Page 2 of A Recipe for Romance in Brambleton

The only saving grace was that his sons were currently playing well together in the bedroom they’d chosen to share, so Marc could brood in peace. He was certain that they’d want their own rooms sooner or later, and the house had five bedrooms, so that wouldn’t be an issue when they did, but for the moment he was happy for them to share. If it helped their transition process to stay close to each other, then that was fine by him.

He wasn’t sure if anything would help his process, though. Even two years on from Tessa’s death, he still woke up every morning and for that split second, he forgot she wasn’t lying beside him. He still wanted to call her, just to hear her voice, and kicked himself frequently when he reached for the phone to do just that. He saw more of her in the boys every day as they grew, and felt that bitter, eviscerating sadness that she would never see it for herself. Even moving eight-hundred-odd miles away from their old life, he still couldn’t escape the memories.

‘I fucking miss you, Tess,’ he muttered as he tackled one more box from the pile in the living room. If Tessa was still here, she’d have had it all done within the first forty-eight hours. As it was, Marc felt as though it was going to take weeks to sort it all out.

At least he’d labelled the twins’ boxes. Liam and Luca were possessive of their stuff and not above smacking each other’s heads to get things back that the other had stolen. The thought made a brief smile steal over Marc’s lips as he remembered Liam, in his slightly lispy voice, reclaiming his copy of Goodnight, Baby Bat from his brother shortly after they’d moved in, and giving his father a bollocking, as only a child can, for putting it in the wrong place.

If only it were so simple with adults, Marc thought. He’d left Toulouse in search of a fresh start, because it no longer felt like home. But here, in this bleak house overlooking a lake that in winter was about as inviting as a walk-in freezer, didn’t feel like home either. He’d thought that moving back to the UK would reassure him, and being so close to his brother, Noah, and the place where he used to spend so much time with his grandfather should have eased that transition. But in truth, so far, it had done no such thing; it hadn’t done anything. Marc felt that he could have been anywhere in the world right now and it wouldn’t have made any difference. Tess would still be gone, and he’d still have absolutely no idea how to carry on with the rest of his life.

A feeling of utter exhaustion overwhelmed him as he heard the first stirrings of one of the boys leaving their room upstairs. He’d made no real progress with unpacking, and now it was a long time until bedtime. Wearily, he straightened his back and tried to plaster the best smile he could muster onto his face as he heard the thump of small feet on the uncarpeted stairs.

‘Liam! You’re down here again!’ he said as brightly as he could.

The boy shook his head and jumped into his arms. ‘I’m not Liam, I’m Luca, Daddy.’

‘Are you sure?’ Marc began to tickle him. ‘I could have sworn you were Liam.’ Squeezing his son tightly, he breathed in the reassuring scent of shampoo and clean skin, with a slight undercurrent of chocolate. ‘Have you been stealing sweets out of the advent calendar?’

Luca looked sheepish. ‘Um…’

Marc’s smile, no longer forced, grew wider. ‘You know it’s only supposed to be one a day.’

Luca’s eyes twinkled mischievously. ‘That’s why I ate Liam’s.’

Marc shook his head. The cheekiness was all Tessa. He squeezed his son tightly again. ‘Well, you know what that means?’

‘What?’

‘The Daddy Monster’s going to eat you all up!’ Planting a big wet kiss on his son’s neck, he proceeded to blow a loud raspberry into his skin.

Luca shrieked in delight, and arched his back, as Marc began to tickle him until the child was a giggling heap of chocolate-scented mess.

Both of them panting heavily, Marc put Luca back on the floor. ‘Is your brother coming down?’

Luca shook his head. ‘Not yet.’

Glancing at his watch, Marc figured he should probably go and check in on Liam, who’d been markedly less enthusiastic about the house move than his quieter and more easy-going twin brother. They weren’t going to start school until the following week, so they could all try to settle into the house without the added pressure of that routine, but if they were going to get sorted, Marc needed to think about the practicalities of uniform, school shoes, and what felt like a hundred other things, too.

Today though, all that could wait. The sun had only put in a few rare appearances since they’d moved in, but while he’d been mucking about with Luca, a clear, bright, wintry ray had penetrated the large picture window of the living room, which looked out across the lake, casting the body of water in an enchanting, sparkling glow.

‘Look, Daddy, stars!’ Luca pointed at the shimmering expanse of water.

Marc blinked back sudden tears. To Luca, all emotions were fleeting – one minute he was happy, the next sad, the next angry. He was a child who truly seemed to live in the moment. Marc tried to focus on the lights reflecting on the lake, to think about what it would be like just to be present as Luca was. He’d never been very good at that when Tess had been alive; it felt almost impossible now he’d lost her. But, smiling down at Luca, he had the first, flickering spark of hope that one day he’d be able to think more like his youngest son. Glancing around the chaos of the living room, Marc made a decision.

‘Go and gee your brother up,’ he said to Luca. ‘We’re going for a walk.’

3

Later that afternoon, Marc was actually starting to enjoy being out and about with the boys. He’d been nervous, in the immediate aftermath of Tessa’s death, about being solely responsible for them, about having to keep eyes on them both, by himself, at all times. When she’d been alive, Tessa had laughed at his concerns, at his ‘old-school’ approach to parenting, but he’d never experienced his own father being the sole carer when he’d been growing up – their mother had barely gone out with friends alone – and when their father had died, Marc himself had only been nine years old. His father had never taken all three boys out solo, and since his brothers hadn’t had children, he hadn’t experienced them doing it either. Of course, some of the French dads had made it look easy, wrangling their numerous offspring with ease, but Marc had always felt terrified he was going to do something wrong.

Now, he had to put all of that to one side. He was on his own and had been ever since poor Tessa had been too ill to look after the boys. Now it was finally starting to feel manageable; he had two hands, after all, one for each of the boys, and now they were nearly six, they were well past the toddler escape-artist stage.

As he wandered along the pavement on the way to the centre of Lower Brambleton, holding their hands, the sun offering a little warmth to take the chill off the December air, he could almost imagine himself being happy. Tessa had taught him to appreciate the simple things, the small moments. It was a lesson he tried to adhere to, but in the early, dark days of his grief it had felt impossible. Life isn’t a destination, it’s a journey, she’d been fond of reminding him, especially after her diagnosis.

The trouble was, he’d always seen things in destination terms. So many times, he’d been fixated on where they would end up, and not where they were. When Tessa had died, he’d made a vow to try to appreciate the journey more, for the sake of the boys.

As they walked he pointed out the things he spotted. They’d started at the edge of the lake, counting the ducks as they swam across the smooth surface of the icy cold water.

‘Don’t they get cold feet?’ Liam, the more inquisitive of the brothers, asked.