Winter Wishes at the Farm on MuddypuddleLane (The Farm on Muddypuddle Lane #8)

Chapter Four

CHAPTER FOUR

Mark hesitated outside the cafe. It hadn’t changed much and seeing it brought back a rush of memories. It whispered of summer afternoons after school, drinking ice-cold Cola, and winter ones sipping marshmallow-topped hot chocolates. And many of them had been with Bea by his side. This cafe was the embodiment of his youth, his salad days as Shakespeare had so eloquently put it. He had been green in judgement, indeed. But wasn’t everyone at that age?

As the memories flooded back, Mark wondered how good an idea it was to invite Beatrice for a coffee. She’d clearly been reluctant, and to be honest, he wasn’t entirely sure why he’d asked her. It had been a spur-of-the-moment thing, his mouth freewheeling down the road before his brain was in gear.

‘Get over yourself,’ he muttered. This was merely a chat and a coffee with an old friend. What was the harm in that?

With a deep breath, he pushed the door open and went inside. The bell above tinkled as the rich aroma of roasted beans filled his nose. The cafe was surprisingly busy, and although he was a few minutes early, Beatrice was already waiting for him.

She sat at a table in the corner, as though she was hiding away, and was fiddling with a packet of sugar, her eyes downcast. Behind him, the bell jangled again, but she didn’t look up until he reached the table and paused.

‘Hey,’ he said.

‘Hi.’ She didn’t smile. Her eyes were huge, her lashes long and dark, and he realised she was wearing make-up.

‘Have you ordered?’ he asked.

‘Not yet.’

‘What can I get you? A hot chocolate?’

She nodded. ‘With marshmallows?’

‘Absolutely! You can’t have hot chocolate without marshmallows.’

‘No…’ She trailed off, her attention returning to the packet of sugar.

As he went to the counter to order their drinks, he wondered whether she still took two in her tea. And he wondered what she’d done in the intervening years while he’d been away. Got married, had two kids, got divorced… What else? Was she happy?

‘I got you extra marshmallows,’ he told her, placing the drinks on the table.

‘Thanks.’ She picked up a spoon and ladled some into her mouth, along with a generous dollop of cream, and he tried not to stare.

How many times had he kissed those lips?

She noticed the direction of his gaze and he hastily examined his own mug. ‘So,’ he began. ‘How have you been?’

‘Fine. Good. Great, actually.’

‘Good, good.’ He used his spoon to poke one of the marshmallows. It disappeared into the cream. He did the same to another, silence stretching between them.

Beatrice broke it. ‘How about you?’

Mark opened his mouth to say ‘good’, then changed his mind. ‘I’ve been better.’

‘Are you ill?’ A flicker of concern crossed her face, and he wondered what it meant.

‘God, no, nothing like that,’ he said. ‘The only thing I’m suffering from is writer’s block.’ As soon as the words left his mouth, he regretted them. He had told no one, not even his agent or his editor. Especially not his editor.

‘Writer’s block? Is that where you can’t think of anything to write?’

‘Exactly.’

‘I thought that was why you’re here – to write one? Dulcie told me you’re doing research.’

‘I am. Kind of. I’m searching for inspiration.’

‘Have you found any?’

‘Not yet. I’m sure I will.’ He took a sip of his drink, hoping he didn’t have a cream moustache.

Beatrice said, ‘You’ve got…’ She touched her upper lip.

Dabbing his mouth with a serviette, he said, ‘Anyway, enough about me. Tell me about you.’

‘There’s nothing to tell.’

‘You’ve got children,’ he pointed out.

‘So I have.’

‘You don’t live with their father?’

‘Thanks, Sadie,’ she mumbled, then louder, ‘We’re divorced. How about you? Are you married?’

‘Not anymore.’

‘Oh. Sorry.’

‘Me, too.’

‘What happened?’ Her eyes widened then she said, ‘Forgive me, it’s none of my business.’

‘I don’t mind talking about it. She didn’t want kids. I did. I think the last straw was when I gave up the day job to become a full-time author.’ It was more complicated than that, but the details weren’t particularly pleasant.

Beatrice pursed her lips. ‘That’s tough.’

‘Your turn.’

‘I didn’t realise we were swapping divorce stories.’

He made a face. ‘You don’t have to tell me, if you don’t want to.’

‘My ex is an arse. And before you ask why I married an arse, he wasn’t one when we tied the knot. He became an arse later, after we’d had the kids.’

