Page 60 of Winter Wishes at the Farm on MuddypuddleLane
‘Yes.’
‘You left because you thought…?’
‘Yes.’
‘You eejit.’ She glared at her daughters and waited until they had beaten a hasty retreat up the stairs. ‘Why didn’t you ask me?’
‘How could I? What could I say – Bea, I saw you snogging your kids’ dad, but do you have any feelings for me?’
‘That’s exactly what you should have said.’
‘I’m going to be honest – I love you, Bea. I think I always have, but I was too stupid to realise it. I don’t want to lose you again. Can you forgive me?’
Beatrice didn’t have to think about it. She had forgiven him the moment she realised that he was willing to put her children’s happiness before his own. He’d walked away to give her and Eric a chance – because that was the right thing to do. Mark Staffordwasa nice guy. How could shenotforgive him?
To think Taya had sent Mark that message! It made her heart melt. Beatrice owed her daughter a massive debt of gratitude, and she was so full of love that she thought she might burst.
She said, ‘I think you'd better come in. We’ve got a lot of catching up to do.’
Mark gathered her into his arms and kissed her gently. ‘The catching up can wait. It’s Christmas Eve. I’ll call you later.’
‘You’re not going anywhere. You’re going to spend it with us,’ she replied firmly.
But before she called the girls downstairs, she wanted a minute to kiss him properly, and as their lips met, Beatrice’s heart – like the Grinch’s – grew three sizes.
Mark loved her.
Wishes did come true, after all.
Mark inhaled deeply and his mouth watered. The turkey smelt divine. It looked it too: white meat, crispy skin, and surrounded by golden Yorkshire puddings.
Beatrice’s father placed the serving platter in the centre of the table with reverence, saying, ‘My wife cooks a mean Christmas dinner. Mind you, by the day after Boxing Day I’ll be sick to death of turkey.’ He leant in and whispered loudly, ‘If I’m desperate for a change, I'll pop into The Black Horse and have lunch with you – no doubt the girls will want to go to the sales, so we can have a sneaky pint and get to know one another properly.’
‘I heard that,’ Deborah said, winking at Mark. ‘Little does he know, but he’ll be looking after our grandchildren. I’ll be damned if we’re dragging Taya and Sadie around the shops. Help yourself, Mark. Don’t stand on ceremony.’
Beatrice passed him a tureen of glazed carrots. The children were already spooning food onto their plates. Sadie, he noticed, was paying particular attention to the pigs in blankets, a determined expression on her face.
‘They’re her favourite,’ Beatrice said. ‘That’s why Mum cooked so many, because she knew Sadie would eat the lot if I let her.’
‘Thank you again for inviting me.’
‘I was hardly going to let you starve.’
He chuckled. ‘I’m sure Dave and Monica would have taken pity on me and made me up a plate.’
She squeezed his leg. ‘And you would have ended up eating it on your own in your room. Not a chance.’
Mark had talked Dave into giving him his old room back, on the understanding that there wouldn't be any food served on Christmas Day – although normal service would be resumed on Boxing Day – so having not had any breakfast, apart from the complimentary biscuits in his room, Mark had been starving by the time he arrived at Beatrice’s house shortly after noon this morning. They had agreed that he wouldn’t arrive before then, so Eric could spend the morning with his daughters.
By the time Mark got to Beatrice’s, he had found her sitting on the sofa with a Baileys Irish Cream in one hand, a Terry’s Chocolate Orange in the other, and surrounded by toys and wrapping paper. The girls had been glassy eyed with excitement, their mother glassy eyed with exhaustion, having been woken several times in the early hours by Sadie asking whether Santa had been yet and worrying that the Grinch had stolen her Christmas, despite the green Grinch dust that had been sprinkled on the doorstep.
The children were happy to see him (probably because he came bearing gifts, and the books were enthusiastically received), and he had spent the next hour or so playing games with Sadie and showing Taya how to set up her new tablet, before accompanying them to Beatrice’s parents’ house for Christmas lunch.
He had no idea what Beatrice had said to her mum and dad, but they had welcomed him with open arms, so Mark assumed it hadn’t been anything too awful.
‘So,’ Deborah said to him, ‘are you back in Picklewick for good?’
Mark shot an anxious glance at Beatrice. ‘I hope so. If Beatrice is okay with that.’
Beatrice rolled her eyes. ‘Why do men need things spelling out? I’m most definitely okay with that. But where are you going to live? You can’t stay at The Black Horse indefinitely.’
‘I don’t intend to. I’ve already put feelers out with a couple of estate agents.’ His original intention had been to rent somewhere, but if he sold his house in Bristol he could buy a place in Picklewick instead. And with the advance from Pinkymoon Publishers, he could afford to buy somewhere very nice indeed – somewhere with plenty of room for a wife and two little girls… When the time was right, he would ask Beatrice to marry him.
After a lovely Christmas Day spent with Beatrice’s family, it was eventually time for the tired children to go home, and Mark walked Beatrice and the girls back.
He hadn’t intended to come in. He’d intended to say good night on the doorstep, but Sadie had other plans and had grumpily insisted that Mark read her a bedtime story. He obliged by reading her favourite book, the one he had written and illustrated himself.
It had been the best Christmas ever, and when Beatrice took him to her bed much, much later; it was the perfect end to a perfect day.
And that was how Marc Stafford, renowned children’s author, began the rest of his life with a woman he had loved for most of it, if only he had realised.
