what you are talking about,’ he shouted after her but Molly had knocked on the door of the cottage and was disappearing inside.
Chapter Eight
‘Dixie, it’s only me,’ called out Molly.
Hearing a clatter of paws on the red flagstone floor, Molly was greeted by Darling who was running down the hallway at great speed. Scooping the dog up in her arms, Molly plopped a kiss on top of Darling’s head. They’d come so far in the last few years and Molly could still remember the very day that she met the Jack Russell. Even as a vet Molly hadn’t fancied her chances, as Darling’s barking and growling had been far from welcoming. There had been nothing darling about Darling.
‘I’m in here,’ Dixie’s voice echoed down the hallway.
Kicking off her boots, Molly opened the living-room door. ‘I’m just checking to see how you’re feeling.’ She stopped dead in her tracks and looked around the room. ‘Dixie, have you been burgled?’ She couldn’t believe her eyes.
‘Don’t be daft.’
The room was full of boxes, piles and piles of stuff just everywhere.
‘Are you moving house but you’ve forgotten to mention it?’ asked Molly, placing Darling down on the only clutter-free bit of floor she could see. But Darling immediately jumped onto the arm of a chair and in a final leap made it to the window where she sat down and watched.
‘The only way I’m leaving this place is in—’
‘Don’t say that, you are going to live for ever. Let me make us a nice cuppa and you can tell me all about what exactly is going on here.’
Following the hallway, Molly walked through the archway that led into the kitchen, which was a scene of domestic bliss. The log fire was burning, washing draped over the racing green Aga that stood proudly, spreading a lovely warmth into the room. Sitting on the worktop was a humongous home-made Victoria sponge, and numerous pans hung from the ceiling on a wooden rack, alongside bunches of dried lavender. Shelves lined one wall and were crammed with plates and Flora china cups. An old farmhouse table was in the centre of the room and the Belfast sink, positioned under the window, looked out over the magnificent garden.
Dixie’s favourite mug was in the sink so Molly quickly rinsed it out.
‘Can I have honey in my tea, please … it’s good for my health,’ Dixie shouted from the living room.
Molly smiled as she opened the pantry door. There were four shelves dedicated to honey alone. ‘It’s not called Bumblebee Cottage for nothing,’ she murmured, taking a jar from the shelf.
A tray in her hands, laden with two mugs of tea and a plate of Dixie’s favourite biscuits, Molly returned to the living room. ‘And how are you feeling? I thought you would be resting, instead of … exactly what are you doing, Dixie?’
‘It’s just a cold, an annoying cold, but I’m not letting it get me down.’ She was fiddling with some sort of black contraption at the back of the room.
‘I can see that,’ murmured Molly, dunking a chocolate biscuit in the hot tea and taking a bite.
‘I am putting my affairs in order,’ said Dixie.