‘Oh, right.’ Her reply was cryptic and Mark wondered what the man had done. ‘He still sees the kids, though?’

‘He does, when it suits him. But he’s still an arse.’

‘Okay, I get it – he’s an arse.’

‘A lot of men are.’ She looked him in the eye as she said it.

Although hoping she wasn’t including him in that, he thought it prudent to change the subject. ‘How long have you worked at Lilac Tree Farm?’

‘Just over a week.’

‘What made you decide to take a job on a farm?’

‘Because Christmas is coming and my children want the earth – like every other kid on the planet.’

‘I didn’t mean that; I meant that I didn’t think you were the mucking-out-the-cows type’

‘Ah, okay.’ She looked embarrassed, like she’d given too much away. ‘I’m not. I only work in the shop. No cows. Or any other animal for that matter. Although the goats are rather sweet and the bunnies are very cute, the nearest I get to an animal, is selling their milk, or when Peg pays me a visit.’

‘Peg?’

‘Walter’s dog. He persuaded her to sit outside the Grinch’s cave, wearing antlers. It’s costing him an arm and a leg in bones to keep her quiet.’

‘Not his own, I hope?’ Mark quipped and got a glare of disapproval for his efforts.

‘I wish children were more like dogs,’ she said. ‘Happy with the simple things. You don’t see them queuing up to see a Doggy Santa Claus and asking for diamante collars or gold-plated tennis balls. All they want is someone to love them, a comfy place to sleep, and a regular supply of dog biscuits.’

Mark grinned. ‘But if there was a Santa Paws – see what I did? – pooches would still ask for things like squirrels to chase or squeaky toys.’

Sighing, she said, ‘I suppose you’re right. Whatever we’ve got, we always want more, even when we’ve got more than enough for our needs.’ She blinked. ‘Crumbs, that was a bit deep.’ She finished her hot chocolate and licked her lips. ‘I’d better go,’ she said, getting to her feet. ‘Thanks for the drink and the chat. It was nice catching up.’

‘It was. I’m glad you’re doing okay, Bea.’

‘Why wouldn’t I be?’ she shot back.

‘You know, divorce… two kids…’

Her face cleared. ‘Yeah. You, too. I’m sure something will come to you soon.’

It already had. ‘We should do this again,’ he said.

‘Next time you’re in Picklewick,’ she agreed.

‘I mean, before then. Next week, maybe?’

‘I thought you were leaving soon?’ She seemed put out.

‘I was thinking about it, but I’ve changed my mind. We could have dinner in The Black Horse. I’m fed up with eating on my own.’

‘You forget I have children.’

‘I haven’t forgotten at all. Bring them with you. We can eat early; is five-thirty okay? My treat.’

‘I can pay my own way.’

Mark was taken aback. ‘I didn’t for one minute think you couldn’t.’ An idea occurred to him, though why he was so anxious for her to agree, he had yet to determine. ‘Call it a business meeting. I want to pick your children’s brains.’

‘Why?’ Her suspicion was palpable. She clearly didn’t believe a word he was saying.

‘I have an idea for the new book and I’d like to run it past them, so dinner will be a legitimate expense.’ It wouldn’t, but she didn’t need to know that.

‘I thought you had writer’s block?’

‘I did, but I don’t now.’ He smiled warmly at her. ‘It’s amazing what a chat with an old friend can do.’

‘Less of the old.’ Her reply was automatic and lacked conviction. She sighed. ‘Okay – when?’

‘I’ll fit in with you and your plans.’

‘Friday,’ she said. ‘I don’t want the kids worked up on a school night.’

‘Friday, it is.’ He’d hoped it could be sooner, but he supposed five days would give him time to hone his idea and produce some illustrations to show her children, and then he wouldn’t be making himself out to be a liar. Because the real reason he had asked her to dinner was that he simply wanted to see her again. But why that was, he wasn’t prepared to think about too closely.

The front door banging open, accompanied by shouts of ‘Mummy, why is it so dark?’ jolted Beatrice out of her thoughts, and she leapt out of the chair and switched on the nearest lamp.

Sadie barrelled into her, smelling of Eric’s cologne and bringing a blast of chilly air with her. ‘I was scared you were out!’

‘I’m not out, I’m here.’

‘But it was dark. You don’t like the dark.’

