Page 29 of A Recipe for Romance in Brambleton

Marc sighed. Liam’s behaviours were so unpredictable and increasingly difficult to deal with.

Deciding to let the older twin cool off for a few minutes, assuming he was just overtired from the party and coming down from all the sugar, he took Luca through to his small office in the back of the house and soon they were searching through possible images to colour.

‘I want to do her a cat.’ Luca smiled.

‘That sounds great.’ Marc googled a few options, and in a matter of minutes they’d printed out a decent colouring picture, which they then took through to the kitchen. While Luca diligently coloured the cat several clashing but charming colours, Marc padded up the stairs to see his other son.

‘Hey, bruiser,’ he said, opening the bedroom door gently. ‘How’re you doing?’

Liam had his head under the pillow of his bed, and thumped his hands more tightly around it, shutting Marc out even further.

‘Not so great, then.’ Sitting down on the end of the bed, Marc reached out a hand and squeezed the small boy’s shoulder. ‘Do you want to talk about it?’

‘No,’ came the muffled reply from under the pillow.

Marc’s heart twisted in his chest. He tried not to make comparisons, but Luca was a much easier proposition than Liam. Tessa even used to joke that Liam had been troubled since the day he was born – he’d come out first, yelling his tiny head off, while Luca had been subdued, snuffling and much quieter. It was a pattern they’d kept to consistently in their short lives so far.

‘Well, why don’t we play twenty questions?’

No response from under the pillow.

‘Is it something about the party?’

‘No.’

‘Is it something about me?’

‘No.’

‘Is it something about your brother?’

‘No.’

Marc paused. ‘Is it something about Mum?’

There was quiet snuffling from under the pillow, and Marc could see Liam’s shoulders starting to shake.

‘I miss her too.’ Marc stroked Liam’s back. ‘But we had a nice day today, didn’t we?’

‘I don’t care! Je veux, Maman!’ The boy’s voice was laced with pain, and Marc’s heart broke. The twins slipped into French, sometimes, when overwhelmed and unable to express themselves in English, and since Marc’s French was functional, at best, he was prone to missing the nuance. This time, though, Liam’s meaning was all too heartbreakingly clear.

‘I know you do. And I’m sorry she’s not here. I wish there was something I could do.’

‘Go away!’

Helplessly, Marc gave Liam’s shoulder a final squeeze. ‘When you’re ready, come and join Luca and me. We can have another bit of cake before you get in the bath, if you like.’

The bereavement counsellor had tried to teach him the fine line between supporting and pushing, and it wasn’t easy. But Liam had made it clear from the immediate aftermath of their loss that he needed to separate himself off at times. Even as a toddler, he’d needed space to himself when he became overwhelmed. As he’d grown older, this trait had become more apparent, and much as it pained him, Marc had learned to let the boy come to him.

He could turn to his brother as well. Liam might make Luca the object of his aggression, but the twins still had an unassailable bond. It was something Marc felt jealous of at times. No matter how much the boys bickered, and came to blows, he knew that, if he should look into their bedroom long after they’d fallen asleep, he’d find them tangled up in each other’s arms, seeking the comfort they’d had when they were in the womb.

It was a stark contrast to Marc’s lonely bed, which always felt too wide and too cold. He wished he had someone to tangle up with, someone to seek comfort from, when the insomnia kept him awake. He took a few seconds to ground himself before he went back downstairs. It was easier, when he had company, and other things to think about, to ignore the huge gap in their lives. This afternoon had been a lovely opportunity to make some new family memories. But as night fell and the day began to wind down, Marc felt the old, familiar weight of loss beginning to creep in. It was different to how it had been in the immediate weeks, months, and even first year after Tessa’s death; now, rather than the eviscerating grief, he felt a more abstract sense of it; an absence, but also a desire to feel loved again.

Those two emotions battled within him as he put the boys to bed, later. He could never be sure which would win out when he felt like this. It was a struggle, either way, he never seemed to be able to win.

He was dropping off to sleep when his phone pinged. Deciding whether or not he should ignore it, but thinking better of it, he rolled over and picked it up from where it was charging on the bedside table. The message was surprising enough to make him instantly alert.

Mate, I’d love to come for Crimbo. I’ll be in on a late flight on Xmas Eve and I’ll drive up. Leave the front door unlocked.