Page 31 of The Holiday Cottage

“Have you given Paul your book hint this year?”

“No. But I saw a book on volcanoes reviewed last week. Thought it looked interesting.” He scooped up his plate and studied the toast. “This is an architectural masterpiece. I want to eat the door, but if I eat the door how are we going to get into the house?”

Ava gave a gurgle of laughter. “It’s just toast, silly.”

Patrick studied it and shook his head. “It’s a house. It has windows, chimney, doors.”

“You have to eat the whole thing.”

“I do? Well, if you insist.” He bit into the house and Sara rolled her eyes.

“Send me the link for that book and I’ll send it to Paul. I’ve fixed a date for our next get-together, by the way.”

“Good.”

“I still can’t believe I cut your toast up.”

“No worries. Ava was given a toast house, so I deserve one too. It’s called equality.” He leaned across and kissed her. “It’s great, although next time could I have a castle with battlements? Or maybe a toast yacht?”

“Go and sit down.” She gave him a gentle push. “You’re lucky I made your toast.”

“I know. But I made you strong coffee, so that makes you lucky too.” He carried his plate to the table and sat with the girls. “You were saying something about Christmas trees.”

“We should get one at the weekend. Make a trip of it, like we usually do. Forest. Hot chocolate.” She sipped her coffee, inhaling the smell. “What do you think?”

“Why would you want a tree? You don’t like Christmas.” He winked at her as Ava gasped.

“Mummy loves Christmas.”

“Does she?” Patrick bit into a toast window. “I didn’t know that.”

“You do know that.” Ava frowned at him. “She decorates everywhere, and she makes a big cake and she cuts all that green stuff from the garden and wraps it around the stairs. And she puts lights everywhere. We make Christmas cards, we do paintings and make decorations and we count how many sleeps there are. She reads us Christmas books and we have twinkly lights at bath time.”

“That sounds like altogether too much fun,” Patrick said. “But if we’re going to Nanna’s for Christmas, perhaps we don’t need our own tree this year.”

Sara shook her head, smiling. “Patrick—”

“We’re not having a tree?” Ava’s lip wobbled and Iris put her toast down and patted her hand.

“We are having a tree,” she said. “Daddy is just joking.”

“I don’t get it. Why is that funny?”

“He’s teasing us.”

“Nine going on ninety,” Patrick murmured and finished his toast. “Iris is right. I’m joking. We’re going to get the biggest tree in the forest. So big that we’re going to need a ladder to put Iris’s fairy on top. And I know Mummy loves Christmas. It’s one of the reasons I married her.”

Ava sprang up and hugged him and Iris smiled quietly.

Sara felt a glow of contentment. She did love Christmas. For a good few years that hadn’t been the case. After her father’s stroke and the dark days that followed, the emphasis on family had been bittersweet. But so many years had passed and she’d taught herself to compartmentalize. She ignored the bad memories and focused on the happy ones. And she had many happy ones.

Patrick had proposed to her at Christmas. She’d discovered she was pregnant with Iris at Christmas. And children had given her the excuse she’d needed to indulge her own love of the festive season. The truth was she wanted to enjoy Christmas. She made an active choice to enjoy it and ignored any feelings that threatened to dampen that enjoyment.

Patrick checked the time and stood up. “Time to move or we’ll be late. Ava? Teeth.”

She bared them at him and growled like a tiger.

“Great. Now go and clean them.”

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