‘ You don’t like the dark,’ Beatrice corrected her youngest child. ‘ I don’t mind it. Where’s your sister?’

Sadie’s expression clouded. ‘She told Daddy she hates him. She doesn’t, does she?’

‘Of course she doesn’t. I expect she was cross with him, that’s all.’ Beatrice moved to the window and peered into the street. She could see Taya in the passenger seat of Eric’s car. It was parked under the street light, illuminating her face. Taya looked remarkably like Sadie when she was annoyed about something.

Eventually she got out and slammed the door. The car rocked.

No doubt she would tell Beatrice about it later. For now, Beatrice wanted to make them some tea.

The front door banged open a second time as Taya stormed in, and Beatrice hurried to close it before it slammed shut. If this carried on, she would have to replace the damned thing, and she couldn’t afford to do that. Did her kids know how much a new front door cost?

Beatrice scowled. Of course they didn’t, and if they did, they wouldn’t care.

Aware that she was being ridiculous (they were children for goodness’ sake!) she peered into the street again, then gently closed the door, hoping Eric hadn’t upset their eldest child too much.

Beatrice got the story out of Taya over tea. ‘Have you fallen out with Dad?’ she asked.

Taya narrowed her eyes at her sister. ‘Tattletale.’

‘I’m not!’

Beatrice hastened to soothe sibling angst. ‘Don’t blame Sadie. I could tell from the way you stormed into the house.’

When it came to her children, there was always some drama or another, most of it minor and fleeting in the grand scheme of things, but of gigantic importance at the time. Hopefully this was of the minor and fleeting variety.

‘Dad has got a girlfriend,’ Taya spat.

Beatrice frowned in irritation. ‘Was she there? Did you meet her?’

‘No, I heard them talking on the phone.’

‘You shouldn’t listen in on people’s conversations,’ Beatrice said absently, relieved that her children hadn’t been subjected to yet another of Eric’s girlfriends.

She wouldn’t have any objection if there was a constant one, or even if he’d had two since they’d split up, but he seemed to have a different one every week. Where he found them was a mystery. In all that time, Beatrice had only managed one date. It hadn’t been a great success. Maybe single eligible women were in greater abundance than single eligible men?

‘She won’t last,’ Beatrice told her daughter confidently. ‘They never do.’

Taya pouted. ‘I told him you had a boyfriend.’

‘You did what? Why?’

‘You said he was your boyfriend.’

‘Who?’

‘That man who came to the school. The one who wrote those books.’

Beatrice couldn’t believe what she was hearing. ‘His name is Mark Stafford, but he’s not my boyfriend. Whatever gave you that idea?’

‘I heard you talking to Aunty Lisa.’

‘What did I just tell you about listening to other people’s conversations? The problem is, you get the wrong end of the stick, or only half a story. Mark used to be my boyfriend, years ago. Long before I met your dad.’

‘Why did you go out with him today? Do you want him to be your boyfriend again?’

‘It was a work thing.’ Seeing Taya’s confused expression, Beatrice explained, ‘He’s writing a new book and wanted to have a chat.’

‘Why?’

‘Because he wants to ask whether he could talk to you and Sadie about it.’

‘Why?’

‘Because he doesn’t have any children of his own to ask. And before you ask why, I don’t know.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I said we’d go out to tea with him on Friday.’

Sadie had been following the conversation closely. ‘Me, too?’

‘Yes, sweetie, you too.’

‘Yay! Can I have a Big Mac?’

‘We won’t be going to McDonald’s,’ Beatrice told her. ‘We’re going to The Black Horse.’

Sadie’s eyes were round, Taya’s not so much. At nine, Taya was more worldly-wise than her sister.

‘I like him,’ Sadie announced. ‘He draws good.’

‘Draws well,’ Beatrice corrected.

‘That’s what I said.’

Beatrice’s gaze strayed to the fridge. The drawing that Mark had done of Sadie dressed as a toadstool had pride of place, alongside the artwork that Taya produced on a weekly basis. As well as being a reader, Taya was a budding artist.

It was time to change the subject. ‘If you’ve finished your tea, scrape off your plates and clear the table, please.’

‘Aww, do we—?’

‘Yes. Please can we not do this every mealtime?’

‘Dad lets us—’

‘I’m not interested in what your father does,’ Beatrice broke in. She was, but she wasn’t going to sweat the small stuff. Arguing with him about little things like this, simply wasn’t worth the aggro.

