“Mum buys it smooth,” points out Mabel. “She knows what we like.”
Theo looks like they’re testing his patience. “You know, you kids are so ungrateful,” he says. “Adam’s spent ages juicing those oranges.”
I bat away his comment: the last thing I want is for the kids to turn on me. “It’s alright! Now, who fancies some of this nice Italian bread?”
I hold up the basket, optimistically.
Callum looks at thefocacciaand scowls. “What’s that green stuff on it?”
“Herbs,” I answer. “I expect it’s rosemary.”
“What’s rosemary?” asks Archie.
“A herb,” I say, trying to remain calm.
“What’s a herb?”
“It looks minging!” Callum pronounces, talking over his brother. “I’ll have some of that.” He points at theciabatta.
“Please,” Theo reminds him sternly.
“Please.” Callum almost spits the word out.
“Mabel?” asks Theo.
“I’ll have the same,” she says. “But I only like that kind of bread toasted.”
“Me too,” says Callum.
I detect a hint of a snigger passing between them. Are they taunting us?
If they are, I’m not taking the bait. I stand up and force my face into a smile. “OK, I’ll toast some.”
“No,” insists Theo, pushing back his chair, “I’ll do it.”
“No, no,” I argue, “it’s alright—I need to do it under the old grill and it’s a bit fiddly.” While this is true, I also want an excuse to leave the table.
When the grill has finally warmed up and the bread’s toasting, I poke my head around the door and see that Archie’s eating somefocacciaand Mabel a yogurt. Progress!
I butter the toast, pile it on a plate and bring it out.
Callum flinches at the sight of it. “There’s too much butter on that!”
Theo doesn’t even glance in his direction but continues eating. “You’ll just have to scrape it off then. You can put your own on next time.”
Reluctantly, Callum picks up a piece of toast and starts scraping at the butter. I imagine his hunger must be winning through.
But there’s no disguising my breakfast is a disaster.
I tell myself not to worry: at least I still have the treats up my sleeve.
Somehow we make it to the end of the meal. At least everyone has eaten something, even if it is mainly bread and yogurts—the two things I didn’t make.
I clap my hands. “Right, time for a little surprise!”
I nip inside and come back carrying a tray of treats.
Archie squeals at his milk chocolate buttons, cramming them into his mouth and smearing chocolate on his cheeks, even getting some on his glasses.