Taya said, ‘He always asks me about you .’

The look on her eldest child’s face squeezed her heart. ‘Taya, sweetie, I know you’d love nothing more than for me and your dad to get back together, but it’s not going to happen.’

‘He’s only got a girlfriend because he’s lonely.’

Yeah, right, Beatrice scoffed silently. He must have been very sodding lonely when they were married, because he’d had two affairs that she knew of. How many more that she didn’t?

One day her girls might discover the truth about their arse of a father, but they wouldn’t hear it from her.

Taya continued. ‘You’ve got us. He hasn’t got anyone.’

Maybe Eric should have thought about that before he cheated on me, Beatrice thought. She’d forgiven him the first time, but not the second.

Telling him she wanted a divorce had been the second hardest thing she’d ever had to do. The hardest had been telling the children that their dad wouldn’t be living with them anymore. Taya had been devastated. At not-quite-two years old, Sadie hadn’t understood what was going on.

Now and again, Beatrice wondered whether she’d done the right thing, that maybe she should have turned a blind eye to his philandering for the sake of her girls. And although she’d done nothing wrong and nothing to be ashamed of, in the dark quiet hours guilt gnawed at her with sharp black teeth.

‘Bugger, damn and blast!’ The sodding car wouldn’t start. Beatrice turned the key in the ignition again, hoping and praying the engine would turn over, but all she heard was a defiant click. Why did it have to break down when it was raining? Sod’s bloody law, that’s what it was. It hadn’t been raining when she’d taken the girls to school, but as she’d trotted back to the house to pick up the car and drive to work, the heavens had opened.

Thankfully she’d had an umbrella in her bag so she hadn’t got too soaked. It had been buried underneath the spare hair bobbles, the Calpol sachets, the plasters and everything else she carried around with her just in case , because, let’s face it, if she didn’t have it, she would wish she did (Mary Bloody Poppins, that’s who she was). However, umbrella or not, she would soon be drenched if she had to walk all the way from the village to the farm at the top of Muddypuddle Lane.

She tried the key again. Nothing.

Initially, when she’d got in the car, the hem of her jeans wet, the umbrella dripping, the engine had kind of turned over, making a chugging sound as it tried to fire – or whatever it was that engines were supposed to do – but that quickly became an asthmatic wheeze, and now it was refusing to do anything other than click. She had a feeling it was giving her the finger.

Cross, she began phoning people in the hope that one of them would be able to give her a lift. First her mum, then her dad, then Lisa…. As she worked her way down her contact list, becoming more despondent with every unanswered call or ‘sorry, I would but—’ she finally realised that the only way she was going to get to work was if she walked.

Whilst she’d been cursing the car (although she had a feeling that the car not starting was all her own fault, because she’d left the headlights on yesterday), the rain had eased and the clouds were beginning to clear. Hopefully it would stay fine for the next half an hour. She’d have to get a move on though, if she didn’t want to be late, and she knew she was cutting it fine.

As she walked along the high street, she tried Dulcie’s number, wanting to make her aware that she might be a few minutes late, but the call went straight to answerphone. As did her next call, which was to the garage.

‘Fiddlesticks! Isn’t anyone going to answer the phone this morning?’ she grumbled.

‘Everything okay?’

Beatrice froze and her heart sank. Great, that was all she needed. ‘Mark, hi.’

He was outside the odds-and-sods shop, about to go in. ‘Are you alright?’ he asked. ‘You look flustered.’

Gee, thanks for the compliment. ‘I’m fine. I haven’t got time to chat, I’ll be late for work.’

‘Oh, okay. See you tomorrow.’

Her phone rang. It was her dad. ‘Sorry, I need to take this,’ she said to Mark as she walked away. ‘Hi, Dad.’

‘What’s up?’ Her father’s voice was full of concern.

‘Nothing’s wrong, but I need a lift to work. My car won’t start.’

‘Sorry, Bea, but your mum and I are in Thornbury.’

Beatrice sighed. ‘Never mind. I’ll speak to you later. Thanks anyway, Dad.’

‘I can give you a lift, if you like?’ Mark said.

Beatrice knitted her brow. She hadn’t realised he had fallen in step with her until he’d spoken. ‘Haven’t you got anything better to do?’ she asked.

His expression was blank when he replied, ‘Actually, I have,’ and stopped, turning away.

Realising how rude she’d been, Beatrice caught hold of his arm. ‘I’m sorry, that came out wrong. If you’re not busy, I’d love a lift, please.’

He glanced at her hand. Beatrice hastily removed it from his arm and dug her nails into her palm. Touching him had unsettled her. Meeting his gaze, she felt herself blush, but she couldn’t look away.

‘My car is in the pub’s car park,’ he said. ‘Come on.’ He strode off and she had to hurry to keep up.

The short walk was conducted in silence, and when she got into his rather smart black car she felt distinctly awkward.

Mark broke the silence as he reversed out of the parking space. ‘Have you got a garage you can call?’

‘There’s one on the outskirts of Picklewick, but I’ll see if Dad’s got some jump leads first. I’ve got a feeling I need a new battery, but if I can get it going, it’ll save me having it towed.’

‘How will you get home?’

‘Walk, probably.’

He signalled to turn right, then pulled onto the main road. They should be at the farm in five minutes.

He said, ‘I’ll fetch you. What time do you finish?’

‘There’s no need, honestly,’ she replied, then subsided when a gust of wind buffeted the car. The heavens opened once more and the windscreen wipers went into overdrive.

‘Three o’clock,’ she told him, gratefully.

But when he dropped her off in the farmyard, she feared she had made a mistake and that walking would be preferable after all – despite the risk of a good soaking. Because the risk of being hurt again by this man grew every time she clapped eyes on him.

Muddypuddle Lane was narrow, with room for only one vehicle at a time, apart from the two passing places. One of those was the entrance to the stables, the other was outside a pretty cottage halfway up.

Mark was on his way to fetch Beatrice from the farm, when he spied another vehicle coming down the lane, so he pulled in next to the cottage. And wished he hadn’t when Dulcie pulled up alongside and waved at him.

It wasn’t a ‘hello’ kind of wave: it was more of a ‘can I have a word’ kind of wave, and the word she wanted concerned a certain green costume and small children.

‘Please,’ she begged. ‘Walter isn’t up to it, and Gio – that’s Nikki’s other half – was supposed to be doing it, but he’s having to work on Saturday. I hate to ask, but you were such a big hit. I’d do it myself, but I’m running a pinecone decorating session. It’ll only be for a couple of hours. Please? ’

He hesitated, and her face fell.

‘I shouldn’t have asked. Note to self – be more organised next year. This is my first year doing a Christmas Wonderland, so I didn’t know what to expect. I can’t believe how well it’s taken off.’ She brightened. ‘I’m not complaining, you understand.’

Against his better judgement, he said, ‘Okay, I’ll do it.’

‘You will? That’s marvellous. Thank you!’ She looked so pleased that Mark was glad he’d agreed.

What was a couple of hours out of his day?

Dulcie said, ‘This time I insist on paying you,’ and when he shook his head, she said, ‘Dinner at The Wild Side, then? Just let me know when and for how many.’

‘It’ll just be me,’ he said.

‘Why not ask Beatrice if you don’t want to dine on your own?’ Dulcie’s expression was devoid of guile, but he couldn’t shake the feeling he was being set up. It occurred to him that her sister Nikki must have overheard him asking Beatrice to have a coffee with him when he was at the primary school the other day. Either that, or they had been spotted in the cafe – which was also quite likely.

Beatrice was waiting when Mark drove into the yard, and she hopped into the car. ‘Thanks for this. I really appreciate it.’

‘It’s no bother,’ he replied, trying not to stare at the silver glitter on her nose. ‘You’ve got, um…’ He touched his own nose, and she pulled down the sun visor and examined her face in the mirror.

Laughing, she said, ‘I’ve been making up Christmas Eve boxes – or as much as can be done ahead of time. Can’t add the perishables just yet. That’ll be a last-minute job. Did you know that there’s such a thing as edible glitter?’ She rubbed her nose, transferring the glitter to her finger, then popped it into her mouth.

When she stuck out her tongue, it was sparkly.

‘I didn’t,’ he replied. ‘Thanks for enlightening me. That’s one piece of knowledge I don’t know how I’ve survived without.’

She beamed at him. ‘Every day is a school day,’ she sing-songed.

‘I’ve got a present for you. It’s on the back seat.’

Her smile dimmed, her expression becoming wary. ‘What is it?’

‘Take a look.’ Mark watched her out of the corner of his eye as she wriggled around and reached behind her.

When she opened the bag and saw what was inside, she burst out laughing. ‘Who says romance isn’t dead!’ she cried, holding a set of jump leads aloft. Then her eyes widened, her mouth became an ‘O’ of dismay, and she blushed furiously. ‘I didn’t— Oh, bugger!’

Mark barked out a laugh, quickly sobering when she glared at him. He wasn’t entirely certain which of them had what end of the stick. He clearly hadn’t meant the jump leads to be any kind of romantic overture – what bloke in his right mind would give a woman a garage-related gift if he was trying to woo her? But did she think that was what he was trying to do – woo her? Or had she been hoping that the bag had contained something a little less practical?

‘Do you know how to jump-start a car?’ he asked, thinking he’d better steer the conversation into less emotionally turbulent waters.

But his plan backfired when she rolled her eyes and gave an exasperated sigh. ‘Yes, I do know how to jump-start a car. I’m not completely inept.’

Gritting his teeth, he asked, ‘Where do you live?’

‘Lavender Lane, number four, but do you mind dropping me at the school instead?’

‘Not at all.’ His voice was stiff and stilted, and without saying another word he drove along the high street, reaching the school a minute later.

‘Thanks,’ she said, unclipping her seat belt. Then she held up the bag. ‘Thanks for these, too.’ She got out.

Without thinking, he said, ‘I’ll wait for you.’

‘Why?’

‘I’ll take you home, and you can use my car to start yours.’

‘Oh, right, thanks. That’s very kind of you. Can I meet you there? You don’t have any booster seats, and I know it’s not far, but….’

‘No problem.’ Booster seats? He clearly had a lot to learn when it came to kids.

Mark watched her walk through the school gates, then realised he was getting curious looks from some of the mums, so he hastily drove off.

Waiting outside Beatrice’s house, it felt like ages before she appeared with the children in tow, but it couldn’t have been more than ten minutes.

‘I’ll be with you in a sec,’ she said, unlocking the door to number four, a neat, terraced house with an old banger of a car parked outside, which he assumed was hers.

She ushered the children inside, then hurried back out, looking flustered.

‘Problem?’ he asked, flipping the lever to open the bonnet, then getting out.

‘Nosey children.’

Movement caught his eye, and he glanced at the window to see two small faces peering out. Tentatively he waved and Sadie, the youngest, waved back. The older one glowered and he assumed she wasn’t a fan, too old for books aimed at four- to seven-year-olds.

Beatrice popped the bonnet on her car, but before she was able to connect the leads to the battery, Sadie came outside. ‘I’ve got a tummy ache,’ the child announced.

‘Is it because you’re hungry?’ Beatrice asked. She said to him, ‘I think she’s been confusing hunger pangs for tummy ache lately.’

‘Give me your keys,’ he said. ‘I know you’re perfectly capable of jump-starting a car, but you’re probably better off seeing to the girls while I get this going. It’ll take a while to transfer enough charge, and then you’ll have to take it for a drive.’

‘Damn, I’d forgotten that. Oh, well, I could do with getting a few things, so we’ll pop into Thornbury. The kids can have a McDonald’s on the way back as a treat.’

Sadie’s ears pricked up. ‘McDonald’s? Really?’ She jumped up and down, flapping her arms. ‘Yay! McDonald’s!’

Beatrice said, ‘Anyone would think I never fed them. Actually, they don’t have fast food often, so maybe it is something to get excited about. For them, not me, you understand.’ She handed him her keys and went back inside, her bouncy, excited daughter racing ahead of her.

After fifteen minutes or so of the car being on charge, he disconnected the leads then tried it again. Reluctantly, it coughed into life, so he left it running, just in case, and knocked on her door.

‘All done,’ he said, stepping back when Sadie shot out and threw herself at him.

‘Thank you!’ she cried. ‘Mummy said we’ve got you to thank for going to McDonald’s. So that’s what I’m doing, saying thank you.’

Mark met Beatrice’s gaze over the top of her daughter’s head. ‘Thanks from me, too,’ she said.

‘No problem.’

‘Can Mr Stafford come with us, Mummy?’ Sadie released him and looked hopefully up at her mother.

Seeing the alarm in Beatrice’s eyes, Mark said, ‘Sorry, Sadie, I’d love to but I can’t.’

Beatrice didn’t try to persuade him to change his mind but as he drove off, he wished she had. There was nothing Mark would have loved more right now, than to eat a burger and fries with Beatrice and her children.